theatre – Page 8 – Robert Garnham

Made for Each Other

Poem

They were always meant to be together.
She was a Pisces
And he liked fish and chips.
She was a vet
And he looked a bit like a pug.

I love you to the moon and back, he said,
Which varies depending on its orbit.
He said it with a twinkle in his eye.
Which he was due to see the optician about.
He said, I am an artist,
A visionary,
The brush sings in my hand.
She said, great,
I need the bathroom painting.

He was a locksmith.
She held the key to his heart.
The other was left with a neighbour.
Let’s make sweet music, she said,
And they wrote a song about Haribo.

They had such similar interests.
He read War and Peace
And she posted a lot on Twitter,
Both have 280 characters.
And each night they’d go home
And Netflix binge on the weather forecast.

She’d had such a sad life.
Times were hard growing up.
Food was scarce.
They had to eat the cat.
Cook a curry,
At least they knew it was
Made from Scratch.

I’ll provide for you, he said,
They give you free food in McDonald’s
If you wear a deliveroo uniform.
He’d lie awake at night wondering
If anyone’s ever had to give
A trigger warning for a spoiler alert.
And why the song
Fifty Ways to Leave Your Lover
Only mentions about six.
And why it’s called instant coffee
When you’ve still got to boil the kettle.

She’d practice yoga,
Holding her legs at ninety degrees.
He’d sigh and say,
Heaven must be missing an angle.
She took him to an exercise class.
He wore a fake beard and
An eyepatch and a parrot.
No, she said,
It’s Pilates.

She said, I’ve always been an optimist.
He said, so’s my sister, she works
At spec savers.

One day they went on a picnic.
He hired a plane and
One of the best pilots
But a terrible speller.
It wrote in the sky,
Will You Mary Me?
She hired a hot air balloon
And painted on the side, Yes!
He hired a plane to pull a banner
Which read, Fantastic!
She hired a hundred drones to spell out the words,
Well, that’s settled then.
He hired a flock of pigeons
To spell out,
What’s for dinner?
Soup, she said.

They were always meant to be together.
That night he said to her,
The world is our oyster.
And she went into anaphylactic shock

Eccentricity, and Ivor Cutler

I’d been performing for a few years as a spoken word artist, oblivious to those who had come before. And I must admit, wilfully obvious. The only big names I knew, with the exception of Pam Ayres, were those who I’d seen at gigs where I was also performing. The reason that I was oblivious was because I didn’t want to be influenced by anyone else. I knew that once I saw poets I liked, I would start to emulate them, look at what they were doing and try it for myself, like seeing someone in a fashionable hat and thinking hmmm, I wonder if that would suit me? And sure enough, this happened. I would see poets and spoken word artists reduce a room to fits of laughter, or stunned, awed silence, and I would then look at what they’d done and try to analyse it. I became a spoken word nerd. A spoken nerd,

But this knowledge was only good for those who were active at the present time. And one day, after a gig, someone asked me if I’d heard of Ivor Cutler. They said that they’d seen parallels between my own oeuvre and that of Mr Cutler. No, I hadn’t heard of him, but that night, unable to sleep due to the pumping adrenaline of having just performed at an open mic in Brixham, I went on YouTube and iTunes and knocked myself out on anything I could find of his work. Needless to say, it immediately appealed, but much more, and in a very strange sort of way, Ivor reminded me of my grandad. Not only was there a physical resemblance, but the humour, which almost sways into surrealism yet always stays grounded in truth and the human experience. I was immediately hooked.

This all happened close to ten years ago, now. My other poetry hero at the time, and major influence, was Frank O’Hara. But now it seemed I had two poets whose works I could memorise much easier than my own, two outlooks on life which I could also adopt, two poets who I can ask, as I sit down to write or stand up to perform, what would they do?

Ivor Cutler’s eccentricity seems to be something lacking these days. I go to plenty of spoken word events where the performer wants to be cool, to be liked, to get a message across, to make people laugh while still retaining the veneer of ironic and knowing cool, yet nobody seems to be genuinely eccentric. Or if they are eccentric, then this is not something which then carries over into their everyday life. Sure, I might aim for eccentricity myself, but I don’t wear the pink feather boa while going about my daily chores, and the eccentricity stops the moment I’m in a supermarket queue or on a bus. But with Mr Cutler, his whole life seemed a performance, wearing his distinctive hats while cycling, or handing out stickers with mottos on them. His genuine mission seemed to be to spread joy all the time, while basking in his own personality of glum duty. The best YouTube videos, incidentally, are those in which his mask slips and he gets an attack of the giggles during a poem.

