Concrete canapes

Whilst considering the selection of canapes at the recent event celebrating the Gomringer Collection at DMU, I wondered if there was a deeper meaning to the chives pointing in an easterly direction from their perch on top of the rosettes of cream cheese. An ill wind blowing through higher education perhaps?

Did the uniform arrangement of the sesame-coated, Stilton scone-like wheels comment on contemporary society in some way?

And how on earth had someone managed to cut poppadoms into perfect pizza triangle shapes without them shattering into tiny pieces? (this was explained by a fellow attendee who suggested they had been cut into shape prior to cooking. Oh yes, of course.)

Guests were justified in thinking maybe the food on offer was imitating Concrete Art. The event on 13th September was held to welcome back avant garde Swiss poet Eugen Gomringer, himself partly inspired by the Concrete Art movement to develop Concrete Poetry as a new poetic form in the 1950s. Concrete poetry is a playful and creative use of language, deceptively simple yet adding a further dimension to a poem. It uses the typographical arrangement of words together with the blank space of the page to suggest meaning, as well as from the words themselves.

Eugen Gomringer is ‘the daddy’ to this movement, and DMU is priveleged to house a collection of many of his seminal poems in the Clephan Building. The collection was printed by Francesco Conz, a collector of concrete poetry, and was originally donated to DMU in 1996. The donation was organised by former Professor of English and Cultural Studies Nicholas Zurbrugg, not only an influential academic but also a noted concrete poet and artist.

Gomringer, now in his 80s, was modest and charming as he spoke of viewing the collection again. I know for a fact the concept of concrete poetry is taught in primary schools, and every year his poems are seen by a new audience at DMU as another intake of Humanities, and now Art and Design students, make their way around Clephan building. Some will stop and look at the collection, some won’t, yet the poems are there.

Take a look next time you are passing the second floor lecture theatre. What do you think of them?

And in case you were wondering, the canapes looked and tasted very nice thank you and that was all they were meant to do.

Sally Jack, DMU

Editor's note: This post has been published long after the event (in September 2011) owing to blog-problems. Usually I would not publish anything so belatedly but Gomringer is so distinguished that it seems worth including a belated review. And the works will remain on display in the Clephan Building during Cultural eXchanges week.

There will be sex

I read somewhere that if you put sex in the title of an article, people have been scientifically proven to be 78% more likely to read it. Or something like that.

Well, I can confirm at 12 o’clock, Saturday 19th March 2011 at the States of Independence Independent Press Day at De Montfort University, you will get sex. How’s that for a sure thing?

It’s all above board though. Nicola Monaghan’s talk, Sex and Sensibility, is just one of the 27 different workshops, readings and book launches at this press day event, a fantastic opportunity to meet and hear writers and their work, or establish new contacts with independent publishers.

The timetable is impressively eclectic: from the Moomims to anarchism, Arts funding cuts to crime writing. And, of course, poetry readings.

This is the second year Five Leaves Press and the Creative Writing team at De Montfort University have organised this special event. Even better, it is free.

I went last year with my daughter Sarah (as I don’t remember any sex on the timetable). Highlight for her was having three of her bedtime story books signed by their author, Berlie Doherty. Sarah was awe struck, “Mummy, that lady is famous!”

So, take advantage of this rare opportunity for fledgling and established writers, and interested readers, to share work and experiences, to talk to publishers and editors. You never know where it may lead.

The obvious way to round this off would be to somehow mention sex again. But I wouldn’t do that, would I?


Sally Jack

Drooling over Words

Should I take my 7 year old daughter Sarah to the poetry readings by Sean Bonney and Maggie O'Sullivan at this year's Cultural eXchange event at DMU? I feared the content might be too adult but the argument of exposing her to culture won.

I love language and word play. At a recent poetry reading by Geraldine Monk, again, at DMU, I agreed with Geraldine's approach when she said she drools over words. I also listen with a mixture of interest, horror and amusement to the evolution of Sarah's own language stye. Recently, the use of 'like' has entered our household, either as a discourse particle: "Mummy, I'm like, really hungry" or a quotative: "I was like, Amber, I saw the Justin Bieber film before you did."

Back to word bandits, Bonney and Sullivan. I needn't have worried about Sarah. We, and the whole audience, were mesmerised by the urgent delivery of Sean's passionate, punky poems, his delivery fuelled by some sort of lexicial power surge. Sarah wrote words she found interesting in her notebook. The one expletive she recognised was written down, complete with exclamation marks and a box to mark it out from the others. What a rebel.

Maggie's poems were, as promised, an event in language, with the focus on sound patterning: assonance, consonance, sibilance, alliteration. I loved the concrete references to base elements and metals, anatomy and nature.

I'm glad we went. We both feasted on language. Sarah commented later on how many 'wow' words she had heard. Indeed - and no further words are necessary from me.


Sally Jack

Question: Is Romeo and Juliet about binge drinking?

The audience at DMU's Cultural Exchange Event 'A Reviewer's Perspective' got the answer: renowned Guardian theatre critic Michael Billington said if the play is good then it can be whatever you want it to be. Shakespeare's work is certainly resilient enough to cope with such interpretations.

I am new to the art of theatre reviews, and admit to feeling a bit odd writing a review of a reviewer, however, I was interested to hear how one of the masters perfected his craft. With forty years service at The Guardian, Michael has sat through some of the best, and worst, of Britain's plays and musicals. That is a lot of interval ice cream.

He is an optimistic chap, and has seen and commented on the many developments in Theatre Land, also the impact of the wider world on this branch of the Arts.

In terms of writing, I feel respect is due to the theatre critic, who, within an hour of curtain call, must submit a complete review, ready for the morning's papers. This review must also be well written. Michael cited his own great influence, the Observer reviewer Kenneth Tynan, who he felt 'wrote with voluptuous style: fluent, witty and combative prose.' That is certainly something to aim for.

Ultimately, Michael's advice to the aspiring theatre critic is to have an overpowering urge to write, and an ability to engage, entertain and express opinions with clarity. Oh, and the small matter of an insatiable appetite for theatre. And ice cream.

Sally Jack