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The second instalment of inc. magazine, a special edition featuring interviews and poems with performers at the One Year On event, at the Union Chapel, raising money for Haiti. Featuring poetry from sophie olofoweyuku, joe kirss, dorian gray and many many more!
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#2 Contents.
One Year On Band Profiles Poets Profiles Joe Kriss Joe Kriss Q&A Jemimia Roberts Alex Gwyther Sarah Olowofoyeku Ruby & The Vines Q&A Six Word Stories Elvis McGonagall Dorian Gray Will Coldwell Murmur Anya Pearson Pengilly’s
Welcome to inc. magazine, a docu-mentation of the spoken and written word of the Soul Rub Collective.
This first half of this issue is dedicated solely to One Year On - A night for Haiti, which is raising money for Thinking Development, a construction project in Port Au Prince. There will be selected poems from some of those performing on the night, along with some interviews with those involved.
The second half of the issue features many of the usual suspects from Soul Rub, as well as some new contributors.
With a hell of a lot more illustrations than the last issue, two less than flattering poems regarding David Cameron and insights into some of the poets and bands themselves - this issue really gives you more bang (meaning poems) for your buck (meaning money).
As well as being available as a super special pro-gramme at the One Year On event, inc. issue two will also be distributed as usual at Word Is Born and at selected stockists across Hackney.
Enjoy!
Edited/Collated by Will Coldwell and Anya Pearson with support from Word is Born and the Con-
science Collective.www.inc-zine.blogspot.com
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Welcome to One Year On… A Night For Haiti, and thank you for coming out to support our cause tonight. We have a fantastic line up of exciting young musical and poetic talent, from Radio 4 poetry slam winner Ben Mellor to “wild, hot and about to happen new trio” (BBC) Ruby & The Vines, who will be playing their unique blend of jazz, afrobeat and reggae. There will be a wide variety of poetry and spoken word on show, with hip hop and slam rubbing shoulders with more traditional forms, and themes ranging from the intensely personal to the bra-zenly political.
And what is it all in aid of?
Thinking Development was set up earlier this year by UCL students who were shocked by the dev-astation caused by January’s earthquake in Haiti. Harnessing the knowledge and skills of the UCL architecture and engineering departments, the group set about re-designing a school and com-munity centre in central Port-Au-Prince that was destroyed in the earthquake, with an emphasis on disaster-resistance, sustainability and beauty, but most importantly skill-sharing and close consultation with the local community.
Band profiles
After a trip to Port-Au-Prince in July and much consultation with local residents, UCL academ-ics, experienced industry men-tors and academics from other institutions the designs have been finalised. All that is now required is the money to carry out the con-struction process!
The performers, venue and venue staff have all very gen-erously waived any fee for this event, and Thinking Development is entirely run by volunteers, so every penny you donate tonight
will go directly to the construction of two new primary schools with a capacity of 1,200 pupils, an adult education centre and a multi-functional community space including a kitchen and garden.
We hope you enjoy the evening, and please be sure to have a flick through the rest of the pro-gramme which contains selected poems from some of tonight’s performers (and some other poems from supporters of Think-ing Development who couldn’t perform on the night).
Band profiles
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We are proud to present you the beguiling West Country folk stylings of Hot Feet (pictured), who are coming all the way from Stroud to perform tonight. This hotly tipped young trio take their cues from Joni Mitchell, Fairport Convention and Joanna Newsom and are sure to enchant you with their lilting, wistful melodies. myspace.com/hotfeetband
Also playing live are London-based Ruby and the Vines, described by BBC’s Max Reinhardt as a “wild, hot and about to happen new trio”. The band are very much a part of the Soul Rub Collective, the founder of which, Greg Sanders, can be heard on guitar. Their songs, written by talented frontwoman Binisa Bonner, combine jazz, reggae and a variety of African styles from afrobeat to Congolese roots music. myspace.com/rubyandthevines
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Ben Mellor is an award-winning slam poet (BBC Radio 4 Slam Cham-pion 2009) based in Manchester. His poems combine lyrical wordplay with thought-provoking social commentary.benmellor.net
Chris Preddie (pictured), winner of theRise Londonwide Youth Slam Champ-ionship in 2006, grew up on a council estate in North London and was heavilyinvolved in London’s gang culture untilhe decided to go back to school and then university after the death of his brother in a shoot-out. Now he works as a community champion for Crime-stoppers and also runs writing and per-forming workshops as a Poetry Society SLAMbassador. Chris will also be per-forming tonight with two younger poets that he has been mentoring.myspace.com/missingsouls
Alex Gwyther is a favourite on the London spoken word scene with his mischievous rhymes and hip-hop influenced tales of 21st century life.myspace.com/thebestofthebiro
Jacob Sam La Rose’s poetry has been described as “fresh, vivid and masterly” by the Poetry Book Society and he prides himself on combin-ing the immediacy of performance poetry with the rigor of traditional printed page poetry.jacobsamlarose.com
Joe Kriss is a talented young Sheffield-based poet, who runs the Word Life series of spoken word and music events there. He also performs his work as part of a live dub band. myspace.com/joekriss
Sarah Olowofoyeku is a young up-and-coming poet from Bromley and last year won a national poetry competition organized by BBC Blast and The Poetry Society for her work on themes of race and identity.
