anti-slam newsletter October 2013
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Editor: David Graham Proof editor: Carlin McLellan Photographer: Genevieve Carr Thank you to all contributors. My inbox is like a carnival ride of sweet hijinks.
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Contents Editorial 4 Utopia by Amelia Filmer-Sankey 5 Next Time Word Hurl Anti-Slam Becomes Lame and Uncommitted 6 And now a word from Cluff Daddy 7 Judges Pick: Stranger Danger by Liegha Tew 8 Word Hurl Anti-Slam Gets Creepy Photographs by Genevieve Carr 9 Article: Australian Poetry Slam 2013 Champion Jesse Brand 10 Hurler in Focus — Oliver Pink Untitled Series 13 Article: How Pleasant to Receive Your Letter By Genevieve Carr 17 Article: “The Loft and Its Demise” & Many Thanks by Timothy Grant 18 Posters of the Past 20 Just a little bit extra — two poems by Clark Gormley Lines but no themes Train of thought 21 SUBMIT YOUR WORK 22 Other News and Events 23 Contact 24
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Editorial
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hen I got home from Word Hurl Anti-Slam gets Creepy, I was covered in a green goo substance. It was great to see the everyone at their worst while the countries finest emerging and experimental artists, writers and performers walked past to their festival opening. Sitting in my garret, staring across the vista of Newcastle Harbour and the city leading out the suburbs, occasionally catching a whiff of bushfire smoke, I am thinking about not a lot really. This month has rolled by in a series of heat-wave deliriums. At the times when my mind was actually in my brain, I would focus, just long enough to look at my screen and see a series of fantastic works unfold before me.
thanks must be given to Genevieve Carr, for her photos and creative support and the Carlin McLellan for his help, guidance and keen eye. I am enjoying making this newsletter. I hope people enjoy getting it. I think it is a great conduit for us lowly squires to practice getting our work out there and creating a trace of the things that happen at the antislams. If anyone wants to be involved, to contribute, to destroy, don’t be afraid to contact me. I would really like to get some more visual pieces to help make the pages stand out. So if you’ve got some doodles you wanna share with the world, do it!
why should the publications? I don’t think this will result in the contents being lower in quality. In fact, I am hoping the freedom brings out some really amazing, new and exciting stuff. So have a second look in your notebook/computer and see if there is anything, be it a short story, poem, blog or tax receipt, and put it up for being in the newsletter. Otherwise, you’ll just get more articles written by me and editorials pining for submissions. And none of us want that.
DG
The editorial criteria for this publication is so long as you manage to send it to me in time Many thanks to those who for the next edition. If there’s not have sent me things to me this space in the current one, then it month. Amelia Filmer-Sankey, can be in the next one. The reason Cluff Daddy, Leigha Tew, Jesse why I am being so lax, is like this is Brand, Oliver Pink, Timothy Grant an extension of word hurl and the and Clark Gormley. Another performances aren’t screened, so 4
Look at this son, see this, 15¢! For a Burger! Now I don’t want you to just eat this without thinking about what you’re doing. Now look here, see these gerkins, sliced by a machine son, a machine not men, all the leisure time we’re going to win our selves with diners like these. This is the food of the future! Mark my words. And that’s what’s going to make us the best nation on this earth. The way we slice our cheese and gerkins.
amelia is an ex-pat novacastrian living in canberra. she is part of pilcrow press an independent small publisher https://www.facebook.com/PilcrowPress she publishes micro-fiction and micro-poetry online at: http://prowlings.com/
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NEXT TIME... becomes Lame and uncommitted Grrrrroooooaaaaannnn...It's that time in the lunar cycle again... poetry...spoken word.... open mic... blah blah blah..... no tools.... I mean, rules.... sweet hey.... good...do.
Thursday, November 7 @ 6pm. The Terrace Bar, 529 Hunter St. Newcastle
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nd now a word from Cluff Daddy
Summertime in Spring. The busker's hand soars. Unexplained emotions with unexplainable questions. It's okay for you to love me, to shower me, so long as I never return the favor. It's okay for you to be spiritual, so long as I conform. Am I the man in the box? Am I buried in my shit? What kind of a person walks into someones house, into someone's room, and steals all of their money? What kind of a friend screws everybody around you, walks into your room, and steals all of your money? I am my brother's keeper, but that's because I was unkept to begin with. I'm starting to feel like I should be putting more effort into this, but being censored once has already left me feeling unmotivated. Bad vibes kill good vibes faster than good vibes killing bad vibes. And the hand that busks gets bitten by those it feeds. 
