Poetry has no place for a heart that’s a whore
Madeline and I went to see the Swell Season a couple of weeks ago - last minute tickets added to the excitement, especially when it emerged that they were being supported by Martha Wainwright. I knew of her, but couldn't hum a single line from one of her songs - I'd asked Jamie if I should buy one of her albums once, he said yes but I didn't follow through.
It was in a ballroom just on Van Ness - standing for all unless you wanted to sit 50 meters away on a balcony (for old people we decided, although we were tempted). We positioned ourselves 2 meters from the stage drinking Heineken in plastic cups, feeling San Franciscan. Martha took the stage, dressed in black and white, with her acoustic guitar and kicked off what would be an amazing 30 minutes of solo brilliance. People at the back were chatting noisily which pissed her off, but it added to the feeling that we were experiencing something woefully under appreciated.
Every song was belted out with a passion that can only be appreciated first hand - powerful lyrics sticking immediately, chord progressions becoming ingrained on my subconscious hummerings for the remainder of the week.
I got home and searched for some of the lines which I liked. The title for this post is the opening line of one of her less-subtly-named songs which took me to a College Website where a poet had used the line as the title for her readings:
"In the last two years I have, among other things, left my husband of 22 years for a woman, been diagnosed with bipolar disorder and OCD, and begun, finally, to deal with the sexual abuse I survived as a child. My poetry is a reflection of all these things: eroticism and erotic love, abuse and mental illness. Poetry like this, resides, I think, in the silences and the margins where the best truths—and poems—are found." - Bron Bateman
I think you have some issues when this poet is relating to you. Issues are brilliant when they're channeled creatively.
I liked this also:
Oh I wish I wish I wish I was born a man
So I could learn how to stand up for myself
Like those guys with guitars
I've been watching in bars
Who've been stamping their feet to a different beat
To a different beat
To a different beat
I'd like to stamp my feet to a different beat, maybe.
I'm watching the epic 3 hour Martin Scorsese documentary on Bob Dylan at the moment (birthday gift from Madeline from iTunes), and am feeling enlivened by music. If you're on Pandora, take a listen. If you're not, get on Pandora and take a listen.
I'd better mention that the Swell Season were also amazing - their CD is a permanent fixture in the car CD player.
Snowpatrol $ Martha Wainwright - Set Fire to the Third Bar.
Talented family - Rufus and Martha - Hallelujah.
