PoetryMath: like a Rolling Stone | Book Events

Poetrymath The 2006 Winter Readings are almost upon us, and slated to be held in Wellington at the City Gallery.

'Poetrymath' kicks off with drinks at 6.30pm next Tuesday (8 August), and is dedicated to accident-prone rockers The Rolling Stones. Indeed, more mature LeafSalonistas may notice that the design of the programme is based on the cover of the Stones' album Aftermath.

Previous poetry readings have been dedicated to The Doors and U2, so I guess it'll be a couple of decades before LeafSalon faves Gnarls Barkley are similarly honoured.

Here's the complete programme, barring any coconut tree-related incidents:

Reading 1: Under my Thumb.

Harry Ricketts, Siobhan Harvey, Bernadette Hall and Chris Else.

Tuesday, 8 August 2006, 7.00-8.00 p.m. MC: Niel Wright

Reading 2: Tumbling Dice.

Alistair Te Ariki Campbell, Meg Campbell, Tony Chad and Peter Olds. (Plus launch of Tony Chad’s Self-titled.)

Wednesday, 16 August 2006, 7.00-8.00 p.m. MC: Harvey McQueen

Reading 3: Mother’s Little Helper.

Iain Sharp, Joy MacKenzie, Bill Dacker and Richard von Sturmer.

Wednesday, 23 August 2006, 7.00-8.00 p.m. MC: Michael O'Leary

Reading 4: Paint it Black.

Andrew Fagan, Ralph Proops, Sandra Bell and Jeanne Bernhardt. (Plus launch of Andrew Fagan’s Overnight Downpour.)

Wednesday, 30 August 2006, 7.00-8.00 p.m. MC: Mark Pirie

The readings are presented by HeadworX, Earl of Seacliff Art Workshop, Wellington City Council, City Gallery, the Poetry Archive Trust and Kwanzaa - The Afrikan Shop.

Admission to all readings is by koha, and not - presumably - by Mars Bar.

01 Aug 06 | Filed by Chris | Add your comment (1 so far)

If you enjoyed this post, get free updates by email.

Comment by Penny ~ August 10, 2006 9:19 AM

If poetry is meant to have an impact, the evening 'Under My Thumb' was a success.The Elizabeth Thomson installation that was the back-drop for the poets looked liked deadly-sharp hairs were turning back into skin and when the Rolling Stones played, I felt as if I was at a funeral – strangers and friends in rows; the speakers in black.

Bernadette Hall made me hurt with a story of a dumped boy and Chris Else (in his poetry debut) exposed me to the repetitions of computational poetry which suited a long, long story. I feared Harry Ricketts was having a David Brent moment when he placed his trendy cap on the rostrum, but it was fortunately only a prop for a poem. Siobhan Harvey talked about Chris and Cru wondering what they could have been, which was more positive than statistics would forecast, but they could have been alive. It finished with the word, ‘bruise.’ There was something about that, and ending with a poem about failure, which no longer makes me laugh, that had me leave the gallery quickly, then through a red light.