This week we dutifully turn our attentions northwards, to bonnie Caledonia, to celebrate that most oversexed and rebellious of saints, Robert Burns. Dust off your copies of Ode To A Mouse, A Red, Red Rose, or Tam 'o Shanter, and sip a few glasses of the finest Glenrothes Select Reserve.
Feel free to only very loosely keep to the theme, if sex and single malt is not your thing, nae worry, a man's a man for all that. All poetry is welcome, there is only one rule, nothing over five minutes. Slàinte!
ith ‘Silence’ as theme last week, who would have expected such a gorgeously full night? We began with Louise Stern’s poetic prose piece on the shallowness of talk. We had two poems about quiet memory by D. H. Lawrence, one from Chelsea, the other Kelly. Angus’ lament of Mother Earth against human depredation was counterpointed by Nick’s rendition of Dylan Thomas’s ‘Rage Against the Dying of the Light’. Martin offered an original poem about leaping over the abyss into the unknown; Sylvia brought us back to earth with a description of dancing; Emir and Oliver relocated us where we are with poems about London, one just written, the other from Wordsworth. Tracy read Freda Downey; Barney evoked a Scottish sot; Letizia offered verses in Spanish which Jorge translated beautifully. Heathcote and Sophie lanced the boil of Donald Trump in poem and song; Ekin and Joel healed us with further original work, the latter employing his delicate skill on guitar. A night for the annals; and this week from other annals comes a celebration of Bobby Burns, to be followed by Poetry Night as usual, taking as theme one that Burns in a good way and the half-Scot in Washington in a bad are associated with: NATION.
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