two blackbirds, or, not that i’m into metaphors or anything

two blackbirds

or

not that i’m into metaphors or anything

 

 

 

you are packing and i am coming home from work

a blue suitcase full of books and films

a yellow suitcase full of clothes

i stand cross the carpark and there are two wee birds

black with orange beaks

standing outside the door

 

one stares at me for a moment and flies out of eyeline

it’s partner

or lover

remains til my key is in the lock

then turns it’s head

her head

and follows him

 

she follows him

 

you sit in the doorway amongst dvd boxes and old novels

choosing what to bring

 

 

griff

wow

wow

 

it used to be all fields you know

and the boys who used to drink there

bought houses there

now they are 25 not 16

and it’s a ghost town by a train track

empty concrete semi-detached shells

built on invisible money

now these boys are stuck there

and the long grass is gone

the cans are gone

and gone is throwing ourselves up by the railings

as big orangeBelfastscreaming trains raced by and

we’d scream back at them waving our cheap cans

and stolen wine and the grass was up to my thighs

so I couldn’t tell if the ends of my corduroy flares were wet

it was so cold that my feet were numb

 

each time I pass those houses

I feel a little old for remembering when they were just fields

where boys would dare one another to take off their clothes

as late night trains passed,

in threes were the boys, naked in the long grass

laughing and drunk and young

 

I thought it was funny that they called them the cornfields

the grass was just long

there was no corn or anything like it

I think it is funny that it is called Clongriffin

I was only there twice or so

but now I always will be

kind of

 

 

 

griff

shush

shush

for ceri

 

 

you are a bundle of alphabet parts tangled

into pet-names unintelligible

infantile sweet talking in tongues

while you wash the dishes

you are words i have never met

words i can’t assign objects to

only the flavour of your skin to

or that strange brightness in your eyes that

i have never seen in another human living thing to

you are my strange vowels and consonants

secret passwords uttered in low tones in public

screamed while tearing around the new apartment

a tiny fresh country with ugly old curtains

a shire, a borough belonging to us

it’s sole two inhabitants speaking a language incomprehensible

to anyone outside of this

 

xx griff

(2 hours late, my apologies xx)

La Clique and Starvin

So I’ve been somewhat inattentive of this the last few days, due to real life getting in the way, as it always does! But the Fringe goes on, and we’ve only got a little time left!

Last Wednesday, shocker, nearly a week ago, I was lucky enough to go to La Clique in the Spiegeltent. I went with the very rigid expectaton that it was basically going to be a burlesque show, lots of boob, lots of tassle, maybe a few hula hoops for good measure - but I was in actual fact very, very wrong. La Clique is, in fact, a circus of sorts, where people from all over the world, with all sorts of skills, come together to show the audience that no matter what your skill or dream is, if you persue it, you might make it someday. On the very, very edge of my seat I watched a man climb through two tennis rackets, a beautiful girl hula hoop for her life (I bought a hula hoop yesterday) in a really cool way, as opposed to a, ‘ooh check out how sexy I am’  kind of way. That doesn’t go to say the show isn’t incredibly sexy, as well as incredibly funny, and nervewracking to hell – I did watch several portions of it through my fingers.

I feel like I’m slipping into a really boring reviewing style, isn’t that devastating? The show was awesome – I won’t spoil it, obviously, but I’ll just say that the character who gave the rendition of Radiohead’s ‘Creep’, well it gave the song, and La Clique, a whole new meaning for me. The show was stunning on an aesthetic level, but at the same time, something deeper resonated with me from it. We really can do whatever we want, if we love it enough. So maybe it really is time to start loving the little strange things that make us happy. So when you go see it, if you go see it, go with open eyes and an open mind because it might just touch a nerve, and make you think a little differently about what we’re all capable of.

I mean like, not that I’m going to run away and join the circus or anything, but I did buy a hula hoop. And a Bob Marley CD to hula to (that wasn’t part of La Clique though). After I finish writing this I’m going to go out to my garden to practise some more, even though it is a little cold outside.

Then on Sunday afternoon, I went to see Starvin’ in the Project at 1.30. Again with me being a philistine, 4 naked people moving around in front of me for an hour literally just confused me. I tried again and again to understand what sort of narrative they were attempting to display, but it completely missed me. I didn’t even have the time to stay for the Q&A afterwards to suss it out; I hope I might meet them at the Artists Bar or something to suss it out further. As a peice of art, it is nightmarish and dark, but I may have gotten that impression from my own confusion. From what I could interpret, it dealt with issues of ageing and life and relationships with other people… I wish I could go again just to try and understand. It was 13 euro concession mind you, so unless you’ve a taste for dance (or nudity) I’d think twice.

