Wednesday, 21 March 2007

StAnza Poetry Festival 2007

Well, it's Wednesday and I better write lest I forget. Let's see if my literary skills have improved somewhat since my deeply inspiring weekend.
You know what, it's actually the Wednesday after the last Wednesday I wrote. Infact, it's actually Thursday, being 00.44 in the morning. But I've had a great evening filled with Tapas, good red wine, god awful red wine, and good company.
It's time to start attending to the blog.
Yep. STANZA. St Andrews. Scotland's Poetry Festival. Fucking brilliant. (sorry mum!)
But it really was. From John Hegley's audience offending to Dean Parkin's bloody lovely humouristic poems in Aitkins Bar - Poetry, Pie and a Pint which I missed out on cos too busy drawing - oops did I forget to admit I was 'Artist in Residence' for the weekend? Well I was. And though they put me up in lush appartments in the David Russell Student Accomodation with all the Eco Friendly Mod Cons, I failed to have anyone to accompany me into the paid for double bedroom with facilities. Hah, perhaps because I didn't ask anyone back!
Enough of that nonsense anyway - no time, no time!
Anyway, even though poetry goes back to basic sex and death, I've decided I'm just going to tell it how it was. And it was about living, and experiencing, challenging, loving, missing, and it was more, and it was that, just that. I got to sip Mark Strand's whisky, chat with Alastair Reid, eat John Hegley's taco shells and sit while he drew me in retaliation for the night before; offend a choreographer who I found offensive; get a pirie moulie skaar of raan aboard the Reaper, sing a seil calling song with a girl who both inspired and terrified me, speak music and draw sound, and hmm, I guess I had a really top weekend. Beautiful weather. I do think I need my own 'caddy' though to carry all my canvases as it were. But secretly, there's nothing quite like being invited to draw at an event you would normally pay to go see. Although, I would love for Aidan Moffat to read his stuff there. If they think John Hegley's offensive, wait till they taste the sounds of Mr Arab STrap!

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