Tag Archives: Mouthy Poets

Mouthy Poets is coming to an end.

2 Dec

Sometimes love and passion is not enough.

 

Last week we announced in our weekly session, that Mouthy Poets is wrapping up. November 25th was our final session.

 

After 6 years of growth; 11 Say Sum Thin shows, a national tour, an international exchange, a sister collective in Germany, the region’s biggest inter-school poetry slam, two albums, scholarships, commissions, publications and more, Mouthy has achieved above and beyond what a 20-year-old Deborah could have anticipated 6 years ago.

 

During the past year we have trialed various ways of progressing Mouthy Poets and making it a sustainable model that doesn’t rely on any one individual. However, just as many serendipitous things needed to align for Mouthy to grow, these things have not come together to enable Mouthy to continue. A combination of a small team with limited capacity, a change in needs of participants/the area and unexpected funding restrains left the whole team in agreement that bringing Mouthy to a peaceful and celebratory end was the only way forward. New crops need to be planted for soil to remain fertile, and we are excited to see what will come out of all the Mouthy Legacy (once a Mouthy, always a Mouthy).

 

Our funding will come to an end in January 2017 and we will be focusing in the next two months on evaluating the past 2 years of activity and wrapping up the office and administrative systems.

 

We hope to end with a day of evaluation/ round table discussions with partners, participants and Alumni in Nottingham on the 11th of Jan 2017 with a little party after. If you are available to come, please let us know and pop it in your diary!

 

Please spread the word and if there are any evaluation/ legacy or archiving support you can give us, or if you just want to let us know what impact we had on you/ someone you know/ your organisation – please let us know on Debris@mouthypoets.com

 

Warmest Regards,

Mouthy Poets CIC

 

SST11 1DEA – Debris Stevenson

26 Apr

As a lot of you know I am working on #poetindacorner at the moment, an EP then ALBUM using he poetic techniques of Dizzee Rascal’s first album Boy in da Corner. I have 4 tracks under my belt so far, for SST11 I really want to work on I Luv U or Jezebel as a platform of exploring the narrative archs/ dynamics we are used to between the courting of men and women.

BeaBop: Tribute (SST10 Final Draft)

28 Jan

 

She lived for that green
the shade that bled the sun through
tall stems full
of the stuff of life
laying foundations in the moss
cultivating a kind of eco-festival
full of cool, hip-for-you stuff
-BEAT-
She hailed from Masaka in royal Uganda
she whispered evergreen national parks
wore celebrations piled atop afro coils
a silent disco danced behind cocoa eyes
and like a sister
yet more a daughter, she wrapped me in tribute
Pursing lips to my dimples

Once, I thought I had jailed my chance
to mother after severing myself from a house
full of too many women
growing big for their boobs
I kicked the dirt and left my idea of family
to flap in the cross-winds
in a pea-green boat
-BEAT-
She was the road sign green
that directed me back to motherhood
back when truth was wedged
between puberty and middle classdom
a detour made through males too old to be boys
I would hide my dreams behind
a padlocked Brady Bunch

Her face was the key
opening the old fashioned golden door
a beacon for folk to stay awhile
empty their souls
rest up and ease lines
carved across play dough
whilst sharing a little philosophy
-BEAT-
Her voice was the architect
plucking my dimples
to loosen my shadows
The chef: pressing jerk, pimento
scotch bonnet, garlic cloves
into my middle
seasoning me for motherhood
-BEAT-
She loved the little bit of apple mixed with olive
the kind that took the edge off a hard day
of walking wards
in worn-in clogs
her uniform a starched green
the type that made you stand to attention

Or hide your boyfriends attitude
until he wanted to do the right thing
all by himself

And she would call me

-BEAT-

Now she whispers to me

-BEAT-
And I mother a handful now
using those tints
of her cool, hip-for-you, stuff of life

BeaBop SST10 (3rd Draft)

8 Jan

She lived for that green
the shade that bled the sun through
tall stems full
of the stuff of life
laying foundations in the moss
cultivating a kind of eco-festival
full of cool, hip-for-you stuff

