Words to Uncle Sam continued By Patrick Henry

prev page

Following my official Catskills Tour a few days off in The Big Apple gave me chance to enjoy jazz-clubs, restaurants, street-life. I signed on for several Open-Mic. Poetry sessions in Greenwich Village and The Bowery, some dominated by Black Hip-Hop performers out to qualify to slam, meaning to go forward through competition up to inter-state level. I never passed the preliminaries, like a White British contender hopeless against Cassius Clay. But my nerve to enter this lion's den, and my calm eloquence upon the exploits of gutsy Woody Guthrie won some tolerant admiration. Although introduced as a people's poet from Yorkshire, Britain, I overheard some Blacks satirically quipping I say, I say, your Royal Highness.

At a venue run by an elderly White Beat-Generation lady, the Guthrie poem might be expected to thrive, but she resented this Limey coming over here to filch her icons, and she disrupted my performance to intrude her own work, a dreary rambling lament for the demise of her Bohemian milieu. Licking the hurts of my hubris, I crossed the East River to Brooklyn and searched for the old house of my late favourite uncle, once a cop around here, but it had been demolished. The spooky past was fast catching me up. Would I ever recover the semblance of sane reality, or had I cashed that in too when launching upon this itinerary of cultural quirks. Mocking night laughter of Catskill Creek still haunted my steps through this teeming city.

Deeper in the honest heart of Brooklyn I unearthed a poetry cell in the crypt of a Lutheran church. The cheery priest chaired proceedings and read out his own chirpy verses. A blind old Jewish lady painstakingly fingered Braille pages thick and yellowed as ancient scrolls to entice from the cryptic ciphers a voice of poetry sonorous as Biblical force. Others contributed and I read my poems about travelling Eastern lands. They were gratefully astonished at my arrival.

How had I ever found them? A free-press arts listing, a subway map, strong shoe-leather and curious persistence were to blame. It was never easy, from remote, historic Catskill, through the zany Greenwich Village, brash Black Bowery, to this earnest urban parish. Poetry turns up in many guises, the lingua franca of the romantic idealists, their own more-explicit music that defies the rule of prosaic reasoning, offering an unusual welcome to the odd Englishman here amongst them.

Articles - Post-Organic Thrill: Cotton On, and Preserve the World By Steve Rudd

	A great many people profess to preferring the idea of buying organic, but - I wonder - how many of those people actually do go out of their way to ensure that they do buy organic in order to make that difference to both the physical world's wealth and the people who live in the world's health. The main organic Read more...

Articles - Hull's Beauty By DJ Chris Plant

	I decided to take a look at Hull's brand new Beauty Clinic and Hair Salon, BeautyMed and A Cut Above (having heard very good things about them both). I needed the makeover too. BeautyMed is a new clinic situated at Suite 2, 173 Ferensway, Hull (Opposite the railway station). Read more...

Articles - Rock and Roll Tales (Elvis and Me) By Denis Price

	'Go on!'urged Jim, 'Tell him where you saw Elvis'. Wednesday was quiz night at the Corner House and by the time Pete the landlord called for the intermission our team was well .. er .. stimulated and to prove it was well involved with our rivals in a discussion centring on Elvis Read more...

Articles - A SAD DAY (John Peel) by Michelle Dee

	I just got a call from my best friend that has shocked me deeply. So many things flood the mind; first, the disbelief; then the regret of never actually writing to him; of never getting round to sending that CD of some obscure band that you felt sure he'd love. Then guilt follows, knowing that you haven't listened to his rich voice Read more...

Articles - Going Through Doors By Joe Hakim

	My mate from work rings me up and asks me if I want to go out, so I say, Fuck it, why not? I hate going round town, but I've had more nights out over the last few weeks than I've had in ages. I can feel myself de-evolving into something less, yet something more. Somebody stop me. Read more...

Articles - Iraq By Andy Dykes

	So it happened. After weeks of waiting, and a short lived escape, Ken Bigley was finally pinned down and felt the blade of a knife against his neck. It was as close to inevitable as anything could be, given the recent trend for sacrificing hostages in Iraq. But it brought the atrocious nature of Read more...

Articles - No Text Please, We're British By Andrea Longstaff

	What with the advent of the mobile phone. It really is no good for spelling and it seems to be breeding new illnesses. Not to mention we're all gonna be a nation of illiterates with repetitive strain injury! There's sleeping text, this is very similar to sleep walking. You awake in the morning Read more...

Articles - Things To Do Before You're 30 Part 6 By Sarah Tomlinson

	You know, I just got home from watching that new film Wimbledon and I can only think one sentence. Over and over again, and its really bugging me. I'm getting sick of waiting. But I am, I am getting sick of waiting, sick of waiting for my Peter Colt (Paul Bettany Read more...

Articles - Unfinished Theories By Andrea Longstaff

	Angus, my guitar hero but.......... I do think the Aussie guitarist Angus Young is getting a bit long in the tooth for the school boy uniform. I reckon Angus is a big Krankie's fan and he wears this uniform in tribute to the little munchkin, Jeanette Krankie. When AC/DC where belting out Highway to Hell Read more...

Articles - FEAST...From Arthur Woods

	Food Education and Social Transition(FEAST) Do you know how to cleanse your body from the inside? Do you know when the liver is most active and does not want you to eat? Do you know what makes acid in the body? Or alkali? What makes a healthy balance of the two? Read more...

Articles - Big Screens, Beslan and the Bus Home By Joe Hakim

	I decide to go into town to buy a CD and a magazine. As I'm leaving Whitefriargate I bump into a mate that I haven't seen in ages. We talk for a bit, all the 'Hey, how the fuck are you, yer bastard,' shit, and then we decide to go and have a couple of cheeky pints. Read more...

Articles - Made In Hull - Part Four - Schooldays By Maurice Fairfield

	My first day at school is still vivid in a misty sort of way. We were all given a little child-sized blackboard, with a tiny blackboard eraser and some chalk. So far so good. Unfortunately I thought it was mine and when they wanted it back they had to take it by brute force. The blackboard was Read more...

Articles - Eat Your End of an Era By Joe Hakim

	So I agree to go and watch my mate play a set at the Welly club. I've stopped clubbing, but I go anyway, because he's my mate and I said I would. When I say clubbing, I mean the whole go out take drugs and dance thing. Read more...

Articles - Peoples of Olde England (the North/South divide) - a declaration of war By The King Rat

	Since the dawn of time before English folk focussed their anger on immigrants and the sharp decline of Only Fools and Horses, we whiled away the hours hating anyone and everyone. We hated our families, our neighbours, our fellow townspeople. We hated people on TV, successful people Read more...