ANTI CAPITALIST RESISTANCE CULTURAL GROUP PRESENT DODO MODERN POETS

 

 ACR Cultural Group present: Dodo Modern Poets

30 November 2022 7.30pm – 9.00pm via zoom

Dodo Modern Poets was formed in 1989, its name a play on the famous imprint, Penguin Modern Poets, which published poetry in affordable paperbacks.

Dodo has presented emerging and established poets through London residencies at the Poetry Cafe, Covent Garden and the King & Queen, Fitzrovia and at festivals and events throughout the UK and Ireland.

Prior to Dodo, Pete and Patric founded Ragged Trousered Cabaret, together with other activists from the labour and union movement. RTC was established in 1984 to support workers during the Thatcher years. It received social bookings from Labour Party branches, left organisations and national unions, including print workers’ union Sogat.

RTC organised benefit shows featuring poets, comedians, actors and musicians. During the miners’ strike RTC repeatedly took performers, supporters and supplies to Snowdown Colliery in Aylesham, Kent. One acclaimed performer was 15-year old Ellie Bence, a miner’s daughter from the village. She wrote songs and poems about the hardships and pride of the community.

The group took part in Pit Dragon, a day-long performance at Neasden power station to halt the entry of coking trucks. During the Wapping dispute it organised an Alternative Royal Wedding Show on Wapping Green opposite Murdoch’s plant to protest the sacking of 6,000 workers. The Anti Apartheid Choir brought their voices to the Wapping show from the 24- hour picket line outside the South African Embassy. RTC had taken performers to the anti-apartheid picket line on many occasions.

RTC supported seafarers, the NHS and other workers during disputes. It performed for Arts For Labour at the Labour Party conference and for Militant at a Royal Albert Hall conference.

Many RTC performers went on to continued success – the alumni includes Jazz singer Barb Jungr, Jo Brand, John Hegley, Mike Myers, Denise Black, Harry Enfield, Jenny Eclair, Marxist magician Ian Saville, Phil Jupitus, Maria Tolly, Jenny Le Coat, Joolz, Owen O’Neil, Surfing Dave, swing group Some Like It Hot and Skint Video.

Performing will be Patric Cunnane. Patric’s poems have appeared in publications including The Guardian, The New European, The Morning Star, Wapping Post, US title Atlanta Review, Poetry News and Dreich. Several poems appear in Cornish anthology Time for Song. Work appears in Welling Up and Can You Hear The People Sing?, two anthologies from Palewell Press and the anthology Reflections, published by South West London Poets in October 2022. Poems have been broadcast on Radio 4 and Croydon Radio.Patric’s latest collection The Ghost of Franz Kafka is published by Palewell Press. Two further collections, Looking for Eden and Baltimore are available from the author. Patric.poet@zen.co.uk

Pete Murry. Pete has been writing and performing poetry for many years. Once he taught in a North West London College which is now being demolished to make way for unaffordable housing. He’s also a painter and sculptor, with work exhibited by Free Painters and Sculptors and Brent Artists. His writings can be found at http://quadraoptica.blogspot.com/ and in a collection entitled The Glowing Nightsoil Of The Concealed Emu, obtainable from  him at <yrrumuk@googlemail.com

Sue Johns. Sue originates from Cornwall where she began performing as a punk poet in the 1980s. She has published three pamphlets and two full collections, the most recent Hush (Morgan’s Eye Press 2011) , Rented:Poems on Prostitution and Dependency (Palewell Press, 2018) and a new pamphlet Track Record  (Dempsey & Windle, 2021). She was highly commended in the Prole competition and the Amnesty International competition. She has an MA in Writing Poetry from Newcastle University/ The Poetry School. Her work has appeared in anthologies including Can You Hear the People Sing (Palewell Press, 2020), Alter Egos (Bad Betty, 2019) Welling Up (Palewell Press, 2019) and Time for Song, Contemporary Cornish Poetry ( Morgan’s Eye Press, 2009), Ver Prize anthology, 2022 and magazines including Poetry News, The Morning Star, Southbank Poetry, Dreich, The Atlanta Review, Prole, The Alchemy Spoon, Brittle Star, The Big Issue and London Grip.

Organised by ACR

VIRTUAL DODO 10

 WELCOME TO VIRTUAL DODO TEN -  NOVEMBER 2022

 

Welcome to the 10th virtual show from Dodo Modern Poets. This programme takes our tally to nearly 260 performances and contributions since launching in April 2020. We thank everyone for continuing to provide such engaging and interesting work.

We’re delighted that viewers take time to enjoy the shows and offer comments.  Your continuing support is of immense value.

The latest show begins with two tremendous featured acts, Sue Johns and PR Murry,  followed by 16 open mic contributors.

We hope you enjoy the show and  welcome your feedback.

