When I was in Austin, Texas in 2006 as a Visiting Poet, I met a Visiting Muso (from the UK) called Clive Price. We were often on the same bill, and loved hearing each other's work. Later he set one of my poems, Traveller, to music. You can hear it, and a couple of his other songs, here and you can read the words here.
I'm thrilled that he's just now given another of my poems beautiful music. You can listen to it on Youtube here and you can read the words here.
Showing posts with label Clive Price. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Clive Price. Show all posts
Saturday, March 05, 2011
Friday, October 12, 2007
TEXAS POETRY TOUR: The first gig
Originally posted 9 July 2006
My first gig was Friday 31st March, two nights after my arrival, at Expressions — a monthly event at the B’hai Centre, hosted by Thom.
I spent most of that day rehearsing. ‘Don’t worry if you hear strange noises from next door,’ I told Neil.
I was worried about my performance as I seemed to have a bit of a cold and be lacking breath for my longer lines. I said some prayers; no backing out now! I decided to wear my purple Goddess gown. I wanted to perform a new poem that referred to it, which would work better with the visual component. When Neil knocked on my door to take me to the venue, I asked, ‘Can I wear this?’
‘This is Austin.’ he said. ‘You can wear anything.’ He remarked what a lovely outfit it was — the first of many such compliments I received. I thought I would have to say something throw-away from the stage about how I was keeping Austin weird — which is a slogan and bumper sticker there — but everyone was so complimentary about my dress before I even got on stage that it simply wasn't relevant.
I loved performing in it and wore it to nearly every gig thereafter ! Sometimes a group of us would go out for a meal afterwards.
‘Can I go into the restaurant like this?’ I asked nervously at first.
‘It’s AUSTIN,’ they would reiterate patiently, as to a backward child.
When we arrived at Expressions, a woman sitting behind the reception table introduced herself : ‘I’m Wendy.’ Wendy is Thom’s American wife, whom I’d previously met only by email. I was unprepared for her beauty! She was slender and pale, with huge blue eyes, full lips, clear skin, and long, wavy blonde hair that was obviously natural. Then I was surprised all over again by her calm, direct manner and the absence of that self-consciousness most beauties can’t seem to help.
Thom came bustling up for a hug. It was the first time we'd seen each other in many years; he looked happy and self-assured. Patricia, Kathleen and John had come to hear the show. It was encouraging to see all these friendly faces. They introduced me to Christine Gilbert, another local poet, who was hosting the visiting English poet Rupert Hopkins. Rupert was also on the program that night, and so were some English musicians called Roger West and the Ones to Watch.
I loved the musicians. There were three of them: Roger himself, another Englishman called Clive Price, and a drummer who turned out to be American, Chip Ross. He lives in Austin and accompanies Roger and Clive whenever they visit. The songs had catchy tunes and witty lyrics. I particularly enjoyed a composition of Roger’s about an earth man who fell for an extraterrestrial, ‘My lady alien, reptilian or mammalian.…’
I spent most of that day rehearsing. ‘Don’t worry if you hear strange noises from next door,’ I told Neil.
I was worried about my performance as I seemed to have a bit of a cold and be lacking breath for my longer lines. I said some prayers; no backing out now! I decided to wear my purple Goddess gown. I wanted to perform a new poem that referred to it, which would work better with the visual component. When Neil knocked on my door to take me to the venue, I asked, ‘Can I wear this?’
‘This is Austin.’ he said. ‘You can wear anything.’ He remarked what a lovely outfit it was — the first of many such compliments I received. I thought I would have to say something throw-away from the stage about how I was keeping Austin weird — which is a slogan and bumper sticker there — but everyone was so complimentary about my dress before I even got on stage that it simply wasn't relevant.
I loved performing in it and wore it to nearly every gig thereafter ! Sometimes a group of us would go out for a meal afterwards.
‘Can I go into the restaurant like this?’ I asked nervously at first.
‘It’s AUSTIN,’ they would reiterate patiently, as to a backward child.