Ivor was influenced by many factors. His Scottish upbringing, while exaggerated for comic effect, and his Jewish roots assured him the status of an outsider. The communal songs of his childhood and his appreciation of folk music formed a love of music and singing. His job as a teacher gave him the ability to talk to people, and children, at their level without pontificating. Ad as a result all of these influences combined to create a very distinctive act.

The world is a scary place. Life is meaningless. There are people who spend their time adding to the stresses and inconveniences of others. And there are people, just a few here and there, who aim to add a little colour along the way. Artists and singers, poets and writers, comedians, all of which Ivor was certainly was. Yet there was a certain underlying tenderness and love of life to many of his works which certainly stands as an example to those who are struggling to make sense of the modern world. Mr Cutler certainly remains, and increases, as a personal inspiration, and I would recommend his work to anyone.

An Interview with Robert Garnham

(I was recently interviewed by a university student to help with her dissertation and I thought I’d share the text of her interview, minus the questions.)

It’s quite long, so feel free to read if at your own pace!

Interview:

I’d always written when I was younger. I wrote comedy short stories and silly little bits which made me laugh, and I continued writing these into my adult years. I then went through a phase where I wanted to be a deeply serious literary author. By the time I got to my thirties, it was obvious that this wasn’t going to happen!

I did literature at both A Level and at university and the courses covered poetry but most of it noted me rigid. It’s probably better to read such things for pleasure rather than to write an essay. The only poet who appealed to me was Frank O’Hara, who I didn’t even see as a poet, as his work seemed to talk to me.

When I finished my postgraduate degree, I decided that I needed to see more culture. The only problem with this is that I live in Torbay, so really there wasn’t much around. I looked in the local paper and it said that there was a night of performance poetry at the Blue Walnut Café. I went along, and Byron Vincent was the headliner. The whole night inspired me to have a go myself. I asked the host and he gave me a slot for the next week. Which meant that I had to go home and write something.

I wrote a couple of comedy poems and the next month, the audience laughed at all the right places, and that’s when I thought, wow, this is what I want to do!

As a kid my only knowledge of poetry was Pam Ayres, who my mother loved and whose books were in our house, and John Hegley, who I had seen on television. I also liked the poetry of Robert Service, as I was obsessed with anything to do with the Yukon.

My father was in to music and comedy and by some kind of osmosis, I got in to them too at an early age. The wordplay associated with comedy and stand-up informed my writing, and when I started writing poetry, it was to music that I turned, to pop groups especially and their succinct use of language. Neal Tennant, David Byrne, Bob Dylan, Morrissey, Kirsty Maccoll, Kate Bush, Jerry Seinfeld, Alan Bennett, Bob Newhart, these were the people who introduced me to poetry.

My knowledge of the poetry scene has always been somewhat sketchy. Naturally at college and university we studied a good array of poets, but the canon was always a bizarre array of straight, white old men.

However, as a performer on the national spoken word scene, I find it to be dominated overwhelmingly by much younger poets. Spoken word is a relatively new art form with its basis in YouTube and Slam or battle rap culture. I go to poetry events around the Uk and find myself, at forty five, to be the oldest person in the room.

However I have also been to events where I am the youngest person in the room, particularly those aimed more at page poets. I am often booked at such events as some light relief!

I get up early and I try to do an hour of writing between seven and eight. This is just playing around with words and ideas. I have used the same cartridge pen for everything creative I’ve written since 1995, mostly because I write out everything Long hand. At nine o clock I might do some reading or research, which is just a flimsy pretext to watch comedy or listen to music. At ten o clock I will have a very specific writing session for a couple of hours, working on whatever my project is at the moment. At lunch time I might go to the gym and when I’m walking there, on the machine, or in the sauna or the pool, I’m trying to memorise poetry or my show. The afternoon is for more performance related playing around. This can be the most rewarding time. My hero is the performance artist Laurie Anderson and she suggests being loose, going in to a session with an idea of being creative and playing around with props, ideas, words, performance aspects. From four till six I will work on admin, emails, submissions, online forms, all that kind of stuff.