– Beat –

She hailed from Masaka in royal Uganda
she whispered evergreen national parks
wore celebrations piled atop afro coils
a silent disco danced behind cocoa eyes
And like a sister, scrap that –
a daughter, she wrapped me in tribute
Pursing lips to my dimples

Once, I thought I had jailed my chance
to mother after severing myself from a house
full of too many women
growing big for their boobs
I kicked the dirt and left my idea of family
to flap in the cross-wind
in a pea-green boat

– Beat –

She was the road sign green
that directed me back to motherhood
back when truth was wedged
between puberty and middle classdom
a detour made through males too old to be boys
I would hide my dreams behind
a padlocked Brady Bunch

Her face was the key
opening the old fashioned golden door
beaconing for folk to stay awhile
empty their souls
rest up and ease lines
carved across play dough
whilst sharing a little philosophy

– Beat –

Her voice was the architect
plucking my dimples
to loosen my shadows
the chef: pressing jerk, pimento
scotch bonnet, garlic cloves
into my middle
seasoning me for motherhood

– Beat –

She loved the little bit of apple mixed with olive
the kind that took the edge off a hard day
of walking wards
in worn-in clogs
her uniform a starched green
the type that made you stand to attention

Or hide your boyfriends attitude
until he wanted to do the right thing
all by himself
by presenting himself to her
to ask to place a ring on your finger
before even thinking of
taking your crown

And she would call me

– Beat-

Now she whispers to me
And I mother a handful now
using those tints
of her cool, hip-for-you, stuff of life

 

[Tech requirements:3 – 4 colour washes – different shades or intensities of green cycled for each stanza. Timing/length : 2’25”]

Mid Shelley SST10 second draft

8 Jan

25 mins late, but got there! Thanks for understanding 🙂 This is a bit of an experiment, gonna see how it goes…not perfect but hopefully gives an idea of where I’m trying to go with it. (This is the performance version, not convinced it works too great on paper but I’m planning on working on a more page friendly version for the zine).

Some secrets need to be kept in the dark.
And sometimes, with the really big secrets,
you need to keep yourself in the dark,
for fear the thing will ooze out of your skin,
plop itself into your lap while you’re sat at school
and say – hey!
You can implode my world now.

When I was seven my mum used to buy
packets of ten strawberry splits from the discount store.
I rarely remember eating a real meal,
but I remember licking them, one after the other
until I was so full of ice and sugar
I could trace the core of cold
right down the middle of me.
I was sat on the step with my best friend
eating ice lollies.
‘I can’t wait for it to end’, I said.
He didn’t know what I meant.

Flash –
Staring at her chest
Flash –
Waiting for her breath

When I was seventeen
I blagged my way through a tenancy agreement
by telling them I was twenty three
and a teaching assistant.
My pupils had eclipsed my irises
and left everything gray –
I hadn’t slept for three days.

Flash –
Staring at the mirror
Flash –
Reflection unfamiliar

When I was nineteen my girlfriend moved in with me.
She was encased in ice
but would spit sparks at me without thawing.
It seemed I was constantly breathing out smoke
even in the absence of a cigarette.
I didn’t know whether my insides were frozen or smoldering.
She taught me how to tie a scarf against the wind,
and I taught myself to pretend
the electric heater was an open fire,
to imagine I was warm.
Sometimes I would hold icecubes in my hands
until they melted.
Fascinated by the way they burned.

Flash –
Dirty wall
Flash –
Closed door
Flash –
Loud screams
Flash –
Bad dreams

As I grew I became obsessed with layers,
with silks and merino wool.
I would worship the cloth with my fingers,
amazed that things so thin
could hold in so much heat.
I sat around real camp fires,
and looking into them I learned
that it was heavens, not hells,
that are made of flames.
I learned to keep away the cold,
embracing strangers under stars,
and that dancing can make even the naked warm.

These
are the pieces of me.
The hard sharp shards
that add up to make me,
and I stand proud
and hiss to the wind –

I am a broken thing.