- phone rings - Oi Adam, I'm going to have the newsletter finished tomorrow morning so I will need your final thing by then.
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I don't know how to tell you this David... but my dog ate my computer You are the mould that grows on bread Hello Wordhurlers, this was the beginning of a post-modern style column where David and I exchanged increasingly philosophical yourmum jokes in email format. I spent three hours coming up with replies that were neither funny or very creative. I think I must've been mislead by ancient forms of media about how eating an apple for breakfast would somehow give me wisdom & knowledge. Even the alphabet soup I had for lunch couldn't conjure a meaningful sentence. So I tried forming the word "inspiration" and swallowing it in the hope I would become what I ate, but the ensuring attempts of describing how inspiration left me were scraping more than just the bowels of my creativity. I was depressed. Morrow Park had burned down. No one wanted to help do anything for TINA this year. No one wanted to move into my house. The girl I'm seeing is just another nutcase waiting to happen. And Tony Abbott became PM. Last night in frustration I closed all the
doors in the hallway and made sure no light could get in. Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there. Wondering, fearing, doubting, feeling unoriginal, thinking unoriginal thoughts that everyone else had thought before a thousand times already. Well maybe the deep rooted racial inferiority complex from growing up adopted in a rural community was original. Even despite meeting my biological family years later and finding out they're all high-functioning geniuses, the only thing I could still think of when trying to put a finger on why there's a bottle neck between my mind and my brain is that I'm not white enough and never will be white enough to function in western society. So in some vague version of reality, I am the spores growing in your white bread. The air oxidating your archaic red apple. And the little star fucking up the cross in your blue night sky. And maybe I'm a poor dramatist. And maybe I'm a creative & social inferior not worth your attention. Maybe a normal person could've written this more eloquently in two hours instead of the four or so it's taken me to write this so far. Maybe they would have a point. Maybe I have no point. Maybe that is my point. Housemate walking past: "Mr Adam's command center. Taking over the world." Maybe not? 7
Judges Pick Leigha Tew Hi, my name is Leigha Tew. I'm studying Bible and Geography Teaching at Avondale College of Higher Education. I am an artist at heart, writer by hand, lover of fiction and international citizen. My favourite things include: Sitting under waterfalls in the bush, walking in the rain, my people, creativity, haystacks, and Doctor Who. My least favourite things include: bright sunshine, rocks and steps made out of rocks. I started writing in school to make sense of a world I didn't understand. Stranger Danger Stranger Danger, Could it be any plainer? The sermon preached by many parents of society, we have become weary of the humans around us. The sinister surrounds us all. What has the butcher been baking in his basement? What skeletons lie in the secret spaces of her subconscious? Why did my classmate so delight in reading a Cannibal's diary out to the common room?
We are suspicious of everyone. "Ulterior motives abound, none of which are pure. They might never be found, so you can never be sure." If I truly believed that I would have missed out on so much. Discussing globalisation with a shop keeper in the back streets of Venice. Playing peek-a-boo at 3am with a Toddler in a Turkish airport. Making a best friend, by simply trusting that the person behind the profile on the other side of the internet, meant it. Chatting to a 90 year-old man who kept our country coal powered by driving trains during World War II. Meeting a fellow Australian on a flight to Israel seeking to discover her Palestinian roots. These micro-moments of life have taught me the truth. What are you missing out on by being afraid of the potentially creepy? What adventures in life could you instead be seeking? Take nothing for granted, hold nothing back. Buck up and breathe in. Don't you dare lack the courage to be human. 8