When we arrived at Expressions, a woman sitting behind the reception table introduced herself : ‘I’m Wendy.’ Wendy is Thom’s American wife, whom I’d previously met only by email. I was unprepared for her beauty! She was slender and pale, with huge blue eyes, full lips, clear skin, and long, wavy blonde hair that was obviously natural. Then I was surprised all over again by her calm, direct manner and the absence of that self-consciousness most beauties can’t seem to help.
Thom came bustling up for a hug. It was the first time we'd seen each other in many years; he looked happy and self-assured. Patricia, Kathleen and John had come to hear the show. It was encouraging to see all these friendly faces. They introduced me to Christine Gilbert, another local poet, who was hosting the visiting English poet Rupert Hopkins. Rupert was also on the program that night, and so were some English musicians called Roger West and the Ones to Watch.
I loved the musicians. There were three of them: Roger himself, another Englishman called Clive Price, and a drummer who turned out to be American, Chip Ross. He lives in Austin and accompanies Roger and Clive whenever they visit. The songs had catchy tunes and witty lyrics. I particularly enjoyed a composition of Roger’s about an earth man who fell for an extraterrestrial, ‘My lady alien, reptilian or mammalian.…’
Roger West and the Ones to Watch. From left: Chip Ross, Roger West, Clive Price.
Rupert was next. A small, modest man, he proved to be an intrepid solo traveller, often to places off the beaten track, and a talented photographer. Many of his poems were about places he’d travelled, with accompanying enlargements he showed from the stage. He had books of both his photos and poems on sale.
Finally, my turn. I hoped my breath would hold out; I hoped I’d remember the lines of my opening poem, ‘I am the poet from Down Under …’ a rappy piece written especially for Texas; I hoped I wouldn’t let down my new friends and particularly my old friend Thom, who, as MC, gave me a great introduction.
Perhaps The Dress had magickal qualities! Suddenly it was as if I owned the stage. My breathing was perfectly fine, I was in good voice, I remembered my lines, I moved and gestured confidently. My opener brought the house down, so did the next piece referring to The Dress, and after that I could do no wrong.
Later that night I emailed Andrew:
‘People came up afterwards to say how much they liked my poetry. One exuberant old man called me “cousin” (“Oh I sure enjoyed YEW, cousin!”) and gave me a big bear hug. Neil said I was brilliant. Thom said “Well done!” and “It worked”. Wendy said, “You are a very animated poet”. (I love that! Henceforth I answer to the title of The Animated Poet.) Patricia and others said they could see why Thom and I were friends: “The same expansive energy.”
‘It is now 11.45pm. After the gig Neil invited Patricia, Kathleen and John back here for a glass of wine, and to see the beautiful Buddha statue I live with…. They are all old friends. They feel like my friends too, already. Neil has to pick up his partner, Dorsey, from the airport tomorrow, so Patricia has arranged for Christine to drive us all down to San Antonio for my tomorrow night's gig.’
I was too high on excitement to go to sleep easily. Neil and Dorsey live on the side of a gully, part of the Austin green belt. I enjoyed the backdrop of moonlit branches filling the window as I lay in bed happily replaying my evening.
The animated poet!
I am the poet from Down Under.
My heart calls to yours with a peal of thunder,
my mind is full of delighted wonder,
my spirit aches with a splendid hunger:
I want to feast on poetry —
I speak to you, you speak to me,
we all go together into mystery,
we all dream together with ecstasy —
not the drug, man, not the pill, lady;
who needs that for rhapsody?
We have words to set us free.
Words as bright as lightning,
words as clear as dew,
words that are frightening,
words that are true,
words that deliver us
from so-called reality
then drop us back, but without finality.
Tripping through the wild, the vast unseen —
Poetry, Poetry, what do you mean?
Poetry, Poetry, what do you say?
Come out, come out, come out and play!
I am the poet from the land of Oz.
That Great South Land is where I was:
the land where I grew, the land where I age,
the land of power, beauty and rage —
bushfires and flood, cyclones and drought,
all the extremes. Now I am out
into the wider world, into here.
Texas is real! I see and hear
excitement and vitality:
the Lone Star State is the place to be.
Give me your verses, give me your truth,
give me your wisdom, give me your youth!
Don’t hang back in the vestibule:
we’re here to create a Festival!
Give me your lightness, give me your dark!
In a coffee lounge or in the park,
let us with music, let us with voice
gather to celebrate, gather to rejoice.