Poet profiles
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CirclesWhen the dull thunder in your headthreatens to roll back and forthbetween your ears
When all seems confused, struckbetween opposing points.The air as thick as glue.
When the circles conspireto swim and close together,as inevitable as first light.
When your limbs feelstrung up, hung from rain.Yet your mouth dry as a puppet.
You will go walkingon the beach. Your eyes bouncing off the ocean,
Your fingernails dug in the rock,your toes curled in the sand. You will hear a small voice sing to you;
Quiet now.
Quiet.
Time to think again.
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JOE
KR
ISS
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We pass throughdifferent cities at night;Water glistens on the rails,As this corridor of lightTrundles past commutersShuffling idle on a platformWho are always too early or late.
Newspapers damp under their armpit,Hair hanging like old tiesDrying in the rainAnd home on their mind.
Dear Passengers, we regret to inform youThat someone stole the signalling lights at derby,And we will be delayed for some time.
We apologise for any inconvenience this may cause.We are working to fix this problem as soon as possible.
I imagine they are playing rock paper scissorsIn the control room,Ready to send someone out with a torch,A flask and a packet of hobnobs.A human lighthouse, waving the trains on.
A man next to me eats his fourth packet of crisps,Hurtling serveral miles in the time it takes toFold the wrapping into perfect quarters,Slipping them into his back left pocket.
A girl takes half an hour on a text,Sulkily strumming its plastic frame.I see her mouth etch two x’s,Then three, settling each brush stokeWith a kiss of teeth.
We wait patiently for our destinations To present themselves,
As a sudden thump rattles past the windows, Startling those deep in sleep.
Our current estimated time of arrival is ten thirty eight.
A single horn blows out from somewhere. A greeting or a farewell.
The message seems incomplete.
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Best Fare Finder
We pass throughdifferent cities at night;Water glistens on the rails,As this corridor of lightTrundles past commutersShuffling idle on a platformWho are always too early or late.
Newspapers damp under their armpit,Hair hanging like old tiesDrying in the rainAnd home on their mind.
Dear Passengers, we regret to inform youThat someone stole the signalling lights at derby,And we will be delayed for some time.
We apologise for any inconvenience this may cause.We are working to fix this problem as soon as possible.
I imagine they are playing rock paper scissorsIn the control room,Ready to send someone out with a torch,A flask and a packet of hobnobs.A human lighthouse, waving the trains on.
A man next to me eats his fourth packet of crisps,Hurtling serveral miles in the time it takes toFold the wrapping into perfect quarters,Slipping them into his back left pocket.
A girl takes half an hour on a text,Sulkily strumming its plastic frame.I see her mouth etch two x’s,Then three, settling each brush stokeWith a kiss of teeth.
We wait patiently for our destinations To present themselves,
As a sudden thump rattles past the windows, Startling those deep in sleep.
Our current estimated time of arrival is ten thirty eight.
A single horn blows out from somewhere. A greeting or a farewell.
The message seems incomplete.
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OthersideLife hung upon your bones like a feather,whilst all the while the sun lay;strewn across the ocean like a mil-lion eyes turned to the sky;waiting for dawn’s cool bowto wrap its shifting eyelidsin shade.
Please don’t fade so far,don’t retreat into that dark,Where people fall into sleeping lines,and smoothe into impressionsthat could never hold your mark.