If I have a gig in the evening I get very nervous and I have to lie on the floor for a bit or shut myself off from the world. If I have to travel to the gig, I’ll listen to music, in particular, Pet Shop Boys, or Sparks. Something that matches the effect I want to have on the audience.

If I haven’t got a gig, then there will be another writing session in the evening, which lasts until around nine PM.

Even after all these years, I love writing. The feel of the pen in my hand, and having bits of paper scattered everywhere with snatches of poem on them, which I then have to somehow glue together, and the really good feeling when you make that connection. My biggest motivating factor I to write something which hopefully I will find funny.

The weather also plays a factor. There’s nothing better than a rainy, gloomy day, and sitting at my desk with the rain streaming down, a window open, and being in the middle of a really creative period. Time seems to stand still and the words flow smoothly.

It’s very rare that I have a day off from writing, rehearsing, performing or admin. I think my work ethic is mainly to know that I’ve done a good job, or as much as I could. I do have lazy days, though!

I would read absolutely anything when I was younger, from Jack London to Dickens, Douglas Adams, biographies of comedians or astronauts, non fiction books about Canadian history or motor racing. I am influenced today mostly by the comedy books, from cartoons such as Garfield, which gave me a wonderful sense of suburban ridiculousness from an early age, to Woody Allen, Les Dawson, Ivor Cutler and the aforementioned Pam Ayres. I didn’t care who wrote the book, so long as it was funny, and this has translated to my work today, the urge to use the wonderful tools language and it’s effects to make people have fun.

I love to read contemporary novels, particularly Haruki Murakami, Ali Smith, David Mitchell and Paul Auster. Recently I read Dan Rhodes’ book, Gold, and I thought it was so funny that I was rationing the number of pages I read a day so as to prolong the process! The writers I like are those that take you away from the present moment but always ground their fantasy in the normal, recognisable world. The Spanish writer, Juan Goytisolo, who passed away last year, wrote the most mind boggling humorous yet political novels which played with language and the form of the novel itself.

I read a lot of contemporary spoken word artists, such as John Hegley, naturally, but also Monkey Poet, Byron Vincent, Vanessa Kisuule, Dominic Berry. It just so happens that too of my best friends are also amazing contemporary poets, Samantha Boarer and Melanie Branton, and both have amazing books published in the last year.

Writing is a form of artistic expression. I believe that most people wish to express themselves in creative terms. My sister paints pictures and plays the flute, and my mother is a flower arranger who dabbles in ikebana. My dad used to paint, too, and my grandad was an inventor who would toil away in his workshop like some kind of comedy mad professor.

I can’t sing, dance or play an instrument, though I have tried all three. Writing and performing are the two things which bring me joy and, in a funny sort of way, help me to make some kind of sense of the world and the human condition.

The moment you pick up a pen and write something, then you’re a writer. There’s no ceremony or procedure. If you want to be a writer, then write.

My advice would be to keep writing and rehearsing, watch other poets, play around, be comfortable with your material, have fun as you’re rehearsing, try to be different, and most of all, write and perform to please yourself first and foremost. Don’t worry about what other people are doing, or what success it might seem they’re having, or what you think the audience might like. Just play your own game. And have fun. If you’re having fun while you’re performing, then the audience will have fun, too. And play around, and be loose.

I spent the majority of last year working on my first purpose written solo show, In the Glare of the Neon Yak, an hour long poem which I performed all over the Uk. I’m currently making a film of this with a film maker friend of mine, who is making his own interpretation of my work. At the same time, i am working with a jazz band to make a new stage version of the show, which is currently being written and will be rehearsed and finally performed probably towards the end of 2019.

My father passed away a couple of months ago, and I have written an hour long poem about his time working in the Australian outback, which I hope to perform just once, accompanied by a friend who is a violinist, it should be a good evening.

My new solo show for the festival and fringe circuit next year will be called Spout, and if is a set of poems and comedy material about the subject of tea.

On top of all this, as if I’m not busy enough, I’ve been working on two collections, one of serious pagey poetry, the other of upbeat comedy poems.

The contents of my 2018 memory jar revealed at last!

So today, being the first day of the year, contained what might be the start of an annual tradition. And no, I don’t mean changing the duvet cover. I do that often, and in fact I have got it down to a fine art. No, this was something much more momentous.