Where have we been? What have we done?
Nothing new under the sun
excepting poetry makes it that way.
Poetry, Poetry — come out to play!
© Rosemary Nissen-Wade 2006
Sunday, April 08, 2007
A year in a blog
The first paragraph below refers to my poetry tour of Texas in April 2006 – a momentous experience for me, which I'm still processing. I had posts here about it, mixed up with posts about my here-and-now life, then discovered I can have separate blogs at the same profile, so the posts recording my Texas journey are now at Rosemary Nissen-Wade: Texas Poetry Tour
A year has gone by. It's National Poetry Month again in the U.S., and Austin is gearing up for this year's International Poetry Festival. A Brisbane poet called Bob Mud is sleeping in MY room at Neil and Dorsey's house and using MY laptop! (Well, really Neil and Dorsey's of course.) In fact we are keeping in touch via that machine, just to add to my nostalgia. Braver than me, he is also driving one of Neil's cars. He tells me he has already met Roger and Clive who are back there this year, and jammed to music with them at Vinny's.
Meanwhile this blog has languished many months, due to other literary activities.
The aforementioned Clive invited me to join MySpace so as to hear his music there. It was mainly a networking place for musos, he told me, but he didn't see why it shouldn't work for a poet too. I didn't think I would use MySpace more than minimally, but I soon took to it and now I have a personal profile there, another for material on magick and energy in response to people asking me to mentor them, and yet another which hosts an ever-growing group of haiku writers. By now MySpace is full of poets, artists, witches, healers, and just about anything else you can think of. Early on I was invited to join Crone Circle, through which I met a number of vibrant and inspiring older women. My very latest MySpace friend is my 15-year-old god-daughter who lives in Melbourne and just joined up yesterday.
I created Rosemary's Readers, a Yahoo! group for people who want to read my new poems. When I first came back from Austin, poems were pouring out of me. They still are most of the time, but there have been some interruptions to the flow.
Shortly before my Texas trip, Andrew and I joined a memoir writing group that meets monthly in Byron Bay. They're great people, and having to produce something each time has been good for us. Otherwise, I don't think our memoirs would get written at all! Andrew's doing family stuff for his kids and grandchildren; mine is more about the magickal aspects of my life, as so many people have said I should write that story.
Thom the World Poet,the instigator of my Texas trip, came to Australia in August 2006, and did poetry performances and workshops in Queensland, Melbourne and the "rainbow region" of New South Wales, where I and others of his old cronies live. I helped organise this part of his tour and had another whirlwind of performances with Thom and other poets.
This led to starting a weekly writers' workshop at my local Neighbourhood Centre. It's now full up, with 13 participants, and we have a waiting list for a second one. Its heaps of fun and nurtures me as well as everyone else.
In November I participated in NaNoWriMo, which is short for National Novel Writing Month. For anyone who doesn't yet know about this, it began with a group of friends in California deciding they would each write a novel in a month just for the heck of it and making a little website to support themselves. It grew almost as fast as MySpace, and I was one of over 75,000 people all around the world who did it in 2006. The aim is to write 50,000 words of a new novel during November. It was crazy and fun and exhausting and exhilarating. It wasn't judged on literary merit or anything – anyone who made 50,000 words by the deadline was a winner. I actually got 62,818 words in 41 chapters. I now have a first draft which is better than I thought it would be but would need a LOT of work to become publishable. I was going to edit it and market it from January to October, mainly for the practice – but so far not much has happened. Andrew is the only person who has been allowed to read it. He said, "Yes it's very well written – it's just that it's so boring." I burst out laughing, but afterwards couldn't bring myself to go on with the wretched thing.
Copies of my book, posted home from Texas by the cheapest and therefore slowest means, finally arrived in December. We had a local book launch which went very well. I abandoned plans for something more grandiose in Melbourne, as it was a limited edition in the first place and not so very many books came home from Texas.
My husband Andrew's novel, an environmental fairy story for 8-11-year-olds (but loved by all ages) has just been published and is being very well received. The cover artist, Tom Giffin, a young Californian, visited Australia a few weeks ago, came and had lunch with us, and presented us with the original painting. It's a beautiful picture with Mt Warning in the background, as the story is set locally.