And perhaps it was selfish of me to ask,but even moreto see time unlock your existencepiece by piece,and slip from my handsas things I’d never known.
I exchanged memories for tears,till grieving had done enough forgetting.It was not suddenly feeling only your warmththat talked you down from the horizon.
It was forgetting you had ever been there -Yet it felt like betrayal to not miss your smile,sat in the same kitchen where we used to talk.
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Q&
A -
JO
E K
RIS
S
Q&
A -
JO
E K
RIS
S
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How long have you been writing and performing?I’ve been writing since I was 13, but it wasn’t very good. I had acne and couldn’t talk to girls so you can imagine. But I took it a lotmore seriously in my late teens, it was only when I was studying my A levels that I took the time to hone, and edit my work. I didn’tperform really until I went to Uni-versity, 5 years ago now, can stillremember the first open mic night was terrifying. What first inspired you to start writ-ing? I suppose when I started it was just a way of expressing myselfreally. Part of that probably stemmed from feeling a slightly awkward teenager, but in a more general sense I think it felt to good to be creating something, when your young you spend a lot of your time in education being told what to do, so I think I valued the act of writing, throwing something back out there. Is poetry best when read alone or witnessed live? Depends on the poem.
How important is it for poetry to have a social or political mes-sage?I think poetry can be many differ-ent things, poetry is definitely away of engaging with the com-
plex, and sometimes bizarre socio-economic situations that surround us. In a way just the act of writing is a political statement. However I think poetry captures the smallmoments between people, those fragile intangible situations thatpeople always find themselves in and find difficult to explain betterthan political agendas. I think po-etry needs to engage with allaspects of the human condition, one of which is definitely social and political but there are also infinite other things that subtlyinfluence and take shape in our lives that a poet should engage with. Who are your favourite poets? On the page; Phillip Larkin, Simon Armitage, been reading a lot ofAdrian Mitchell recently too.
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the men on my mother’s sidehad very large hands -like rubber gloves stuffed with sausages,at five, I never watched their facesI watched their hands
the men on my mother’s sidehad very loud voices -laughter foaming like spit between the teeth,at five, I never listened to their voicesI listened for that laugh
the men on my mother’s sidewere all butchers -burly, bloodthirsty houndsat five, I could smell the rancid lardready to baste me on the silver tray
that man on my mother’s sidehas a shuffle, a stoop at eighty eighthis body hollow as a hung carcassat five, he was Grandad, ‘Cock’, crowing over the roomwith cigar-smoked, Bryl-slicked plume
that man on my mother’s sidecame out from behind the choked fugdrew on his pipe, swilled a leery slugI was five, he said he would eat mesliding his hand, slowly past my knee
The butcher Jemim
a Ro
berts
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How long have you been writing/performing?I’ve been writing for about ten years and performing for about two.
What first inspired you to start writing?I’ve always had a passion for writing even when I was a lad at school. I always wanted to play an instrument or sing in a band. But I never got round to learning and insrument and I’m shocking at singing. I realised that writing was like an instrument for me that I could always take somewhere. I liked that idea. So I wrote more and more to speak it in front of people from huddles in the street and parties to gigs and events of people.
Is poetry best when read alone or witnessed live?Both. Depending on the intention of the poem or how it’s written. Some poetry I lose interest with because I can’t focus on it when I hear it live even though I know its a great poem. I’d prefer to read it and absorb it word for word. Whereas sometimes I read something and I want it to be read or performed to me instead of me reading it. Poetry is poetry. A good poem is a good poem. A shit poem is a shit poem. Whether it’s scribbled on the back of a cubicle door or hand stitched using a horse’s tail into silk.
How important is it for poetry to have a social or political message?Poetry can be about anything imag-inable. It can work with anything imaginable. Some of the best poems are about the most boring of things. Social political messages are good in poetry because it can desensitise us to the message. It can hide the message and make us think about issues we may not want to deal with. It can deliver the message in a way other art forms may not be able to. It can have an effect on people. Like music, or a short film can. It can reach out. Maybe, political or social messages need to be put into poetry to become successful. Poetry doesn’t need them. It’s a concept in it’s own.
