The postgraduate creative writing event felt very personal, with the smaller lecture theatre brimming with eager listeners. We were welcomed to the event and thanked by the third years that have made this event week happen and it went without hitch. The variety of performers sat at the front of the room, giving the audience anticipation to what kind of work they would read out.
First to read was Hannah, who read a piece called “Man under”. It was a chilling short story about a man who commits suicide in front of a train, and the people who it affects; the odd woman obsessed with his hat, the train driver who is consoled as it is his “first one” and the wife who is left with a message which is found too late. With the simple tone and believable characters, it stayed firmly in my mind and remained a haunting favourite, even after the hour was over.
Next to read was James, a spirited being whose colourful fashion sense (including pink tinted glasses) predicted his interactive and loud readings. He walked up the steps into the crowd, throwing his voice as he read his poetry which was entitled simply by number. I thought it to be a very down-to-earth, eccentric and amusing performance.
Zea’s poetry collection was a mix of culture, expanding from original epigraphs; first reading a poem entitled ‘Concerto’ which interestingly read melodically, and then on to a historical piece. I wrote down the sentence ‘syntax molecules soaked in vowels’ as I found it rich and something I wanted to remember. I found his final poem the most poignant which was about a (believed to be) deceased loved one and their words remembered when a flock of geese fly across the sky and wishing that they were there to see.
Emma read a piece inspired by meeting her Ugandan sister-in-law for the first time. Arriving at Kampala, she notes the language and cultural barriers faced and how it seems that words translated aren’t truly synonymous and mean the same in both languages. She to’s and fro’s into both English and Ugandan, mixing them into a whirlwind and confusion of events which I suspect is how she was feeling. The repeated phrase, “in one version of events” highlights how language isn’t black and white, and isn’t always translated directly and correctly.
Laurie sat in his seat drinking coffee, giving an illusion of being a calm fellow overall but as soon as he started reading, I found it to be a hugely comical performance; a confident, engaging and great storyteller. With his broad Leicester accent, his language was brutal but truthful and he gave a good account of an almost ‘Shameless’ sounding scenario of early 21st century violent culture. A man is described as having “twirled a bat to a primal beat inside his head” which I thought to be vivid imagery and there’s a funny memory a nun has of being on an acid trip in the 1960’s.
There were two smartly dressed gentlemen and I wasn’t entirely sure of their standing in the event but they both read pieces of their own. A story was told (ballad-like) of a soldier named Badger, who was involved in events around Leicester, accounting scenery relatable to the audience and he is eventually ‘baited’ like animals of his name-sake. The final gentleman gave an amusing and light-hearted poem of a married-couples woe; the narrator apologising for breaking and ruining objects... and then it is revealed that they have actually killed their partner!
There was a range of readings to tickle every individual’s creative taste buds and it’s safe to say that there was an extreme amount of talent within Clephan 0.01 yesterday afternoon.
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