You see, twelve months ago I bought a large glass jar from Poundstretcher, and I decided that every month I would write some positive and uplifting that had happened over the last few weeks, and put it in the jar so that I could empty the contents and read it on the first day of the new year, just to remind me what an amazing year it had been.

So here, for you dear reader, are the contents of my memory jar.

January
Bought a jar and some bits of paper.

February
Remembered that I’d bought a jar and some paper and wrote this on one and put it in the jar.

March
Dusted the jar.

April
Remembered that I had the jar after reading somewhere about buying a jar and filling it with memories, and thinking, gosh, perhaps I’ll go out and buy a jar and do just that, and remembered that I’d already done it.

May
Had some nice soup. Mulligatawny.

June
Thought I’d lost the jar but it turned up more or less where I’d left it.

July
Made some marmalade and almost used the jar to put it in and I stood there for ages in the kitchen thinking, hmm, a jar, I need a jar, and then I looked at the jar and I thought, should I? Should I? But then I remembered that I don’t like marmalade.

August
Got drunk and decided to give the jar a name, and the name I decided to give the jar was Jar Jar Binks.

September
Gary said, the door is ajar! And quick as a flash, using my Lightning Wit, I said, and so is the jar! And he said, what? And I said, what? And then we both just kind of stood there and looked at each other.

October
Still got the jar.

November
Went to a lovely party at Celia’s house and afterwards I thanked Celia for such a nice time no she said, it’s my pleasure, you must come round again some time and we do this all over again, so two hours later I went round and knocked on the door and she was in her dressing gown with a toothbrush sticking out of her mouth and she looked at me and I said, well, you did say, and she just glared at me, looking right mardy. Anyway, it was a nice party.

December
A shaft of early morning low sunshine detracted through the jar and set fire to my Argos catalogue, but luckily I was on hand with a Dr Pepper and managed to quell the conflagration. Decided to throw it away, these things are a death trap, so took the bits of paper out and read them and out them online on my blog.

So there you have it. It’s totally worth doing and you will have at least twenty minutes of fun on New Years Day and then you’ll forget all about it, or else feel really miserable.

Have a great new year!

Why I am Not a Poet

My fellow poets, for some time now it has been evident that I have been moving among you, observing the way that you operate, and infiltrating your performances and book launches. Indeed, I myself have now been performing for almost ten years. I’ve been doing it for so long that I am performing in my sleep. Which is the exact opposite of the usual audience, who sleep while I am performing.

During this time, as I operate slyly and behind the scenes, I have been able to make the casual observer believe, thanks to my jacket, my book of verse, and the fact that I am single, that I am, indeed, a poet too.

Yet on closer inspection, even the most broad minded of literary critics will be inclined to point out that, no, this is not the case. My rhyming couplets have all split up. My found poems were hidden for a reason. Nobody has ever stuck around long enough to tell me what the Rhyme scheme of my poems might be. I have never once worried about enjambement, those I know that those who like it, do go on a bit. And once, I got very conceptual and sent off a blank piece of paper to a poetry journal. They wrote back promptly, congratulating me on my excellent blank verse.

Dear poets, I have moved among you. Yet it has to be said that you live in an environment in which I have started to feel at home. A poetry gathering is the kind of place where, for some reason, I suddenly feel very tough. I know that generally I am quite butch and masculine in any case, but I feel even more so in a poetry crowd. And when I took the money on the door of a comedy poetry night not long ago, I certainly made sure that there was no funny business.

I am the poetry interloper, a phantom who skulks the festivals and fringes, whose name creeps into journals and publications. Even my name helps with my anonymity, it’s such a plain, boring name with none of the more exuberant vowels or letters of the more exciting poet. My name makes me sound like a parking attendant, or a geography teacher. Google my name and the first thing that comes up is a former mayor of Cheltenham.

But I’m proud not to be a poet. And I’m even more proud to be thought of as a poet, usually by people who haven’t read any of my work. The delicious groan at a comedy night when I’m introduced as a poet is a good sign as it means that the audience has already lowered their expectations, after which, anything is a bonus.

So if I am not a poet, then what am I? Yes, there’s an existentialist crisis if ever there was one. But to be honest, I don’t even think about it. I am a. . .. performer . . .an entertainer . . . A performance artist . . I am none of these things. And do you know what? That makes me feel really happy!