Who are your favourite poets?Favourite poets? I’m afraid I dont have one. I enjoy some of the clas-sics but truth be told I don’t read as much poetry as I should. And if I do it’s more modern poets and people who I share stages with. Poets nowa-days dont get enough recognition. If some of the people who write today provided the backbone of poetry and cemented that kind of quality for us today, I think the world will be a better place. Get to know!
AlexGwyther q&A
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Please Mind The Gap
Please mind the gapyes please mind the gap between you and methe gap caused solely by ethnicityand the hue of the skin that covers me200 years after the abolition of slaverySo please mind the gap
Your skin protects youAnd my skin does what?My skin betrays me cos it’s not what they wantThey being you,Members of this ‘multicultural society’Where skin tone nor background is not what we seeMay I disagree?Or would that be seen as aggression because it’s coming from me?So please mind the gap
Content of character is only looked atAfter the fact that I’m from AfricaStacked up on that slaveboat like a box of cargoNot knowing for how long they were stuckOr where they were gonna goHarriet Tubman and Martin Luther King criedSo freedom songs we could singAnd here we are back on platform oneWishing a freer future for our sonsSo please mind the gapYes please mind the gap between you and meThe gap that doesn’t need to beThe Lord said come as you areGentile, Jew, slave or freeBlack, White or Indian Cherokee
SARAH
13olowofoyeku
SARAH Unnamed
Everyone’s a writer,Everything’s a writer.The sky tells a tale with its rich and breathtaking huesAnd a bridge offers a short story with its astounding viewsand when we write, we write all the things we can’t say out loud,we whisper them into existencewith the pen as our instrumentand when the words ooze onto the pagethey scream our painthey cry our frustrationsthey accompany us down memory laneThey stare back at usLook us dead in the eye, as if to say,Yes, I’m what you just scrawled and scribbledand yes with me you can tweak and twiddleBut I’m here.Back into the pen I cannot be sucked.I am words. I am your words.And when we close the book,or scrunch up the piece of paperor tuck it somewhere never to be discovered,we feel relief because we’ve got something off our chestwhether good or bad, ground-breaking or insignificantwhen the pen gets put down, something is different.Everyone’s a writer, we write to get by.
olowofoyeku14
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How did you get together as a band?
Binisa: I had written some songs sing-ing and playing bass and I wanted to pay them with other people. So I approached Ben and Greg, because I loved their playing and thought we’d work well together.
How would you describe your music, and how do you see it progressing?
Greg: Soul music, songs, taking a lot of influence and ideas from jazz and var-ious forms of African music - Afrobeat, Malian and Guinean dance bands of the 60s to present, Latin-American music, Congolese guitar music, as well as reggae and jazz - pretty much all forms of contemporary black or ‘of black-origin’ popular music.Binisa: Personally I’d like to expand the sound beyond obviously ‘Afro- in-fluenced’ I’d also like to move in a bit of a psychedelic direction... we shall have to wait and see what evolves.
How do you feel songwriting com-pares to writing poetry?
Greg: It’s always about expression. The medium is different, but in many ways they’re the same thing - dealing with structure (or lack of it), emotion (or lack of it), narrative (or lack of it) etc.Binisa: Poems are a little bit more tricky to turn into songs, I’ve found. And songs emerge with melody more organically.
How did the name come about?
Greg: Through a 4 hour-session in the SOAS bar when i couldn’t bring myself to suggest anything apart from ridicu-lous names that no-one would ever call a band.Binisa: I wanted to use a band name with ‘Ruby’ in it, because I was almost called Ruby Zinga (Zinga is my dad’s surname) and I always though that would be a great stage name. So we were thinking about lots of ‘Ruby and the..’s and someone else suggested vines.
Who would you describe as your influ-ences?
Greg: Jonny Greenwood (Radio-head), Sekou ‘Diamond Fingers’ Dia-bate (Bembeya Jazz), Bartholemew Atisso (Orchestre Baobab), and loads more!Binisa: Ooh. In terms of singing, Miriam Makeba was a big influence, but i don’t think you’d hear that listening to our songs… When I was very young I absorbed a lot of instrumental jazz like Coltrane, Miles Davis, Don Cherry. And I know that that has influenced and shaped the way I think musically, it quite an unconscious way. Reggae is in there too - we all listen to reggae.
Ruby &The Vines Q&A
The TiiiIGER
HAD NEVER escapedbefore.
THE CAR DIDN’T
STOP
THAT DAY.