I am a broken thing.

So on the days I think I’m done
trying to sew myself back together,
and the only shape my lips can make is ‘fuck you’,
I curl my head towards my heart
and listen to the whisper –
you don’t have to stay where makes you ill.
You don’t have to sit if you can’t stay still.
And these scars,
they make us beautiful.

‘Coz sometimes I feel I could shake
the whole world with a whisper,
and that when I speak
the air will never be the same,
and that my heart is big enough
to hold the whole earth,
and I know that nothing stays the same,
except change.
When I was twenty five I learned how to breathe fire.
To stand on stages and to make ice weep.
I own more jumpers than I can make use of.
But sometimes I’ll walk barefoot through snow,
just to watch it dissolve.
And I still squeeze icecubes…
fascinated by the way we burn.

Mouthy Workshops – Anne

11 Dec

4th December

 

After the disclosure of the theme for Say Sum Thin 10 (e.g. light, if you missed that!) a wave of excitement  got us all. During the sessions now you can feel we’re working towards something. Something great.

It is curious how different people respond to the same stimulus. It’s like a social experiment. We’re like a social experiment. You say a word, light, and each of us will associate that with their own experience.

You say a word, light, and everyone will think at its opposite: darkness. Then you are caught in darkness for  minute and all you can write about  is light. It’s the logic of the opposites.

Mix light with winter, sadness, ocean, traffic, flights, childhood, first time, art, tragedy, growth… and you’ll have a beam of light. Work on that and you might have a raw little draft. Mix everything up again and you might be lucky enough to create a poem.

 

 

Laura

Mouthy workshops: Debris

4 Dec

27th November 2015

When entering the room for this workshop the clumsy me almost slipped on the floor. Was it a banana peel? No, nothing of that sort: pictures and quotes were scattered on the floor. What were they there for? What were they representing?  What on earth could a picture of the aurora borealis and a toddler facing a red wall have in common? I was quite puzzled, but didn’t lost my faith. I trusted Debris and followed the instructions: ‘go around, look at everything and write about one picture/quote that grasp your attention- as soon as the inspiration is gone move on to the next significant one’.

That was a good way to get started:  creating something, put some ink on a blank page gives you great satisfaction. But still the question of what the connections were was hanging around. Then the revelation: light.  Looking around at all the little things in the room, light was everywhere. It was more evidently coming out from the light bulbs of one of the pictures and was emerging more subtly from a beautiful quote on dreaming, but light, oh- light was all around. And we got even more excited when we realised that LIGHT was gonna be the theme for our brand new Say Sum Thin 10! Understanding how broad and changing  and fragile the concept of light is opens so many creative possibilities for us! Yay!

LINEATION

Now, more technical stuff. It was an extremely full session, a lot to take in, but great great stuff. We talked about lineation, which is… ? Well, basically the way you break your lines in poetry. You could say that lineation is what differs poetry from prose. You could also argue that lineation makes the difference between an absolutely amazing poem and an average one. So, let’s try to understand lineation in practice. We looked at different way of breaking a poetry line, depending on different types of units:

Realisation Units

With realisation units, the line breaks just before (or after-it’s up to you!) there is a moment of realisation for the narrator of the poem. In general, every new one should bring a revelation of some sort, linking to the line just before that. Examples of poems we looked at: Michiko Dead by Jack Gilbert andAlways and Forever by Ocean Vuong.

Music Units

With music units, you listen to the sounds of single words and how the flow together. It might be useful to read the poem aloud to actually listen to how sentences sound like and how well they go together. Example for this technique: Thaumaturgy.

Sense Units

With sense units, you just go with the syntax of the phrase. Wherever its meanings breaks, you break your line of poetry. Example of this: Prelude collected in The BreakBeat Poets

So what now? Take a draft of your poetry and try to play with lineation, you’ll see that a different form can really make the difference!

We did that with our drafts on light and we creating some exciting new material. Just remember: do not see form as a constriction to your poetry, sometimes a good structure is all your poem needs to become a great one!

xx

Laura