Snowed in at Sunrise

This past year has all been about a number of projects, the most rewarding one being the writing, development and touring of my first purpose- written solo show, In the Glare of the Neon Yak. There have been many magical moments along the way, particularly the week in October last year where I sat down and wrote the whole thing, and of course, the joy of taking it to new towns and meeting new people. It’s still an ongoing concern, with a couple of projects in development which I’m really excited about.

But for me, the biggest achievement was learning the whole thing. Previous to this last year, I could not even remember a three minute poem, so it seemed hugely ambitious, initially, to decide to memorise a whole hour show.

For a while, this took up all of my time. I would run over lines constantly, whether at the gym, or swimming, or walking, or even doing other things, the script of the show was with me for several months and I would aim to memorise half a page a day.

One weekend I decided to go and stay with my parents at their bungalow in Brixham, and the only project I had to work on was the show. My parents had a large room at the back of their garage which I use as a rehearsal space, and the idea was just to plant myself in there and continue learning and rehearsing the show. However, by the time I arrived, it was very cold indeed and the idea of spending two days in an unheated room during the coldest temperatures for many years in Devon did not appeal.

And then it started snowing. Snow is unusual in certain parts of Devon. I’ve lived here now for over twenty years and had never once seen it snow and settle. And it was an eerie time. I placed my script on the windowsill of my bedroom at my parents house right next to the radiator, and watched the snow falling, great big clumps of it which soon settled and coveted first the lawn, then the road, all within a very short space of time.

And as it snowed, I worked through the script. It was the first time that I felt comfortable with the material, the first time that I’d realised that yes, it was possible to learn the whole thing. And a very strange sense of wellbeing overtook me, the absolute comfort of being warm, safe, and with my parents, and with a project that seemed to be working, and the snow falling outside, this temperate area of palm trees and bungalows now covered in a thick, white blanket, while my parents chatted amiably and the central heating purred.

I had a gig that night at the Teignmouth Poetry Festival, but it soon became apparent that I would not be going. The roads soon became undriveable and as a dull grey sky lowered over the bay, I realised that I would be staying in Brixham for another night. But nothing seemed to matter, I had my script and my solo show and I had warmth and everything felt so weirdly serene.

I’m sure many people have had such magical memories of a very specific time and place, a moment where everything has combined. It was almost comforting to know that even in this modern age, nature can still affect the way we behave and the things that we do. Within a few months, my father was to pass away, and this adds a further dimension to my memory of the weekend, that it would be one of the last times I would spend with him, and the knowledge that I will never again feel the strange sense of wholeness and absolute family comfort from being with my parents in such a situation.

But most of all, I remember it as the weekend when my show became a reality, when it became clear to me that I would be able to fulfil whatever ambitions I had with it, and while it would then go on to tour all over the country, it would be born right at that moment, in a bedroom in a bungalow in Brixham during the Beast from the East.

Juicy

Happy Christmas one and all! If you’re looking for something to watch, here’s my solo show from last year, Juicy.

It was filmed before a packed audience at Torquay’s iconic Blue Walnut Café, just before I took it to Edinburgh and ended up on BBC Radio Five Live and in the Guardian Newspaper because of it.

It will only be available a few days over the festive period, so have a butchers now before it disappears!

All the best for next year,

Robert

https://youtu.be/xp-mnfrFWM8

A poetry performance risk assessment

Poetry performance risk assessment

Hello, many thanks for allowing me to hold a poetry event on your premesis. Please find below my risk assessment. Just to put your mind at rest, yes, I do have insurance, and this covers every aspect of a poetry performance. I have been performing for ten years and I have never once had to make a claim, though the lady who I hit around the head with the microphone lead that time two years ago did come close. Once we found her glasses, she was somewhat placated, and she says now that the ringing in her ears has subsided.

The way I see it, there really cannot be much that could possibly go wrong. The room will be set up with chairs facing a microphone and it is here that the different poets will stand. We are going to fix the mic lead to the floor with hazard warning tape, because nobody wants a repeat of what happened to that poor waitress at the gig in Barnstaple. There’s still a nasty stain on the wall of the venue where the soup landed. It’s just a shame that the poet on stage at the time was delivering a eulogy for his recently deceased uncle. The moment of silence in between deep, meaningful stanzas, during which the waitress let out a stream of foul obscenities and four letter words, has now become a part of spoken word folklore.

