Debris Stevenson – SST9 First Draft

1 Jun

Hello All!

So I haven’t had much time to work on this as I have been working on London for the past two weeks so an incredibly rough and I actually already have a lot of feedback on it already to implement but I am holding off until I have worked out who I am collaborating with – as I may end up using a loop pedal (Hannah Silva has kindly offered to teach me) or an instrumental and the introduction of these could possibly have a big impact on the direction of the piece.

First thing on my list before develop further is to set in stone who/what I am working with then I will push this further. As mentioned previously, this is also likely to feed into a wider body of work around religion, poetry and my life.

But regardless of all those apologies, feedback is obviously always welcome J

 

Slam; bang, criticize, pan, crash, thump

 

I remember Amit’s dad’s garage,

Ilford, metronomic language.

Girl pulled a shank to my ribs –

.

We got’a mic, got kids, got lyrics.

Life’s but a race or a rave.

Either way we need something to pray to.

.

We need more hope than a b-tech

We can brick lay a path but can’t

articulate our way yet.

.

I open my eyes. I’m in a black-box studio.

15 young pallets sat in a nervous row.

One steps forward, talks about her Dad –

She hides her clothes in his briefcase,

his lies in her tea. Then another poet does

a series of puns about movies I’ve not seen.

.

Another runs over 3 minutes explaining

her black-boy-brother prank painted

with dulux burning through 3 layers of naked.

.

Flash to the knife at my bottom right rib.

Heave hand to lips. Next poet grips the mic.

Till the BPM of her life jostles right.

.

I have to look at my score sheet eventually.

Tell only some of the 15 that they articulated

life successfully. I spend 2 hours talking 1-1.

.

Several contestants cry before feedback’s begun.

As I explain, I’m back in that garage, where no one

sung about flowers in the pouring rain.

.

A shank was a stage.

the other two judges

missed their trains.

.

I’ll have to go back to my parent’s house.

Pass the garage where we all unleashed ‘arms-house’.

.

Where spit could burn further than 3 layers deep.

Where we all learned to cut before we could leap.

.

—- Debris

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2 Responses to “Debris Stevenson – SST9 First Draft”

  1. MouthyPoets June 2, 2015 at 9:52 am #

    Hey debs loving this so far any poems about music and nostalgia /growing up sing to me haha it feels like it should have a more darker possibly
    Faster Rytgmn to match the themes of the poem.other Than this this is great .neal

  2. MouthyPoets June 10, 2015 at 11:35 am #

    I really like the lines “metronomic language”, “we can brick lay a path but we can’t articulate our way yet”, “Another runs over 3 minutes explaining her black-boy-brother prank painted with dulux burning through 3 layers of naked.” and “Where we all learned to cut before we could leap.” I also like how the stanzas are all independent images that come together to create the story.
    Ingrid

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