New Year, New Book, New Opportunities

So, how is your 2013 so far? Fine, dandy and bursting with goodness I hope. If not, I hope it turns around and comes to heel soon. I have a fairly busy diary for January after a great Christmas experience as I unexpectedly was asked to be a guest speaker on a Cruise Ship. I’ll just let that sink in before adding….to Barbados! 

This was definitely the best unpaid gig I’ve ever done. In exchange for six 45 minutes talks, D and I left Southampton on 16 December and spent eleven days at sea cruising to Barbados. Sadly, almost as soon as we got there, we had to fly back but we enjoyed the trip immensely and I learned some important things:

1 The Bay of Biscay is a Grumpy sod in December

2 I do NOT get seasick! This was a relief as I was the first speaker on the first morning at sea and nothing disrupts a poetry talk and reading quite like projectile vomiting.

3 No books on cruising tell you how to put your pants on in  when the sea has a 15 metre  swell. This should be on page one dammit!

The guests were sweethearts and enjoyed my talks and even bought my new book.  I collated and had printed the book printed in super quick time to be ready for the Cruise. It’s called Somewhere South of Normal and please email me at mark@akickinthearts.co.uk for details  of how to get a copy with free Post and Packing to Uk addresses.  

So the end of last year was a good one and I feel as if I’m carrying some momentum into 2013. Gigs continue with The AntiPoet in the Rhythm Method Tour and I will be addressing two Rotary Clubs in MK this month. Poetry Slams in MK schools continue as I am working towards the final of the new Act of the Year Competition.

 

Article here

Keep writin’ and recitin’ 

Mark

 

 

Mark Niel is a bad dog!

Mark Niel is a bad dog! Bad, bad dog. In your basket and don’t move for a fortnight!

I have neglected both blog and website so a long overdue review has now taken place. 2012 was a fantastic year in terms of artistic satisfaction and happiness. It’s only that fickle mistress money that has eluded me. So now, I am a proper poet!

The end of the year was busy and culminated in fantastic workshops and Slam in MK schools (for the MK Dons Sports and Educational Trust); a great gig (supporting Jenny Eclair); picking up an engagement as a speaker on a Cruise Ship over Christmas and then finding I have made the final of the New Act of the Year Competition at the Bloomsbury Theatre on 27 January! (As I believe the modern vernacular has it: Whoop, whoop! 

 

I'm thrilled to be representing Poetry on the big stage and I hope I don't let you down!

Tickets

 

So I promise to be good and keep you better informed this year. Thanks to everyone who supported me. I hope you had a great Christmas and may you snog the face off 2013!

 

Resolutions

I should give more to charity.

I should walk and not drive the car.

I should really join Amnesty.

I should refrain from eating Foie Gras.

 

I should eat less cholesterol.

I should eat more greens.

I should drink less alcohol.

I really should avoid baked beans.

 

I should be better at recycling,

Use brown and green special bins.

I should pop less pills except for

Minerals and vitamins.

 

I should eat more fruit.

I should once visit the gym.

I should read more Proust

Well, at least one book by him.

 

I should watch more documentaries;

Listen to the Classics, not greatest hits.

I should visit more galleries

And try not to shout “But that’s shit”!

 

All these things I’ll try, my mind is set

To be the best I can.

Because, like Jack Nicholson in “As Good As It Gets”,

You make me want to be a better man

A Poem for Football Managers

Inspired by Chelsea but could be about a lot of clubs.

 

Press Conference

I am the new Chelsea Manager

I’m excited to be the boss

We’ll take one game at the time

And win everything, even the toss.

 

I met the boys this morning

And they’re all over the moon

I laid down the law as I see it

And I’m sure we’ll play better soon.

 

The training session was lively

And sometimes emotions run wild

Yes,  I might have called him a muppet

But then he acted like a spoilt child.

 

I don’t think I’ve lost the dressing room

Players should keep off Facebook and Twitter

And let their football do the talking

Instead of tweeting words that are twisted and bitter.

 

I wasn’t aware Mr Abromovich  said that

I’m sure that’s a misquote

He said the board were right behind me

And I’d been given a confidence vote.

 

I’ve just been sacked as Chelsea manager

I gave it my best shot

I’m physically and emotionally drained

So I’m off for six week with the millions I’ve got.

Festivals and continuing education

So August has been a slower time for me with an emphasis on planning, getting bids and applications in and networking as I gear up for the return of schools in September.

I performed at a lovely festival last weekend near Limavardy, Northern Ireland called Stendhal
This is the first time I have been flown in somewhere to perform so it felt very rock n roll. The weather was kind to us and at about 9pm there was the most gorgeous pink tinge to the sky. You could hear music and appreciative audiences everywhere and it inspires this poem which i dedicate to Ross and the rest of the team who did such a brilliant job putting the weekend together.

