The joys of critical feedback

We saw bite-sized chunks of new work – from Stanley Cook poems, presented in straight ‘stand up and tell it’ style, to the more elaborate kitchen-sink drama which opened the show. Every one of these formats can work. Polarbear delivered a piece straight to the audience simply and effectively. Kate Fox got us more involved, made us laugh; again her writing was true, and we respected it.

Every performance you see is a chance to reflect on your own practice. When you like it, it’s great and you ask what you can learn from it. When you don’t, you should still respect the performers who had the balls to perform it. You have been given an opportunity, at their expense, to analyse what you didn’t like.

One piece at Lit Up presented us with actors speaking a story by Jonathan Coe, with music by the High Llamas. It was a bold combination of music and words, and held my attention for an hour-long performance. Yet for me, it didn’t quite hit the mark. Why not? The actors and musicians were professional, the staging was attractive and slick (in a good way). But for me, the content wasn’t engaging. The music/ words seemed to operate on different planes rather than working together.

However…. Jonathan Coe and his team have got up there and done it, with all the work and planning that that implies. I haven’t. The production was a fantastic experiment, thought-provoking and innovative. It will have been life-changing for other members of the audience. Alright then smarty-pants, I thought to myself – what would you do differently?

This is the first half of the vital critical loop. You see other performers, you critique them, you build your own practice on the views that you develop in reaction to them. For example: in 2007/ 08 I was part of a show called Bunch of Fives. It was five poets speaking their own poetry, learned by heart, in a loosely-staged performance with professional direction. Where did that come from? From my reactions to previous shows, which had developed my own sense of what I wanted to do. Every one of them, good and bad, fed into my idea of what was possible and what should be avoided.

I wanted to speak poetry, not read it – like Michael Donaghy of blessed memory. I wanted a little movement and variety on stage – like Jonathan Davidson’s production of Staying Alive. I wanted poets speaking their own work – like Apples & Snakes’ Exposed tour. I wanted to develop my own crap memory, and force myself under pressure to learn some of my work. I wanted to promote poetry in Cheshire (I was Cheshire Poet Laureate at the time) and be a better performer – like A F Harrold or Elvis McGonagall. I wanted the funny truths and honesty of John Hegley. Above all, I wanted to give the audience something better than the standard ‘elderly gentlemen in cardigans’ style of poetry presentation. I knew all this, because I had seen all of those good productions, and learned from their successes and failures. Find out what happened in my next blog….

Meanwhile, get out there folks, and see as much live literature as you possibly can. It’s no good slaving over a hot keyboard if you have no idea of the context you’re writing in. Sometimes the brilliance of others’ work will send a shudder down your spine – sometimes it will anger you with its incompetence or with its failure to do what you wanted it to do. And then, it will make you get up and do it your way.