A video in which I talk and wave my hands about a bit

Or, put more eloquently:

Some video from the Nebraska Writers Collective day event at Barnes & Noble recently.
The poem I am reading can be found here: http://omahapoet.com/poetry/the-first-layer-is-size/


6 thoughts on “A video in which I talk and wave my hands about a bit

  1. ‘He reads well’, said Soph.
    ‘I should think so, they’re his words!’ I replied.
    ‘But that’s not always the case; remember when we went to the poetry evening at the O3 gallery in Oxford?’
    [beat beat beat]
    ‘You are wise beyond your ears, youngster,’ sayeth the old man. For on this she is right.

  2. Oooo there’s more:

    Personally I think it might be a better reading.

    For the record – if I read a poem that isn’t mine a) I tell everybody it’s not mine and b) I’m usually dressed in something bizarre like 18C clothing (see Facebook and Picasa photos ad nauseam).

    I don’t do “poetry slams” (because, to me, poetry is art not sport) but I suppose in some ways I might be described as “a performing poet” rather than a performance poet.

  3. I didn’t know WordPress embedded videos in comments too – cool.

    I wrote it for Dan Leaman, an Omaha poet who is struggling on a poetry course in Scotland.

    Here are the words:

    There is a caste of men
    There is a caste of men who say:
    “think like this”
    or they will burn crosses on your lawns.
    They will huddle in judgement
    and point bony fingers at your differences
    to how they wish things to be.
    They hold the money,
    they guard the doors to their temples
    and pulpits
    but they do not hold the keys to the gates
    of heaven nor speak directly to God.
    They say: “speak like us” and “write like us”
    and “use our accent to fit in with us”.
    But dust tumbles from their tongues.
    They say: “we are the kingdom of Zion”
    and “we are the true disciples, you pretender”.
    But they are wrong; dust tumbles from their
    tongues as they huddle in judgement.
    Stay away and keep whispering, louder
    and louder until you blow away the dust.
    Rhyme, don’t rhyme, shout, project to the last
    seat at the back or say it softly through tears
    but for their sake and yours do it your way
    and strive to keep away from turning to dust
    and finally: never, ever burn any crosses on lawns.

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