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Six word storiesWill Coldwell
ELVIS MCGONAGALLWe’re going to get the job done
We’re giving it a final pushWe’re dropping bombs on goatherds
Up the Hindu Kush
We’re exporting western valuesWe’re making the streets of London safe and sound
We’re importing heroin and body bagsWe’re driving fear and loathing underground
We’re liberating the oppressed, we’re defending democracyWe’re installing freedom through force
We’re neutralising the insurgents, we’re pacifying targetsWe’re seeing it through, we’re staying the course
We’re only causing collateral damageWe’re implementing extraordinary rendition
We’re operating surgical strikesWe’re accomplishing a just and stabilising mission
We’re reconstructing a broken nationWe’re building Jerusalem in Afghanistan
We’re trampling through the blood-sodden poppy fieldsWith the ghost of Genghis Khan
We’re in a struggle for civilisation We’re on a crusade against medieval vandals
We’re tweaking Johnny Taliban’s beardWe’re stamping on his sandals
We’re employing enhanced interrogationWe’re imposing prolonged detention
We’re pouring water down throats, we’re punching headsWe’re kicking the Geneva Convention
Operation undying conflict
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We’re turning back the tide of terrorWe’re wearing King Canute’s crownWe’re trundling Sisyphus’ rock to the top of the hillWe’re watching it roll back down
We’re chasing wild geese across the Khyber PassWe’re sifting dust in the Tora BoraWe’re on the Silk Road to nowhereWe’re opening a present from Pandora
We’re harvesting death in a blighted landWe’re staring into Pandemonium’s caveWe’re wrapped in the flag of faded hope and old gloryWe’re stumbling into Empire’s grave
We’re slowly sinking in the sand in a Soviet tankWe’re unsheathing Darius of Persia’s swordWe’re putting new saddles on the same old donkeysWe’re severing reason’s golden cord
We’re tying ourselves in a Gordian knotWe’re weaving an endless wreathWe’re climbing a mountain to catch a fish We’re seizing the moon by the teeth
We’re ruffling a kangaroo’s feathers, we’re knitting with fogWe’re nailing jelly to the wallsWe’re putting socks on an octopus, we’re ploughing the seaWe’re grabbing eunuchs by the balls
Alexander the Great, Tony Blair, Disraeli, Brown Cameron, Obama, Brezhnev, BushWe’re dropping bombs on goatherds Up the Hindu Kush
ELVIS MCGONAGALLOperation undying conflict
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Change, Optimism, HopeProgress, Energy, Vigour
Modest, Moderate, ModernBrighter, Better, Bigger
Conservative, Compassionate, LiberalBlack, Muslim, Gay
Young, Green, MartianWork, Rest, Play
Responsible, Tangible, RealMotivation, Dedication, Aspiration
Empower, Enhance, ImproveLocation, Location, Location
Vision, Ambition, IntuitionCourage, Resolve, Expertise
Beliefs, Values, Dreams Eats, Shoots, Leaves
On, My, BikeEco, Friendly, Guy
Recycle, Renew, Relax Take, Off, Tie
Liberty, Equality, PaternityWomen, Babies, Men
Co-operation, Coalition, Cocaine?Never, Ever, Again
Trusting, Caring, SharingGoldsmith, Geldof, Gandhi
Emerson, Lake, PalmerYankee, Doodle, Dandy
Beanz, Meanz, HeinzReady, Steady, GoLeg, Before, Wicket
Edgar, Allen, Poe
You can call me Dave
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You can call me Dave Mary, Mungo, MidgeBeverly, Hills, CopYabba, Dabba, DooSnap, Crackle, Pop
Keep, It, RealWatch, Me, BlogPimp, My, RideSnoop, Doggie, Dogg
Boo, Ya, ShakaIn, Da, HoodSuper, Smashing, GreatFinger, Lickin’, Good
Suit, You, SirAre, Friends, Electric?Want, That, OneVorsprung, Durch, Technik
Bloody, Nice, BlokeSun, Shiney, DayBlobby, Blobby, BlobbyGabba, Gabba, Hey
Drivel, Piffle, BilgeYackety, Yack,YackRhubarb, Rhubarb, RhubarbQuack, Quack, Quack
Silver, Spoon, FaceChubby, Puppy, Fat Shiny, Wavy, HairNotting, Hill, Twat
Same, Old, ToryEton, Blood, BlueBrand, New, PackageBlair, Mark, Two
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Hello, hi, my name is Pry Minister.I’m important, that’s why I administer
pools of rules and pry into thelives of the populous. Am I sinister?