Going to Group Therapy for One tonight, and then tomorrow Camille O’Sullivan. Big love all, I’m off to get my hula on and have a bit of a dance in the garden – definately a dacent aul cure for a tired soul!

 

oh s

oh fringe oh dear – Point Blank

Right. I promised myself I’d never give a show a bad review, certainly not this early in my theatre-going-and-reviewing adventure. But I went to see Point Blank, in Project last night. And I didn’t enjoy it. Neither did my lovely friend Christina who was so kind as to pay into the show for me, due to my excessive poverty. I was really surprised, considering the blurb in the festival guide looked so fascinating. Maybe I just missed the point of the piece, I’m not sure.

Basically what happens is you’re presented with what is essentially, a power-point presentation of images collected by a 19 year old Finnish character. She’s nervous. Leaves a lot of dead air. Instantly believable as a real person as opposed to an actress, but only because she seems ill prepared and nervous. There’s very few laughs, and though that’s not neccessary in all theatre, I think the lack of it in this peice made it appear as though it took itself far too seriously. It is dark, but an awkward kind of dark. I’m actually finding it quite hard to describe. The most important thing to note is that its not real. It seems real, but it’s not real. The photographs, or the sequences of photographs, by which she is attempting to define her life, are fascinating though. Admittedly, I was a little jolted by the sheer quantity of them that are shown to you on the projected ‘desktop’. Nada has been taking photographs with a 200 zoom lens for years, spying on people’s lives and trying to construct her own existence through that. She is unemotional, and her logic is skewed and cold. Perhaps this is how she is meant to be portrayed – emotionless, void, trapped in a time of her life where she’s afraid to make any decisions just in case they might be the wrong ones. So in observing, and obsessively watching others and recording their behaviour – she tries to map out options for herself. She’s seeking a role-model; someone who’ll give her an example of living that she likes and feels as though she can emulate.

It literally is performed as though it’s a self-help power-point session. If the character was more likable, maybe this would have worked for me. But she was stunted and naive and cold and for whatever reason, I just couldn’t relate to her.

Now in fairness this is just my opinion, you could go and absolutely fall in love with her and want her to find the right path. I went, watched her try and find her path and by the end, unfortunately, didn’t really care what happened to her. I feel kind of like an awful person for thinking this, but theatre like any other art form, is down to taste. And characters are designed so people either like, or don’t like them. This time was the latter. If you are going to part with sixteen or fourteen euro to go to see this show, you’ll leave remembering the photographs, and the people who are captured in them. It’s nearly worth seeing for them alone, as opposed to the little heroes journey of personal discovery that Nada is attempting. The approach is innovative and unique, certainly, and perhaps with a different hostess could have been extremely moving. Tuesday was the last night of the run.

Tonight I’m going to La Clique and am very excited, because I’ve never really been to anything like it before. Expect a big fat review tomorrow, or tonight. If y’all are interested in what I had to say about Rough, it’s in issue 3, yesterday’s issue, of Oh, Fringe! In the Fringe Factory today I coloured in a picture of Mario on the wall. I love journalism.

My VERY epic Sunday – Where Did It All Go Right? and Nico Muhly

Which I can reflect on, fondly, in an exhausted state the following morning. I was very, very tired after leaving the Speigeltent last night. Basically collapsed in a ball in Connolly Dart station, very happy, and feeling very enriched.

I was pure rushed off my feet yesterday; went to Exchange Words, the cinema (I know, during a theatre festival, what a sin…) and met with an editor to discuss a peice I’ll be writing for Oh, Fringe’s theatre quarter – but after this running around I decided to nip down to Pantibar to christen my Fringe experience with a dance show called ‘Where Did it All Go Right?’ by Ponydance. This was a pure random decision, I’d an hour to burn before meeting my lovely tall girl for Nico Muhly. These kind of decisions are all in the spirit of Fringe really – take chances with shows, just go to things – you might come out feeling all the better for it.

I sauntered into the venue, paid the 8 blips concession, it being the preview and all… and the following 45 minutes kept me on my absolute toes, and injected me with more energy than a box of blue Smarties could have in 1994.

Now I’ll be the first to admit that dance and movement theatre isn’t something I’m normally interested in, call me a philistine if you will. But Ponydance completely tore up my expectations. The peice explores dance in a really accessable, contemporary way. Its about dance as a display of gender and identity, as a mating ritual, a competition, and as something we are all a part of and we all know. When I had a chat with the company director, Leonie McDonagh, she pointed out to me that the show was somewhat site specific, or “site referential”. There’s also some audience participation, which means each show will be different, because some people will respond positively, others negatively, and some not at all.

