Brilliant spoken word from the rudely marginalised, hosted by PBH's spoken word artistic director Fay Roberts. Wordcraft from "the ones without a voice."
Apparently some authority had made the unfortunate comment that there aren't enough poets of a certain calibre for mainstream programming to prominently feature a broader range of identities. And so this series, running on the Fringe for years, was born, and will run "until there's no need for the show." Intriguing position for a performer as runaway success of the event would spell its demise. I like it.
Either the general standard is amazing, or I happened to stumble in unplanned on a really good night. This Monday afternoon platter of two line poets, two rehearsing BBC show prepping open mic talents, plus a confident guest poet was simply outstanding. Leanne Moden and Hannah Davies were particularly fantastic. Roberts proved an appropriately self-deprecating host, intrigued by all the sounds that an audience makes.
Poems covered the whole human condition. Locks on bridges, and how their hard, cold embrace is not the love one feels. Subtle allusory art, with fish-faced merfolk and their impact on the consumer world. If a woman is the sum of her dolls. Alcoholism as a car crash.
Great poems delivered in an oddly similar, singing note that lingers on the ends of the lines. Poems from memory and phone and paper; "Oh, I have this one in my head."
Great venue, the mini-ballroom at the Banshee Labyrinth. A hidden under-bridgey arch in a aptly named labyrinthine pub off Royal Mile on the steep Niddry street.
Stop by for some heartfelt poetry: other voices on stage, the most human noises in the audience.