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Urban poets bring the spirit of William Blake back to the streets
Robert Mendick, Chief Reporter12.06.09
A new breed of urban poet is taking London by storm.
Performance poets - think William Blake meets Dizzee Rascal - are enjoying a boom, reciting verses in the unlikeliest of places.
The growing band of lyricists will perform anywhere and to anything - and will be showcased as part of a new "poet in the city" event on Monday night.
Kate Tempest, 23, is inspired by William Blake. Tempest, a former rapper, said: "I feel a direct connection to his work. I feel inspired by everything I read."
Tempest often draws upon Peckham Rye for her work, where Blake believed he saw an angel. She said Blake's work could be compared with rapper RZA, of the Wu-Tang Clan, an American hip-hop group that she also idolises.
Tempest said she recently performed at a "massive punk squat party with really loud music". "I just went out on stage and told my poems," she said.
Charlie Dark, 38, from Stratford, may launch into a dance during a recital or enjoy backing from a DJ.
He said: "Mainstream poets are just not in touch with young people. But performance poets can reach out.
"It's difficult to get kids interested in the classics. They don't want poems about daffodils when they don't even have a windowbox to put the daffodils in."
Dark and Tempest will be reciting at one of London's biggest gatherings of performance poets on Monday at King's Place, a new arts venue in King's Cross.
Kat Francois, 36, from east Acton, a former world poetry slam champion - where poets compete against each other for an audience vote - will also be playing at the gig.
Francois, poet in residence at the Theatre Royal in Stratford, said: "I deal with subjects from domestic violence to teenage pregnancy.
"Poetry should be accessible and that is why the performing is as important as the writing."
The Spoken Word All Stars event takes place on Monday from 6.30pm.
Extract from Revelation by Kate Tempest
Here there is dignity lacking, intent to deface our own worth we lose sight of our substance.
allow ourselves to be ruled by the basest of functions. While slippered men walk old through the streets of our youth.
Separated. Polarised. Wisdom is hated, and too many minds have grown stale and frustrated as we feast on our sins, our appetites baited with eating.
the hunger increasing with each fleeting mouthful.
a meeting of minds becomes doubtful, lips clenched against secrets, strength dead before weakness.
we're dormant, prostrate before an ideal of power,
is this not what was written then? is this not the hour?
when each from the other is cloven and ravaged, when indifference has turned us to stone,
when neither marriage nor love is forever, and what of the seven seals? and what of the flood?
but how can we believe though if we cannot trust? how can we believe at all if we cannot trust?
