On Level 5 on the Royal Festival Hall lies the Saison Poetry Library: an eclectic crowd gathered to hear poetry from four stalwarts of the Survivors' Movement. Wendy Young was there for the inspiring words of Hilary Porter, John Oâ€™Donoghue, Debjani Chatterjee MBE, Frank Bangay the Bard of Hackney! MCâ€™d by Colin Hambrook.
Colin furnished us with a brief background of this Gang of Four who have each worked tirelessly to bring society’s marginalised to the fore and certainly opened up a valuable training ground for his journey through disability arts. Colin has not forgotten his roots and kept a link with Survivors’ development, going onto set up DAO (Disabled Arts Online) which is carrying on the beacon of light for the disenfranchised with something to say.
There’s a theory that Shakespeare should be read starting from the end and so here at the beginning is Colin’s final word on the quality of the reading tonight was ‘texture’.
Hilary Porter, a sprite of light worked hard to organise events and writes delightful snippets of life and treated us to poems from her book ‘Don’t Trust the Moon’.
‘Power’, a poem for her small daughter paddling on pebbles on Brighton Beach is testimony to the ‘power’ of poetry as a preservation of life. What an alternative to flowers at a funeral?
‘Those Days’ (yes we’ve all had ‘em) summed up succinctly when it all goes wrong!
A few gloomy but lyrical poems like ‘War Baby’ (this woman is so nice she feels guilty for being born in WW2 when so many were killed!) and ‘9/11’ and then – a dash of HP sauce in ‘Meaning of Life’:
‘obeyed bible and procreated when the world was empty, now it’s too full…. couch potatoes proved Darwin wrong’
Ending with her ode to her ‘Arachnophobia’ ‘execute or extradition to the garden’ it was like a friendly aunt was leaving the stage.
John O’Donoghue, ex Chair of Survivors', reviews on DAO and is a ‘fine poet’ with a slick wit (‘how the bleedin’ hell do I know’ when I asked the title of his 2nd poem of the night), so taken was I with his ‘Sectionned: A Life Interrupted’ a biography detailing his journey through the mental health system.
Telling tales of sipping/drinking cool lemonade outside the pub while his broad made dad’s supping stout inside, jogging the collective memory for many a Bash Street kid in ‘First’. Reminded of Charon the guardian of Hades, John talks of the Ha’penny Bridge crossing the Liffey.
Once in Asylums, now in a University, dishing out creativity rather than being dished drugs in a similar world where green fields are solace. ‘From an Asylum Diary’ documents daily suicide attempts/ window smashed/ dances/ at night drowning in a pool and then ‘Lull’ resonates as he tells of finding a clan, a Survivors family.
From out of the dark, John moved into the light with a jolly tribute to Jonathan Swift and ended with an obituary wrote on a Four Seasons Hotel notepad at the passing of Seamus Heaney ‘The Gift’.
Debjani Chatterjee all round ‘national treasure’ and tribune for the unpublished (‘if they haven’t been published yet they’d better be’ before reading poems by Survivors Gail Campbell's tribute to Kurt Cobain, ‘rattling in a nut house with Cobain in ‘How Things Fall’ and Claire McLaughlin’s ‘I’m too Lazy’… with the exception of making cups of tea (aren’t we all?). Heart wrenchingly we heard how Amita Patel took her own life a few years ago and Debjani read her poem ‘Words from Paper Road’…. ‘left like bird droppings’.
Describing the Indian and Bangladeshi poet Kazi Nazrul Islam, who didn’t speak after 1942 (saw carnage of riots and broke down), as a literary hero, Debjani read an extract from her translation of ‘The Rebel’ which begins ‘O rebel-hero speak, Say: I tower over the highest peak’.
Debjani referred to John O’Donoghue and Jonathan Swift, read a ‘small’ poem about a ‘small’ postcard from Lilliput and ended with a pretty ‘Star Haiku’.
Talking of stars, Frank Bangay was not named so for no reason, surely it was written on the cosmos that Frank would Bang a gong, get it on and make the world a better place starting in Hackney!
He is a trooper of a man whose humanity and humility shines through his personality and his words. He talks of rhythmic pigeons turning into doves – a call to be strong in ‘Wings’. Treats like his stories of 1960s London and moving from old abode to a balconied high rise in an ode that tells us how ‘there was more room to swing the cat’. Likable and warm, the great Frank Bangay threw out his arms like a preacher at the lectern and shouted out ‘Greedy Men’ and ‘Journey through Corridors’ a protest at being labelled and having a go at do-gooders (and so say all of us!!)
And in the end, Amen, to ‘Comfort Eating Blues’ a superb and rings-a-bell message about abusing our bodies with good old greasy grub incorporating a ballad about fruit and salad (yeah we’re all bored with that!). Accompanied by Natasha from Core Arts (who annoyingly only learnt the tune and practiced slide guitar two weeks ago!) it was a rip-roaring blues driven singalong ending to a ‘textured’ tapestry of a night.