Our poetic souls bounce from one venue to another, trip the light fantastic, survive. Last week in Soho was rich, Andre from Shoreditch arriving to rap, with his friend Jesse like Thelonious Monk on piano. Kelly read a brief, sweet tribute to her Dad, then Keleigh recited her work-in-progress 'The Whip Hand'. Polly, bardess of St Giles's Circus, evoked a 'Sugar Daddy', and Juliette read the first scene of a play about Siegfried Sassoon. We delved into tradition with Angela's rendition of America's first poetess in Ann Bradstreet's 'The Author to her Book'. Emanuele translated one of an old Anglo's sonnets – everything sounds better in Italian, it seems. And there was Seki, whose 'I've been playing til now' brought us energetically back to here and now. This week, despite rumours to the contrary, we'll do it again in Soho, taking as theme what Seki returned us to at the end: LONDON. It's where we are, after all, though if you're dreaming of elsewhere, that's OK too.
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