So, as per your instructions, I have pondered on any eventuality which might occur and the risks associated with such.

1- Coma. The blissful or serene nature of our performers may induce audience members into a sleep like state which, under certain circumstances, could mask the onset of a coma. Should an audience member slip into a coma, this might not be realised until a more raucous poet hits the stage. For this reason, long sticks will be employed to prod audience members who show no signs of movement after five minutes.

2- Fainting. One of the risks attendant to poetry nights, particularly those revolving around slam poetry culture, is of excessive gasping from the audience, particularly when faced with such spellbinding poetry and wordplay as to deprive the room of oxygen. Because of this, we will leave the windows open.

3- Fainting (performer). Due to the high energy nature of some slam performers, there is always a risk of fainting due to an inability to slow down and actually breathe. The host will be on stand by at all times with an oxygen cylinder should a performer faint.

4- Injury sustained during a fall. Some of our performers are pretty funny. There is always a risk that audience members will laugh so hard that they fall off their chairs. Due to this, seat belts will be used and audience members will be requested to wear them at all times.

5. A fight. Poetry audience are generally not known for their rowdy behaviour but there is always the possibility that a troublemaker might intervene. Someone, for example, for whom Rhyme scene and syllable counts are more important than the performance of a poem. Who can forget the riot that broke out during Pam Ayres’ last tour? Security guards will be hired at all times to monitor such rowdiness, and poets will be told to make sure that their work conforms to whatever set of strictures they have adopted.

6. Stampede. It is not beyond the realms of possibility that a poetry set or performance is so bad that people will need to extricate themselves from the room as fast as possible. The door to the venue will always be a funnelling point, particularly if the performer is so bad that a hasty removal is the only possible action. The management will therefore insist on trigger warnings not only for content, but also for style and delivery method. Performers who are somewhat flaky in their delivery will be required to announce this in good time. Which brings us to . .

7. Trigger warnings. Lately there has been an overuse of the phrase ‘trigger warnings’ and some poets are issuing trigger warnings for poems about sunflowers and bumble bees, just in case. This has diluted the whole trigger warning system. For this reason, trigger warnings will be issued for every single poem, and if a poem actually warrants a trigger warning, then a hyper trigger warning will be issued. However management understands that just the mention of the phrase ‘trigger warning’ is enough to trigger an audience member, so therefore trigger warnings will also be issued for trigger warnings, with the phrase, ‘just to warn you, I’m about to issue a trigger warning’.

I hope that this risk assessment puts your mind at rest, particularly after the events of last month and the damage sustained to your refrigerator.

An Interview with Shelley Szender

Shelley Szender is a fantastic and funny poet whose work was transcends both comedy and poetry. She has been a regular on the Torbay poetry scene for the last few years and has begun to become known further afield. As well as comedy, she also writes and performs serious pieces of heart and subtlety, pure emotion and beauty. She is also a wonderful person whose company I very much enjoy.

Lately she has been hosting Stanza Extravaganza, using her trademark wit and charm to create a very jovial and happy atmosphere at the Artizan Gallery in Torquay.

The chance to interview her for my website is one that I could not pass up!

How did you first get in to spoken word?

I have always loved Poetry and I use to write as a teenager but would only show my Mum. She suggested I show to my English Teacher but is was the 1980’s and I didn’t want to admit to liking Poetry. Throughout my life I read and wrote poems but it wasn’t until Xmas 2015. I was at my Friends House and I saw you perform with Ian B, Ken B, Ellie D and Lucy Lepchani and I thought they write poetry how I write Poetry. I then went to Poetry Island and was a regular audience member. Then, my friend Sue Cose wrote to you and you wrote me a Poem to go and perform and I did in July 2016 and never looked back. It has been the making of me.

Who are your influences?

I have a number of influences my favourite poems are Rudyard Kipling ‘If’ and Maya Angelou ‘Still I Rise’ I also love Wilfred Owen and Siegfreid Dawson but also John Cooper Clark and Roger Mcgough.

What is your process for writing a new piece?

To write a new piece of Poetry. I can be out running or walking, driving in my car or at work. As soon as I can I write the words down sometimes it becomes a finished piece other times the words sit in a book and then morph into another poem.

