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Jascribble and the Abandoned Poems August 22, 2007

Posted by jasmingle in Poetry, Literature, and Performance.

So tonight: Room of Abandon. Myself and CKB fight our way through the spit-in-ya-face rain to the pub, recharge with guiness, observe. It felt like a comfortably ramshackle evening- full of character as usual, devoid of pretension, peppered with eccentrics. I recognised a girl from Sussex university but she was gone before I had the chance to fabricate a shred of conversation. Kayo was sensational- my attention when I’m tired is about as hard to pin down as those floundering crazy moths that turn up in student flats, but I was held, warm, still, for the whole set. For some reason, even if you’ve heard work before, it doesn’t matter- you become immersed, alive. I always feel with good poetry like I’m reaching the surface, flooded with oxygen, reawoken and switched with a deft fat finger ON. It’s the same feeling that makes you picky, or discerning, maybe- choosy about what you will go and see or whose work. It also kicks me up the bum with my own writing.

On the tube, my thoughts churned to a curdle, sifting mentally through recent poems and ideas, working out which I felt the best about for upcoming gigs and Bestival, and realised with a jolt that with each new poem on which I work hard, a new standard against which I measure all my work arises, like a blue peter fundraising target. I can’t do old poems with the same sense of achievement now, when I now can say the same thing in a better way. I feel like some of the most recent stuff is just a re-write of old ideas or poems but tackled with a different sensibility. But tonight: I’m pulsing with a desire to be braver with my writing, while staying true to how I want to say it. Surrounded by such spectacular writers, it’s easy to become a sponge. I’m pretty impressionable as it is, and greedy, gluttonous for the glow exuded by other people, as if i’m licking their faces as they read, slurping down their good bits but bringing them up again to find a crude mishmash, a cheap imitation. I decided this evening that if I attempt to mirror the styles of others, I will never really be myself.



1. Charlie Robin Jones - August 27, 2007

Poetry and children’s TV references? Loving your work, “Jascribble.” Your syntax fucking destroys, by the way love!


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