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Australian Poetry Slam 2013 Champion Jesse Brand From October 11th to 13th, Sydney Harbour was overrun by the nations finest spoken word poets for the Word Travels Festival. Poets performed in hotel rooms, in tunnels near circular quay, the rocks and the opera house. The main events, the finals of the Australian Poetry slam saw two Newcastle representatives Gillian Swain and Jesse Brand battle it out against a variety of performers all with their own unique styles, topics and brilliance in the NSW final. Jesse proceeded to the national final and then in a blaze of glory took out the entire competition scoring a chance of a lifetime spoken word tour of Asia. I caught up with Jesse for a night of drunken shenanigans and an interview. Just kidding. We did this through email. Hey Jesse, For those of us not at the Australian Poetry Slam festival, what happened that fateful weekend? On Friday night I competed in state, I was picked out of the hat last and performed a poem about my brother. When the scores were tallied it turned out I’d tied with a poet named Zhohab Khan and so we flipped a coin and I started the tiebreaker with a poem called ‘Dear Mrs Miller’. I ended up winning by one tenth of a point, which meant I could go to nationals at the Sydney Opera House that Sunday with Thomas Hill, an awesome poet that placed first in state. At nationals I met a lot of amazing poets who all had a lot to say about the poetry scenes in their own hometowns. That morning had a huge anxiety attack and almost couldn’t leave the house but talking to my sister, Naomi and a supportive member of Word Travels called Lorin, I managed to force myself to go. I did ‘Dear Mrs Miller’ first and progressed to the final round (with the rest of the top 5), and then I did the 10
poem about my brother, ‘Joshua’, and I told myself no matter what happens I’ll be happy as long as I say this poem. ‘Joshua’ scored the only 10s I’d seen in the competition. After announcing a highly commended for Abe Nouk, and second place award for Martin Ingle, Miles Merrill, founder of Word Travels, announced that I was the 2013 Australian National Slam champion. I managed to assemble what parts of my mind weren’t completely blown away by this point for my encore performance, ‘Oblivion’, which I’d first placed in Newcastle with. When I first performed ‘Oblivion’ at regionals, I’d forgotten half the poem and jumped around lines, occasionally staring in terror at the audience and luckily everybody had thought that I was pausing for dramatic effect, so it felt good to tie off the entire competition with ‘Oblivion’. That’s intense! What a lifetime experience. So that means you’re gonna be taking a tour of Asia, do you know exactly what that will entail? Well, I’ll be working on hour-long sets for The Bookworm International Literary Festival, in Beijing, Chengdu and Suzhou, and again performing in the Ubud Readers and Writers Festival in Bali. So it will probably involve a lot of poorly recited Mandarin for “please I go to worm festival you make book taxi happen a thousand thanks” and a lot of very confused and annoyed Chinese people. When did you first get into slam poetry? I think I started watching Youtube videos of Saul Williams in high school, after I’d started to get into his music. I like a lot of slam poets now, but none more than him. Had you done much performance poetry before you entered the slam in Newcastle? I’d never performed poetry in my life. I’d read a poem to my friend before we went, but it wasn’t exactly a ‘performance.’ I’d done a lot of musical performances and a tiny bit of drama, but that’s about it.
So what’s your connection with Novacastria? When I was born in Mona Vale Hospital on Sydney’s Northern Beaches, my parents were like “nah, man, not ghetto enough. Where be the thugs at?” and took my sister and I to Lake Macquarie, where my brother was born a few years later. I’d lived in the Newcastle area up until I did my HSC and got into UNSW in Sydney, so I moved back. I still visit a lot because my parents still live there. What do you study at UNSW? I study a Bachelor of Arts majoring in Literature and International Relations. What inspires you to write and perform poetry? I think every artist of any kind knows the urge that builds up inside of you to create when you’re inspired, particularly when you’re feeling overwhelming emotions. I’ve always felt that. What I’ve also always felt is a need for constant attention so that explains the ‘performance’ part. How does this come out in your pieces? (i.e. tell us a bit about your poems) Well, I wrote ‘Oblivion’ while thinking about someone I loved very much and haven’t seen for a long 11
time, but I wasn’t able to really talk to anyone about it, so being able to articulate my feelings in poetry and share them in this form with people is incredible. ‘Dear Mrs Miller’ is something I wrote while feeling inspired and experimental. A lot of performance poetry asks the audience to empathise and sympathise, but ‘Dear Mrs Miller’ is spoken by a man, trying to speak to the mother of his childhood friend, who he has influenced into drugs and eventual overdose. The line ‘never forgive me’ is probably the most important. This character doesn’t deserve your sympathy but still deserves your attention. It took me 5 years to actually write ‘Joshua’. My little brother went through some pretty heavy bullying in high school and the schools weren’t very helpful or understanding of his situation, they kind of just victim-blamed and expected it to disappear. So a week before nationals I wrote a poem that was closer to me than anything I’d ever written, and something I’m glad I’d finally said. When I won nationals my brother was the first person I called.