Do you have a specific time and place for writing?

I usually write in the evening it helps me relax after work or Sunday morning when the house is lovely and quiet. I am either in my bed or on the sofa.

You’ve done a few poems now based on different parts of Paignton. Where next?

I have another poem about Paignton that needs more work. I have a Poem’s about Cullompton, Bideford, Newton Abbot and a couple on Devon however I do have one brewing about Exeter although it’s at a very embryonic stage.

What does the future have in store for you?

I would love to write as a full time job but I would love to have a try at Presenting. However I am open to offers. I am just waiting for Lady Luck to knock on my door.

An Interview with Jamie Harry Scrutton

Jamie Harry Scrutton is one of my favourite spoken word artists. I first saw him in Manchester at the wonderful Evidently show, where I was co-headlining. Jamie got on stage and performed a poem about Mr Muscle, and it was so utterly unlike anything I’d ever seen. We soon became good friends and I have invited him down to Devon to perform on numerous occasions, where he always wins new friends with audiences with him whimsical musings. Jamie also combines animation with his spoken word, creating a wonderful and very unique mix which has to be experienced.

How did you first get in to spoken word?
I have always had a passion for creative writing but I have never adapted my work in to performance material. I catered my work for publication opposed to physically showcasing them through performance. I have been sending my writing off to various publication outlets since I was twelve years of age. My first submission and first rejection was from The Parragon Publishing House based in London. They responded by letter, reverting me to the book “The Writer and Artists Yearbook” at my local library, where I discovered various other outlets to try and place my work. At the time, I was submitting a Short Story Collection titled “The Complete Short Diary Tales,” which was based on various fictional characters, portraying their life experiences, contained in a diary form. At the age of 15, I fell into Poetry. By the age of 16, I found myself writing rather whimsical verses, which I subsequently began performing at the of 18 and still continue to perform to this day, at the tender age of 29!

When you think of ideas, do you see them initially as poems or animations?
Sometimes, I do write for the purpose of adapting the anecdotes in to Stop Motion Animations but more often, the process is about creating a concept to marry with the character, which would materially be based on observational life.

How long does it take to make an animation?
It depends. I would say between 2-4 weeks. My first Animation which I created titled “MANBUN” took me just over a week to make. The process was consistant 12 hour shifts, delved in to the art of making.

How did you learn the processes to make an animation?
The process came naturally, really. I wanted to create a Short Film which would be different to what I originally would create. I wanted to represent my Fine Art craftmnaship and produce a Film which would visually tell the narrative through a literal fictious character. This is where “MANBUN” rooted from. I filmed a side profile of me narrating the Anecdote and then Sketch by Sketch, I traced over the video to make the Short Film. In the end I must have produced apporximately 900 sketches. I am still learning, adapting and progressing the Art of Animation through to this day. I always birth new processes, in order to be different from my previous Animation.

Who are your influences?
Pam Ayres is definately an influence. I am always inspired by life, pretty much all of the time. Obviously Robert Garnham is a huge inspiration and a very good friend of mine too!

Do you think of the character first, or the story which they tell?
Usually, the story would be the seed and the character would be the plant. I would take a situation from everyday life and then create a character which would then morph the whole narrative of the Anecdote. More often, it could be the other way around.

What does the future have in store for you?
I will be releasing a DVD titled “The Animations of Jamie H Scrutton – Volume One” sometime in January 2019, which contains all 12 Animations of mine. I will be releasing an Animated Music Video I have produced for a brilliant Spoken Word Artist and very good friend of mine named Lence. The Animated Music Video is titled “Heard” and we will be releasing it on the 8th January 2019 at Kino 101, based in London. Another Animation of mine titled “My Husband Has Booked Our Funeral” has been selected to be screened at The Horror On Sea Film Festival on the 13th January 2019, based in Southend On Sea. I am in talks of creating a comedic Music Video for another good friend of mine in the new year. Also, I am planning to take a bit of time out from spring 2019, in order to create new future projects. I am planning to visit Leicester again and refilm three of my student Short Films at the end of 2019 in commemoration of 10 years working in Film. One of the Films will be “Havisham,” where I will be reprising the role of the deluded Miss Havisham. They will be a twist of Animation in all three pieces and the processes I have learned within film over the past decade!