She also pointed out to me that they had only a 2 week development time, which in a way surprised me, but at the same time definately provided reason for the energy and freshness that the show has. There is nothing stagnant about their performance.

I  have just realised that I didn’t note how funny it is. It’s laden with humour. It’s not entirely about dance, it’s clearly about the happiness dance gives, and the fun that can be had with it as a social expression. See, that’s important. I won’t say anymore, for fear of spoiling any part of this gem for anybody.

My one word of advice to anyone attending though, is to get in early, as if you’re stuck sitting in the middle of the audience, as I sadly was, you may end up missing some of the action that takes place down on the floor. So if you can, get in that first row. But if you aren’t brave enough to get right up there, you can perch atop the couches at the back row, and that should provide an equally good, but definately safer, view.

So after this show I pegged it up the IFSC for a show that I knew absolutely nothing about – a performance by Nico Muhly. I thought, by his picture in the Fringe Guide, that he was going to be some mournful singer-songwriter type. I was very wrong. This lad is actually a very important modern composer. Wrote the score for The Reader, worked with Bjork and Rufus Wainwright amongst others – it was his first show in Ireland last night and I certaintly felt very grateful to be there. His stage presence was charmingly casual. Now admittedly, a lot of the stuff wasn’t my bag – his music contains a lot of irregular rhythms that just don’t sit well with me. But at the same time, some of his peices were very haunting and melodious. His violist and trumpet….ist added a lovely effect to his stage presence, just the three of them and their instruments (Muhly plays grand piano and samples). It was ashort performance, only 75 minutes, but one thing that wrecked my head a little was the constant movement of the audience. They floated in and out of the tent as if nothing important was really happening. I got slightly outraged, you know – if you’re going to a gig or a show, sit down and watch it, don’t get up for a smoke in the middle, that’s clearly not sound at all.

Of my epic Sunday, my recommendation lies with Ponydance. It’s 8 quid concession, in Pantibar every night this week at 6, til 6:45 (though you’ll wish it was longer). Seriously, leg it down and catch it, you’ll be glad you did.

I’m going to THEATREClub’s Rough tonight, in Players. My review will be in Oh,Fringe tomorrow, we go live at midday from The Fringe Factory, formerly known as Cultivate (no we do not have any organic washing powder) – on Cow’s Lane.

sound buzz lads

til then

oh, s

sewing machine

is rocket science.

when i fix it, then figure it out, i’m sure it will be satisfying.

And it’s STARTING

A big fat hangover in your arms and legs clearly not an ideal way to embark on any sort of adventure. But sure aren’t we young, and isnt this it?

My name is Sarah Griffin and I am a kind of writer/proofreader/general participant in the daily magazine for the Fringe Festival this year – Oh! Fringe. And this here is going to be my record of events. Bit of giving out, lots of excitement, lots of going to plays and the like. I figure, why do anything like this if you aren’t going to record it? Also, hangovers and proofreading and the like, along with coffee and ciggies somehow make for a very inspired state of mind. Can’t stop writing – and what better way to channel that than lash it all into a blog and immortalize the experience on the internet (the absolute least poetic of all mediums to write in).

So today, part one, la de da. Presently am listening to the whirring of the sewing machine as more and more issues get put together. Trust me, it looks savage. I don’t even know why you’re not down here right now picking up one for yourself and one for your mammy. It’s very cultural, you know.

The location we’re in is absolutely lovely. We’re down Cow’s Lane, where Cultivate used to be (it is not here anymore, no we don’t have any organic washing powder, sorry about you). Accross from us is this pure georgous bakery, right – this morning on my first cigarette of the day and my first cup of coffee (courtesy of my friend Sabrina who makes a whopper latte down the Meeting House Square market) I sat on the little steps outside and listened to them play Bittersweet Symphony, and made ‘come hither’ eyes at the muffins. There’s custard in them and it’s pretty incredible. Tourists, and arty people kept walking past -it took a lot of strength to not stop every one of them and go, ‘Here, we’re doing a really savage magazine, stall in later and pick one up-’ sure it goes past plugging the thing and into harassment.

My skirt is from Awear and it was 3 euro and it is made of tracksuit bottom material. It may be the greatest thing I have ever purchased in my life. It’s very comforting, through hangovers of all sorts. I feel a little bit like Ariel the Little Mermaid because my hair is very orange.

I am going to go to a play tonight with my very flashy artists pass – there lies the benefit of voluntary work of any sorts, discounted shows and nibbles in different nice little fooderies.

Back to work yo.

oh s