I'm starting to submit poems to literary magazines and have had a few accepted already. I'm working towards a new collection, whilst wondering whether to do a second (local) edition of "Secret Leopard".
So that's pretty much our year in writing. I'll come back later to the completion of my Texas saga!
A year has gone by. It's National Poetry Month again in the U.S., and Austin is gearing up for this year's International Poetry Festival. A Brisbane poet called Bob Mud is sleeping in MY room at Neil and Dorsey's house and using MY laptop! (Well, really Neil and Dorsey's of course.) In fact we are keeping in touch via that machine, just to add to my nostalgia. Braver than me, he is also driving one of Neil's cars. He tells me he has already met Roger and Clive who are back there this year, and jammed to music with them at Vinny's.
Meanwhile this blog has languished many months, due to other literary activities.
The aforementioned Clive invited me to join MySpace so as to hear his music there. It was mainly a networking place for musos, he told me, but he didn't see why it shouldn't work for a poet too. I didn't think I would use MySpace more than minimally, but I soon took to it and now I have a personal profile there, another for material on magick and energy in response to people asking me to mentor them, and yet another which hosts an ever-growing group of haiku writers. By now MySpace is full of poets, artists, witches, healers, and just about anything else you can think of. Early on I was invited to join Crone Circle, through which I met a number of vibrant and inspiring older women. My very latest MySpace friend is my 15-year-old god-daughter who lives in Melbourne and just joined up yesterday.
I created Rosemary's Readers, a Yahoo! group for people who want to read my new poems. When I first came back from Austin, poems were pouring out of me. They still are most of the time, but there have been some interruptions to the flow.
Shortly before my Texas trip, Andrew and I joined a memoir writing group that meets monthly in Byron Bay. They're great people, and having to produce something each time has been good for us. Otherwise, I don't think our memoirs would get written at all! Andrew's doing family stuff for his kids and grandchildren; mine is more about the magickal aspects of my life, as so many people have said I should write that story.
Thom the World Poet,the instigator of my Texas trip, came to Australia in August 2006, and did poetry performances and workshops in Queensland, Melbourne and the "rainbow region" of New South Wales, where I and others of his old cronies live. I helped organise this part of his tour and had another whirlwind of performances with Thom and other poets.
This led to starting a weekly writers' workshop at my local Neighbourhood Centre. It's now full up, with 13 participants, and we have a waiting list for a second one. Its heaps of fun and nurtures me as well as everyone else.
In November I participated in NaNoWriMo, which is short for National Novel Writing Month. For anyone who doesn't yet know about this, it began with a group of friends in California deciding they would each write a novel in a month just for the heck of it and making a little website to support themselves. It grew almost as fast as MySpace, and I was one of over 75,000 people all around the world who did it in 2006. The aim is to write 50,000 words of a new novel during November. It was crazy and fun and exhausting and exhilarating. It wasn't judged on literary merit or anything – anyone who made 50,000 words by the deadline was a winner. I actually got 62,818 words in 41 chapters. I now have a first draft which is better than I thought it would be but would need a LOT of work to become publishable. I was going to edit it and market it from January to October, mainly for the practice – but so far not much has happened. Andrew is the only person who has been allowed to read it. He said, "Yes it's very well written – it's just that it's so boring." I burst out laughing, but afterwards couldn't bring myself to go on with the wretched thing.
Copies of my book, posted home from Texas by the cheapest and therefore slowest means, finally arrived in December. We had a local book launch which went very well. I abandoned plans for something more grandiose in Melbourne, as it was a limited edition in the first place and not so very many books came home from Texas.
My husband Andrew's novel, an environmental fairy story for 8-11-year-olds (but loved by all ages) has just been published and is being very well received. The cover artist, Tom Giffin, a young Californian, visited Australia a few weeks ago, came and had lunch with us, and presented us with the original painting. It's a beautiful picture with Mt Warning in the background, as the story is set locally.
I'm starting to submit poems to literary magazines and have had a few accepted already. I'm working towards a new collection, whilst wondering whether to do a second (local) edition of "Secret Leopard".
So that's pretty much our year in writing. I'll come back later to the completion of my Texas saga!
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