Poets from 4/12/4 Event

As I write, itís 29/11/04, not such a symmetrical date as that above, although mathematicians, and people who can add up, amongst you, might note that the three numbers within that date add up to, wait for it, 44! Which is somehow fitting.

And although 29/11/04 not a particularly sexy looking date, it is still generating a semblance of excitement within my bones, for it is just 5 whole days away from the more exciting date (above). Fewer days, if youíre reading this after today. None, if youíre not reading this at all (likely). Something peculiar if youíre reading this after the big day, and before Iíve bothered changing the wording to make it more suitable.

Anyway, the night is proof once again of the existence of other poets other than myself. Hopefully, I will be able to add samples of all the people involved. For the time being, I have just a couple from Phil Knight and the notorious Scott Fitzgerald.

Phil Knight

It must be said, I donít know an awful lot about Phil. I should get around to asking him more about himself so that I do know more about him. What I do know is that he entered the Swansea heat of the John Tripp Award for Spoken Poetry, as I did (fancying I may fare better in a less crowded Swansea heat than the Cardiff one - no such luck). Philís luck also was, like a politician the day after a scandal has broken, not in.

I also know that Phil is a portly gentleman who hails from Neath, which I know doesnít tell you all that much. As you might imagine, his accent is quite broad. And his comedic value also, is of some merit, hence the decision to include him in a comedic night. Anyway, Iím waffling here really, trying, like a journalist who has discovered no truth in a scandalous story he was attempting to "break", to make a story out of nothing. So I will instead, let Philís words, to use an extraordinarily hackneyed expression, "speak for themselves". Should really try to get some of the poems Phil read at the Swansea heat too.

 

A Word From The President

 

The First Mad Cow

 

Scott Fitzgerald

If you thought this guyís interest-value did not extend further than his remarkable name, think again. Scott was a loser in the Cardiff heat of the John Tripp award, and yet again, proof positive that not all losers are in fact losers. And that in fact, many losers could be better than winners (if only those judges had understood...). Actually though, in Scottís case, perhaps one of the main reasons why he was eliminated from the judging process was that he went almost a full minute over the 5 minutes that youíre allowed to read in. What a rebel. Anyway, other than being a window cleaner, a film producer, and of course, also a poet, Scott has a particularly interesting, and, perhaps, I should add, shady, past. A past which Scott recounted to me when we met up for a friendly coffee the other day. However, Iím going to be a spoiler of sports and not divulge this shady past. I shall leave it up to you to ask Scott about it, if ever you should meet. I mean, it would beat the tedious, "gosh, is that your real name?" question. Just mention the News of the World to him. I say no more.

Here are some of Scottís words, words which, indeed, he will be speaking, in just a few short days from now (exciting, eh?). You will detect a pattern running through this verse, and Scott has a whole series of these, but I have put just a few on the site, so that, just in case you do happen to read this before attending the event, you wonít know all the poems by heart, and make it pointless you turning up. Actually, Iím doing it to save on the typing, and give you something to look forward to. Anyway - 3 poems from Scott.

 

Man

 

Juvenile Delinquents with Bugger all else to do

 

Girlfriends

 

 

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