Best wishes

Patric Cunnane

PR Murry

DODO MODERN POETS

01303 243868

 

 

SUE JOHNS

 

Sue Johns originates from Cornwall where she began performing as a punk poet in the 1980s. She has published three pamphlets and two full collections, the most recent Hush (Morgan’s Eye Press 2011) , Rented:Poems on Prostitution and Dependency (Palewell Press, 2018) and a new pamphlet Track Record  (Dempsey & Windle, 2021). She was highly commended in the Prole competition and the Amnesty International competition. She has an MA in Writing Poetry from Newcastle University/ The Poetry School

 

Her work has appeared in anthologies including Can You Hear the People Sing (Palewell Press, 2020), Alter Egos (Bad Betty, 2019) Welling Up (Palewell Press, 2019) and Time for Song, Contemporary Cornish Poetry ( Morgan’s Eye Press, 2009), Ver Prize anthology, 2022 and magazines including Poetry News, The Morning Star, Southbank Poetry, Dreich, The Atlanta Review, Prole, The Alchemy Spoon, Brittle Star, The Big Issue and London Grip.

 

Sue has written and performed theatrical monologues and worked on numerous art/poetry collaborations. She’s a veteran of the performance poetry circuit and has performed at readings and festivals around the country including the Edinburgh Festival, St Ives Literary Festival, Merton Festival, Wimbledon Festival, Hastings Poetry Festival and Canterbury Festival.

 

https://www.suejohns.co.uk

PR MURRY

 

Peter Murry has been writing and performing poetry for many years.  Once he taught in a North West London College which is now being demolished to make way for unaffordable housing. He’s also a painter and sculptor, with work exhibited by Free Painters and Sculptors and Brent Artists.

Working with Patric Cunnane he edits a video blog for Dodo Modern Poets at  http://dodovidpoets.blogspot.co.uk/. 

His writings can be found at http://quadraoptica.blogspot.com/ and in a collection entitled The Glowing Nightsoil Of The Concealed Emu, obtainable from  him at <yrrumuk@googlemail.com> and his  poems have been published in poetry magazine Dreich and included in environmental anthology, Welling Up (Palewell Press, 2019)

Peter was a member of performance groups Worthless Words and Tongue Circus. He was a founding organiser of ground-breaking poetry outfit Apples and Snakes, now celebrating its 40^th anniversary.  Latterly he joined Patric Cunnane and others in setting up Ragged Trousered Cabaret, which arose from the labour and trade union movement. He is co-organiser with Patric of Dodo Modern Poets.

He is obsessed with his compost heap, but his work continues to involve birds, beasts, menswear and ecosocialist politics.

Julie Stevens

Frank Crocker 

Django Moon 

Christine Eales  

Stuart Larner 

Graham Buchan 

Laurie Pocock

TEXT

 

Patric Cunnane

 STRANGERS IN A CAFE

Rosie greets me as I stir my coffee

I’m tempted to ignore her

But she speaks in a sad voice

She’s lonely and wants to talk

 

She has problems with her bank

Her father won't see her

And refuses to say why

She has a sweet smile and seems lost

 

There are lonesome spots in the universe

We all fall into now and then

 

Rosie rises to leave-

Says goodbye several times

I goodbye back

Two strangers making contact

Watching the day grow sunnier

 

Tomorrow she’s having her hair dyed blonde

You will look so beautiful, I wish I’d said

 

 Max Fishel 

Loraine Sacks

                           WET  FLANNELS...

They're certainly queueing up to say 'I've been there and I've done it'!
    they’ll be measured in history’s annals – like wet flannels, they all fit!

          the Vox Populi unanimous, now chronicle each gutless nitwit,
                and the whole globe are sitting tight, with their teeth grit;
                      they know all of these self-protagonist braggers,
                            await their demise, à la vieux Roman daggers!

 

Emile Sercombe

POETRY AT ELETO

 

In this late Octobre when the trees in switch colour fold

and tempests drive leaves soaring into piles of gold

for kids  and dogs and spadgers to kick and dance in

 

Then from ilke hamlets of Kentenland and een

from oure capital do poets come to be seen

and share their joyful words at Eleto chocolate cafe

by Saint Thomas’s Cathedral of blessed memory

in Caunterbury

 

And especially from Mitcheham Sue Johns has comen

And Patric Cunnane hot foot from distant Folke-stone

Frank Crocker feted poet of Londone

and great wordsmiths Aisha Celestino and Luigi Marchini

who live in towne

 

Yes

Welcome all poets and brilliant audience alle

To our festivalle

But now no silence more

Let us beginne

HURRAH HURRAH HURRAH!

 

Lantern Carrier 

Identity 3 mins  

 

Life can be a pageantry of exotic colours, or a  

Kaleidoscope of ebony and injustices, in which tribe  

And culture will inevitably help shape my destiny.  