No, you must have me mistakenfor a bloodthirsty raven.
I don’t kill, I’m just cravenand number ten is a clean-shaven haven.
Power from a distance – remote control.Shower on the miscreants – I don’t cajole,
that would be far too friendly.Go fetch my Mark II Bentley,
let’s go south and we’ll drum up votes.I’ve got the nous for these dumb-fuck folks.
Fuck the poor; but obviously not literally - (you’d catch something frightful),
just cut their funds and make their lives misery.I wasn’t born with a silver spoon in my mouth,
I was born in a silver room in a silver housein a silver town atop a silver driveway.
Hush now Nick, we’re doing things my way!DO
RIA
N G
RAY
Pry Minister
My child hood was good, blue, but now in tatters,Worn with one leg long, one leg short shorts and odd patterns. Chosen from some want of a zip down the front of me,Worn zipped two thirds down - like Air Force jackets civvie military.
It was dashing - my first glimpse of fashion,I said it was cool, Gran said it was smashing,At school pride for it stole me from work through the day.At home mirrors were my admirers, the hall my runway.
The colour was my friend’s choice first,Lucky it was common to see.Navy clothes on a child remain suspiciously dirt free.But conversely;
Time had its toll.Assisted by trees, moths and military rolls,First sleeves decayed, ripped and got twist,My child hood only stopped being worn when it had revealed my wrists.
Little blue child hood
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WILL COLdWELL
WILL COLdWELL
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It’s market day on the 236,The two-for-one, one-for-all shopping trip.
An eight-foot yucca fills the wheelchair bay,In its green tinted shade children play.
While high above mouths natter and grin -Someone new to the bus dropped a yam as they got in,
Which rolls to the base of a box tall and thin,Towering over an old woman, all hairnets, mittens, and knock off
toys for grandchildren. Yes, Christmas is near and it’s clear to all of us;
An explosion of tinsel and glitter glistens at the back of the bus!A piercing scream cuts over it all,
As a mother rights her child from a pot-hole jolt fall.Its cries for a second render the passengers mute,
The closest to ‘un ange pass’ on this bus route.
Market day on the 236
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Artwords Bookshop is the specialist for books, magazines and videos on the contemporary visual arts.
5% NUS Discount.
www.artwords.co.uk20-22 Broadway Market
London E8 4QJ
TiHE iiiiiiLOVESONG
OF EDGAR
LEADi FINGER
Murmur
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TiHE iiiiiiLOVESONG
OF EDGAR
LEADi FINGER
Enter Leadfinger; villain of the villageIf I’m chillin’ I’m gon’ bill it
Man I play the game to win itIf I’m in it for a minute or I’m in it for the long run
I won’t put the pen down ‘til I know the song’s doneConcentrate when I’m on some breaks
Might just bun a little zoot help me contemplateConsecrate concrete when I’m on streets
Come back complete, run tracks, bomb beatsTo Bombay and back round the long way
Come the here the song play:Edgar, ashing on Pompeii
Pompous pretentious, conscious pretendersGet robbed of their robes and then knocked in their dentures
I rap for a purpose, surfing the service of serversHurting the herds of nerds who act nervous
Delivering a rap serviceIn the lab going mad penning back to back verses
Chapter and verse is my forteFoot in the door way
Graffing up your hallway all daySmall brains strained by the force of the thought train
18 years young putting in a sure claim.
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Who’s lurking in the shadows? Edgar LeadfingerAlways deep and never shallow? Edgar Leadfinger
Got your whole crew paro? Edgar LeadfingerThe state wants him on the gallows? Edgar Leadfinger
Edgar Leadfinger; Lord of the ManorAppalling with grammar
Slapping Thor with his hammerBruce Banner man veins coursing with gamma
Treating any whack rapper in the coarsest of mannersAborting the plan to conform to the norm
Word is Born in your headphones cooking up a stormLooking to perform in every acre of nature
Pole to pole and all around the equatorClaiming the game got my name on my trainers
Painting the plains with some indica strainersHead into the rain with my anorak and a capSee how many canisters of brew can I back
Cancel that. I’d rather write and banger thatMan and yats will play when the jam is fat
And it’s packed. That’s a fact.
