Just over a week ago Fourth Friday held their summer party at the Poetry Café, and I’ve been thinking about it, off and on, since then. I almost didn’t go, feeling a tad lacklustre, a bit drained by the humid weather and slightly dreading what the conditions would be like in the café’s basement, which can be close and stuffy even in winter. But it turned out to be a wonderfully uplifting event, and this despite the fact that a lot of the poetry we heard had quite a dark edge. Thankfully, there were several fans in action in the basement. We were offered a free glass or two of bubbly and some nibbles, and thanks to some strategic bag-placing by fellow open-miker Jill Abram, I luxuriated in a comfy armchair instead of the usual hard plastic orange seat.
The Crispy Hot Club performed Django Reinhardt inspired tunes, and their foot-tappingly, knee-jigglingly irresistible music contributed to the French flavour of the evening. Host Hylda Sims read a sequence of tender yet funny poems arising from an intense platonic relationship with her much younger French lodger, Jean-Noël, several years ago. She also sang a great version of Chattanooga Choo Choo, backed by the band, with two of her own verses celebrating the joys of travelling by Eurostar and arriving in Paris. I wanted to book a ticket there and then. In the second half, Hylda’s poems drew vividly on her now annual summer visit to Jean-Noël and his family in la France profonde. I’ll be thinking about her on le quinze août and the strange local festival where young men try to sever the head of a dead goose suspended above the main street.
The other featured poet was Jon Sayers, who warned us his themes for the evening were war, accident, disaster and unemployment. His first poem, The Marble, was a hilariously deadpan account of a childhood game with potentially disastrous consequences for his elder brother. Another poem, Mr Levy, about his optician of many years, also had a strand of tragedy running just below its affable surface, and a sense of quietly-building panic. In fact, that mix of humour and terror was present in most of his poems, often rooted in the absurdities of his day jobs as copywriter and voice-over artist. For his second set, Jon read some of his own translations of Jacques Prévert poems from Paroles, and spoke passionately about their continuing relevance, Prévert’s humanity and his empathy for all suffering creatures. The poems sound charming, almost nursery rhyme-like at times, but there’s a dark vein running through them. I was particularly struck by the poem Barbara, which could be read as a simple love poem, but is also about the devastation wrought on Prévert’s home town of Brest during the Second World War, with its recurring, urgent refrain ‘You must remember‘. The multi-talented Jon Sayers also sang in French un chanson with lyrics by Prévert and a haunting melody I vaguely recognised; Les Feuilles mortes known in English as Autumn Leaves – the French ‘dead leaves’ is stronger, and, Jon maintained, this is another poem about war. He gave a defiantly angry rendition of Brother, Can You Spare a Dime – a song from the Depression about the fate that awaited many US First World War veterans – the breadline. Jon remarked that war seemed to be on many of our minds, with the approaching centenary of the outbreak of the First World War. One of the poets from the floor, whose name unfortunately I didn’t catch, read a powerful poem Poppy, on this theme. And another, Alfred Todd, recited his poem The Debris, memories of playing in the ruins and rubble of east London bombsites when he was growing up after the Second World War. Impossible to listen to this and not think about today’s children in Gaza, Syria, Iraq, Ukraine. . . In Covent Garden, it was a warm night, and those of us at the Fourth Friday summer party were lucky to experience some great music and thought-provoking poetry.