Who are your favourite slam/spoken word poets? Obviously Saul Williams. He’s just stupidly talented. I’ve also always said that Shira Erlichman from New York is one of my favourites, she never fails to blow my mind. What do you think is the main difference between spoken word poetry and poetry that gets put into books? The same thing that’s different between a novel and a film – you experience them differently. Performance poetry allows you to experiment in different ways. Instead of ergodic typography, I do things like vocal effects. The rhythm, flow and musicality (sforzando, silenzio, crescendo, accelerando) of the piece are also more apparent than the rhythm and metre in most written poetry.
DG
http://australianpoetryslam.com/
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Hurler In FOcUS: OLIVER PINK Oliver Pink is a gentleman Novocastrian who has been telling tales since before he could write, composing poems long before he could type, and acting almost constantly since his youth whether he’s actually on stage at the time or not. With a mind that likes to submerge itself in the murky waters of knowledge and a gaze that is turned perpetually into the keyholes of locked chests buried deep inside the human heart, Oliver’s writing is rarely free of darkness and almost never has a happy ending. Except that one thing he wrote about clouds; that was nice I guess.
******************************************************* A dream can be like a crack of light that rests on the horizon, a glimmer of hope to be pursued and guide you on your path. But a hopeless dream that you cannot achieve is an eternal grey cloud bound to you by an intangible tether. You can ignore it and pretend it isn’t there, but it will be forever hanging over you – on your darkest days it will grow heavy and sink to the ground, and you will walk with a hunch. Be careful what you dream.
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********************************************************* There is something terribly compelling about a robotic version of someone you know or love – the similarities and prompting of memories without any of the soul or spark of life. You may even speak to them, as you would the person they represent – but they feel nothing. They just stare at you. They are cold. They are robots.
********************************************************* You do not fear death; your true fear is life – In death you find peace at the end of the strife. You’re afraid to be nothing – just one of the sheep, a pointless existence preceding the sleep. Your fear of a failure is holding you back, from clutching your greatness and resisting the black. Don’t succumb to dread, to your worries aplenty, or face the true horror of a life filled with empty. Embrace your creation with all of your power and live every minute like it’s your final hour!
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********************************************************* I don’t feel excitement anymore, not for the future. In the heat of the moment I can become energized. In the heat of the moment I can be happy and thrilled and sassy and chilled and angry and psyched and crabby and hyped, fight or flight in pure delight. I shout I scream I sing my dreams,
I run I fly I soar and glide, I moan I weep I yearn for sleep, I spill my guts from caverns deep. But all this joy is an unexpected fire cracker, a blast of colour and noise that shocks and dazzles the senses, then quickly fades away into empty air. It is all very sudden, there is no buildup, no prior surge of adrenaline – just a deafening ‘BANG’ followed by silence. Silence. Oh the silence. The world used to be an infinite canvas of possibilities, life a never-ending ocean of glowing water that stretched forever beyond the horizon. It has shrunken now. There is no life beyond the moment. Nothing exists until it stands before me. The canvas has been framed and hung on the wall, cut down and reframed with each passing day. The ocean of lights is a dimly lit puddle that wets my ankles and makes me cold. I don’t want the world to be small and fragile, 15
I don’t want to be a giant whose every step may break something, Standing statuesque in a city made of human paper. I want to be small. I want to be overwhelmed. I want to be lost in a world of giant things. When did the fire become embers? When did the titans become tiny?