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Let’s effect everybody bless the decksSoundwaves at underground that could resurrect
Edgar XClever threat, like no man you’ve ever met
Headless wretchThe reason that you woke and your bed is wet
Wrecks the set.Don’t hesitate, I’m here to decimate the areaLeadfinger’s Lovesong necessitate’s hysteria.
Escalating, scarier than Kruger in the fleshSo dark I make Lucifer look beautiful and fresh.
Who’s lurking in the shadows? Edgar LeadfingerAlways deep and never shallow? Edgar Leadfinger
Got your whole crew paro? Edgar LeadfingerThe state wants him on the gallows? Edgar Leadfinger
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Anya Pearson
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I tOLd yOu I wAS ILL
My hot-blooded heart pumps - I’m far from sanguine,Irrationally thinking my foot rash is gangrene.I search for symptoms onscreen, my panic peakingIs that a tremor in my finger or the tremble of a weakling?Now a jabbing in my chest - as painful as impalement -Do I just need a Rennie’s or is it some other ailment?Are my sleeper cells colluding in a plot to finish me?From corporal to corpse and not even twenty-three.
Information feeds the folly in the treachery of the body.My homepage is the NHS; you could call this my hobby.A filament of hope gleams before it’s lost againAnd obscure Greek and Latin words whirl around my brain.The forecast is poor, I’m sure I’m at death’s doorBelieving it as wholesale as a cash and carry store.Doctor, the results are coming through and it’s horrible -It’s terrible, it’s terminal, it’s Diagnosis Gullible.
iVan: I’ve got a new way of thinking; if you never stop and just keep
on driving you’ll never have to pay for parking.
IvAn: I saw a cat in the dark and ‘cause its hind legs were in shadow
I thought it went on forever.
IvaN: There were no cars so I stepped straight into the road and
there I came face to face with a fox. If I’d been drunk, I would have talked to it (I’ve always thought foxes would make won-
derful counsellors).
iVAn: I think it’s time I taught you how to sing- hold a note under
your tongue like it’s a magic stone, then just open your mouth and let it go.
iVaN:I’ve split in two.
Ivan Splits in Two (Song)
Pengilly’s
32
My hot-blooded heart pumps - I’m far from sanguine,Irrationally thinking my foot rash is gangrene.I search for symptoms onscreen, my panic peakingIs that a tremor in my finger or the tremble of a weakling?Now a jabbing in my chest - as painful as impalement -Do I just need a Rennie’s or is it some other ailment?Are my sleeper cells colluding in a plot to finish me?From corporal to corpse and not even twenty-three.
Information feeds the folly in the treachery of the body.My homepage is the NHS; you could call this my hobby.A filament of hope gleams before it’s lost againAnd obscure Greek and Latin words whirl around my brain.The forecast is poor, I’m sure I’m at death’s doorBelieving it as wholesale as a cash and carry store.Doctor, the results are coming through and it’s horrible -It’s terrible, it’s terminal, it’s Diagnosis Gullible.
Info/Contribute!
For a digested read of all the poetry in this issue, we kindly refer you to the word cloud below, courtesy of wordle.com...
Word Is Born is a monthly night that runs at The Others in Stoke New-ington, and is a regular fixture for Soul Rub, as well as where you can sometimes find yourself a copy of inc. magazine. Word Is Born runs on the first Sunday of each month. For details of ine ups visit:
www.myspace.com/wordisborn
or search “Soul Rub” on Facebook.
Some Soul Rub (and friends) websites to check out:
myspace.com/furcatsmyspace.com/waralondonmyspace.com/rubyandthevinesmyspace.com/somethingsimplemyspace.com/soundscienceukmyspace.com/thisispengillys
Podcasts, poems and chat can all be found on our blog:
www.inc-zine.blogspot.com!
If you would like to contribute to the next issue of inc. magazine, please do!
Any poem, song, limerick or rhyme you have knocking about will be read and responded to. We promise.
Likewise, if you are a graphic design-er or illustrator and would like to con-rtibute any images for future issues, they will be very well received.
Please email all comments, contribu-tions or words of praise to:
All work within inc. magazine is copyrighted under a Creative Commons licence. For the full licence visit: www.creative-commons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/
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