The Demon Crew - into reality

There were at least eight of them in the room. They sat nervously biting their lips, watching us take off our coats and settle into our seats.

These are some of the final-year Creative Writing undergraduates. We’re here to see their poems, their stories and anecdotes. They’re here to show us their hard work, as they prepare to take their work as writers out into the real world.

Each piece of work was a delight to listen to. It was great to see each author and how happy they were with each piece of work. The event had an excitable charge to it, with the audience and speakers all eager to hear what would come next.

My favourite poem of the event was called ‘An Average Life’. It was witty, clever and totally unexpected.

I will definitely be going back next year.


Annabel Easton

Conjuring words

“I'm tall, quiet and logical, so my poetry is short, loud and nonsense.”

In pink tinted glasses and bohemian beanie, James G. Laws has a vivacious stage presence as he strolls confidently up and down, eyeing the audience and addressing its members directly. His poetry is powerful and I enjoy the way his words flow freely as though effortlessly conjured in an instant.

In the next moment, a short story begins with such a strong character presence that its author, Laurie Cusack, becomes the protagonist, yelling words like “Bring it on” and “bastards” with so much vivacity I almost believe he's a recounting a personal event instead of offering us a work of fiction. He impersonates each character, even embodying the not-so-perfect nun as she enters the tale. His tone of his voice varies to convey the shifts in mood and character.

The works that follow bring different cultures to life. In Zeandrick Oliver's wonderful South-African accent, the rhymes fall in a new and appealing manner. A trip to Uganda is told using the dialect of its people by Emma Conway in her tartan skirt and round rimmed glasses. I love that I can understand words she uses - and the broken manner of her poetry illustrates perfectly the struggle of speaking an unfamiliar language.

To close, we’re treated to a rather morbid, but highly amusing piece by Richard Byrt.  The poem plays on rhymes, becomes fairly strange and ends simply with: “I didn't mean to kill you”, leaving the audience applauding between fits of laughter. 

May Ouma