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The Loft and Its Demise A lot of people have been very upset about its closure for several years now and understandably so. This venue is said to have “immense popularity amongst people 12-25…of ALL backgrounds (in Newcastle)” and has won several awards over the past few years, whether that be for Local Government or for its Aboriginal Youth Programme. There are a number ex-patrons (myself included) who can speak highly of what it does, and from what I can gather it has made very decent efforts to reach those ostracised from main-stream society. Though results like that are good for any service, they are always trumped by the same thing: money. In its official statement, Newcastle City Council says “the city is…(approaching) its challenges (responsibly)…and the (new) budget has…a focus on reducing costs and streamlining services.” Amongst those measures taken will be the closure of the Loft. Given that the council owes more than $64 million, it makes sense for it to cut costs wherever possible. Mr Saddington of Broadmeadow gave readers a sharp slap in the face when he pointed this out back in June. “Out of 29,000 people aged 12-25 in Newcastle LGA,” he wrote, “the Loft has about sixty regular members.” With a loss of “$609,000 over 2012/13”, this translates to the “council subsidising each member about $11,000 per annum.” If the council were to (continue to fund the Loft as is), he said, (it would) cost $7.7 million over the next ten years. Unfortunately, the die have already been cast; the ominous and final sounding bell of resolution is ringing out loud and clear, so to speak. The council made its call months ago and in the time since the Loft has been winding down. As it stands now, what staff do remain are merely there to ensure the closure is managed appropriately. The other day, I stopped by the office and was lucky enough to chat with Dale- one of the Loft’s stalwarts- as he was packing up the old music room. “Finish (up) here at the end of the week,” he said, “and I am already thinking about next year.” So what are we to do now? Simple, my friends- follow Dale’s lead and look ahead! Though never easy, everything around us eventually grinds to a halt and the Loft is no different. Whilst it has done so much for so many, it’s lifespan has very nearly run its course. If there’s one thing we can still do though, it’s this: remember the good times of the past and optimistically look forwards to those unseen in the future. -Timothy Grant. 18
Many Thanks! By Timothy Grant When the Loft first saw me I’ll admit: I was quite green; Gingerly embarking Down this line I am now taking. I’d always written, see Though just between you and me; To be frank my younger, wordy dribble Was merely angst-torn scribble. Then I found somewhere to write Where my talents fitted, quite; At first I took my time Then found the voice that’s mine. At first it really worked From my duty never shirked; When asked I never rested
‘Til my loyalty was tested. What, a topic I care not for?! (I thought, “Give me other scores!”); Then I saw, “It still can work My input can have worth!!” Soon the boss-lady became A quite familiar face; As did the trappings of the venue
The staff and its writing menu. Shan’t embellish any further ‘Cept say with pride, “I’m a budding writer!”; Now I’m off, and I wish the best For you my colleagues and my friends.
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Posters of the Past
Poster by Genevieve Carr Please note, the details on this poster are for an anti-slam that happened a few years ago, so you won’t be able to go to it, unless you have a time machine
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Just a Little bit Extra — ’Cause there hasn’t been enough.
Lines but no themes I have lines but no themes. The lines are written all over my face but what do they say to you? They’re a mish-mash an incoherent litany of creases and curves frowns and furrows. You can’t read me like a book. All you can say after you’ve picked me up checked me out browsed my back cover and dog-eared my features is that I’ve lived.
Train of thought I caught the train of thought and it took me where it ought to the stream of consciousness
Poetry by Clark Gormley
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Submit your poetry, prose, art, photos, love letters to the Word Hurl Anti-slam Newsletter! This newsletter goes to the junk mail folders of nearly two hundred email addresses. So get into the spirit of 21st century non-copyrighted, free for all, mass sharing, uncensored creativity! The editor is completely undiscerning and has not turned down a single submission yet! That is mostly due to a dearth in submissions. Help me out people. Submit to: wordhurl.antislam@hotmail.com
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OTHER NEWS & Events If you’re interested in more poetry performances check out Poetry at the Pub every third and fifth Monday of each month at a brand new venue, The Wickham Hotel 61 Maitland Rd Islington NSW 2296 from 7:30pm www.poetryatthepub.com/
Another good resource for local writers is the Hunter Writers Centre www.hunterwriterscentre.com/
Club Sandwich is a poetry based variety show held at the Royal Exchange on the first Friday of every month (the night after Word Hurls!) royalexchangenewcastle.com.au
Frequent Hurler Michael Collins has a new recording of some of his poems called Body of Love. Hit him up on facebook. They’re going for $5!
Newcastle Mirage is a free zine that is popping up in cafes all over Newcastle. It is dedicated to promoting all kinds of creative activity in our fair city. Visit their website (http://newcastlemirage.com/) and check out some articles and consider subscribing. Then you can get their print publication delivered right to your door! There’s also a chance you might see some words by yours truly (that is me, David Graham)
Websites: http://unevenfloorpoetry.blogspot.com.au/ http://alivepoetssociety.wordpress.com/ http://www.australianpoetry.org/ http://www.australianpoetryslam.com/
Would you like your event/ group/ death warrant included in this newsletter? Please contact with any query, comment, praise and criticism (details on following page). 23
CONTACT Word Hurl Anti-slam: Email: wordhurl.antislam@hotmail.com Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/groups/633235563371635/ (join us!)
This Word Hurl newsletter brought to you by:
David Graham
david.graham88@hotmail.com
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