Keep writin' and recitin'

Mark x

An August Night

Give me an open sky and let it be Irish;

pregnant with music, magic and
the kisses of angels.

Give me one evening that slows time,

opens hearts until they bond and
share the same beat.

Give me nips of whiskey between songs,
shy smiles from girls I should be too old
to notice, and above all,

Give me a memory of tonight that

will never fade, and one last sweet note
that rings for ever.

A Poem for the Games

A Poem to celebrate the Grand Opening of the Games
(Written under the stringent "Brand Protection" code)

All Hail the *********,
Shining ******* in the
firmament of *****.
Cast in ****, ****** and ******
The ***** show mankind as
****** and ******* and *******!

Run ******!
Jump ******!
Be *******!
And carry us with you to *********
Every four *****, your ***** completes
Like a comet, trailing ***** in your wake

And from there,
we can ***** the *****,
We ******.
We *******,
We *******.

On your *****!
*** ***
and on the B of the ****!
**!!!!!!!

Southwold in the wet!

It’s been a busy time recently, writing poems for Olympic torches etc and before I know it, Latitude festival is upon us and I headed towards Southwold for my favourite large scale festival. Whereas most festivals of this size feature music, music, music with a bit of arts, poetry, comedy etc thrown in, Latitude is definitely an all-round festival with fashion shows, classical concerts, ballet, literature and of course poetry.

I haven’t yet been to Glastonbury to be able to compare and contrast but there seems to be such a range of things to do with comedy, cabaret, live literature and poetry programmes stuffed full of interest, wit and entertainment.

Luke Wright does an amazing job of programming three stuffed-to-the-gills days of poetry which featured headline sets from the likes of Tim Key, John Hegley, John Cooper-Clarke, Benjamin Zephaniah and many more besides. I had the honour of launching the Literature Tent on Friday evening and then introducing Rob Auton and Johnny Fluffypunk. As the festival was just getting going, the tent quickly filled up and it was standing room only and all our sets went really well which was an excellent advert for the poetry arena which opened the next day.

I also took part in the Poetry Takeaway where Poetic “Chefs” prepare poems in fast food style for punters. I ended up writing poems about tiny pets that could be smuggled into school; casting a drama student as Princess in her own fairytale; a poem for a female rugby player and writing poems to celebrate birthdays, first times at Latitude and two poems that encouraged people to make big life decisions without knowing anything about them. I also really enjoyed writing poems to be mean or have a laugh at someone’s expense on behalf of other people (I wrote disclaimers on these poems as one of them was a barrister!)

One of the last poems I wrote on my shift was for a guy who wanted to celebrate the rain because although we all moaned about it (and there was a lot of it to moan about!) he said people had a sense of camaradie as they helped each other (“Be careful! That must be really sticky as there’s an abandoned welly there”) and noted a sense of abandon late at night as people danced in the rain and had a wonderful time. I really liked the poem I come up with and so I’ve reproduced it below. Thanks to Tim Clare who had the idea of Poetry Takeaway and Show and Tell who run it so well.

So, dedicated to everyone who came to the party at Southwold in 2012 I give you

A Little Latitude

In England, we treat the rain

like the lover that drives us crazy

but we can’t live without.

We rail when she’s here,

pine when she isn’t and

ache in times of drought.

As the rain pounds down like

the riffs of 60s’ Rock and Blues,

with a bass line shocking the chest

as a cardiac arrest,

no-one cares, but dances

like the world ends tomorrow.

Lone wellingtons promise us,

if we look hard enough

we will find our Cinderella in the mud.

Keep writin’ and recitin’

Mark

Happy Father's Day

A poem for Father's day but especially those who have lost their Dads in the last year.

Frills

My first Father’s Day without him
and I’m tasting a big
Rocky Road cake of emotions
served on a plate with paper frills;
the soft, the sweet
the crunchy, the zesty
the nutty and the sharp.
There will be brothers to call
and that feels like something
Dad would be pleased I did.
Though he always did kept us
guessing about approval.

His last birthday, we hired a hotel
and held a Yorkshire Cream Tea
(which is like a normal Cream Tea
but with a dozen gobstopper scones each)
and Dad wore the most ridiculous frilled shirt;
a shirt you’d only wear for a bet
or if cast as a low rent Austin Powers,
but it was Dad making an effort
ten years after Mum was around to
guide, hint or simply say
“Over my dead body”!

In review, I now see the first flirts of illness,
the early misfiring of organs
but I missed them at the time
hidden by that shirt and his best teeth.
Dad, proud and independent till the last.
I haven’t tried to forget
but neither have I tried to remember,
until today.

So although he wouldn’t approve
there will be tears;
regrets will be dusted off one more time
and I’ll probably think
about that shirt,
frills on a man who had none.
Love and families are indeed
a rocky road
but worth the effort.