 

Who am I? I am a strand on the sitar of the music we  

Call Love, yet I can only walk with the moon in darkness.  

Creating chasms and divisions, like a sliced tomato; the huge  

Waves of giant predators, lash me against rocks with hostile intensity.  

 

In this illusionary chimera of life, identity embraces my  

Moral compass and political persuasions … my religious  

Beliefs, memories, values and life-choices from Nubian Kings  

And Queens, which may very well contradict that of others.  

 

Who am I? I’m paired with the duality of Light and  

Darkness, cold and warmth, walk with twinkling  

Stars, even while dancing with the shadows of  

Night, leaving an Eden of painful scars in my emotions.  

 

My mind’s reactionary, and I tussle with the agony  

Of prejudices perceived, attempt to deal with the  

Weight of my burden of labels, engrossed in pain, while  

Insecurity and loneliness, slice my heart with scimitars.  

 

Who am I? I am the Light I long to see, and change, for  

Sure, begins with me. I struggle to rise from oppression; to  

Improve my angle of vision, my environment, my darker impulses;  

The turbulent forces I can’t control, in my quest for happiness.  

 

Solitude evades me like the tail of a dog; I’m forced to  

Reminisce on the wisdom of the ancients, so I’ll be free.  

Theirs was a golden Path of dauntless courage, of Light  

And humanity; of decorum and beauty … of selfless love.  

 

Their sacrifice spoke to me of the glories of man; his ancestral  

Wisdom, enfolding and insulating my Heart with beauty. Yet  

I was called bad names, saw the indignity of kindred spirits --  

My women suffering the depravity of self-worth; of self-esteem.  

 

Shaped by life, I, a wayfaring vessel on tempestuous  

Seas, wandered alone, as clouds dispersed from the  

Heavenly blue, no place to call my home; stumbling  

In a hollow maze of chaos and confusion.  

 

Who am I? I’m a Queen molded by the Weaver of Time,  

Kept playing in mud like babies, just to get dirty again. I  

Was once pristine, like new plates, now I’m stained and dirty,  

Tempted by the residue of life’s culinary flavour, of illusionary meals.  

 

I am a child woven from an embryo, carrying seeds and  

Blueprints of a DNA, going all the way back to ancestral  

Africa. I marvel at the intricacies of birth, while living in dread of  

Demise, to an invisible ghost, pulling me to the end of my summers.  

 

 Alas! Like the deer that runs after its own musk, not  

Realizing that it comes from its innate self, I have forgotten  

That golden Light within from whence I came, to ascend the  

Winding Path of righteousness, in order to find my way Home.  

 

 

 

Joseph Healy

 

Vin au Bord de la Mer

            (Wine by the sea)

 

The granite harbour walls of Folkestone

Flowing to a shapely lighthouse at the end now a drinking spot

Day trippers sitting in July sun look out on chalk white cliffs

And foam flecked waves

France visible on a clear day but a haze obscures the view.

So near and yet so far

 

The once great ferry station a heritage site

Trackless and home to fish and chips, burgers and tacos

Platforms and signs still pointing to vanished trains from France

The London and Paris hotel like a dowager who’s seen better days

Overlooks the harbour mudflats exposed

Like the station the ebbing tide has left beauty bereft of industry

 

I sit glass in hand surveying the restless sea

Seeing fleeing refugees from the guillotine

Baroness Orczy and Dickens seeking English common sense

Not French zeal and anarchy

And Hogarth’s Gate of Calais with its mendacious French friar and hungry troops eyeing the Roast Beef of Olde England

 

A plaque on the lighthouse remembers the opening of the harbour by the emissary of France when steamers and trains disgorged their passengers by the briny walls

La Manche obscured by the mists of Brexit but French wine still welcome

Below a border agency boat ready to take to sea to repel unwanted migrants

No haven here.

 

Who now the zealous and wild driven by the furies of Farage?

Scion of the Hugenots driven from France

A bottle yes but no sommeliers 

bon mots but no carers

The Folkestone Gate truly closed though the waves crash against it

The English vicar and thirsty sailors hanker for an aperitif

But no boats sail from France and the Continent’s cut off!

 

John Sephton

haunted realms

 

ode to Vladimir Putin

 

Steal yourself away

in your fetid kingdom,

the haunted realms

of your dank mausolea.

 

Crawl among the spectres

of the unknown soldiers,

journey through the twilight

to your darkness at the edge.

 

 

Kevin Morris

The Thunder Spoke:

The thunder spoke
And I awoke
To heavy rain.
I lay awake
Pondering on lakes
And climate change.

I took pleasure
In rainy weather
As a child
But this wild
Storm warns
Of change.