Archive for the 'Poems' Category

Contributions to the Bold Street Blog

Apologies for our blogging silence over the last couple of months, Boldstreet’s mother project tenantspin has taken up a lot of our time of late with some amazing projects which have helped us to spread our community TV wings into one of the cities most famous and influential gallery spaces (apart from FACT that is!!) Check out our other projects at www.tenantspin.org and www.tenantspinontour.com.

So, for my first post in a while here is something sent to me recently, from Mark Shepard called Street People:

Street People March 1978

Come into the silence of the crowded street

There are some faces I’d like you to meet

The ones that look like locked doors

Concealing what’s inside

The ones who don’t reveal to you

The music of their minds

That man knows his beer glass

Like a jeweler knows his jewels

Another man knows his empty pockets

Like a school boy knows his rules

And the young man who just passed us now

Is searching for a friend

Who understands his solitude

And knows how to make it end…

Refrain:

Stand inside the echoes

Of this cold concrete

It’s like an ever moving photograph

Never to be complete

Hold the silence in your hand

Feel that it is wise

Assemble all your senses

and place them in your eyes

That girl knows the sidewalk

Like a songbird knows its cage

She’s a year from home and tired

Of lying about her age

The business men who know her best

Don’t know her very well

They’re too caught up inside themselves

With what she has to sell

Refrain:

Stand inside the echoes

Of this cold concrete

It’s like an ever moving photograph

Never to be complete

Hold the silence in your hand

Feel that it is wise

Assemble all your senses

and place them in your eyes

See the old man with the spaniel dog?

He loves it like a son

And sometimes in his room at night

He dreams that he is young

Some “victim of society” just stole a lady’s purse

He eats the ground with his strong legs

And accelerates in bursts…

Refrain:

Stand inside the echoes

Of this cold concrete

It’s like an ever moving photograph

Never to be complete

Hold the silence in your hand

Feel that it is wise

Assemble all your senses

and place them in your eyes

See more of Marks work at www.markshepard.com. Thanks to Mark for submitting this poem.

Help create 800 poems for Liverpool

poem_blocks.gif

Liverpool Poem800 is a new creative space for anyone to enjoy and create poems inspired by Liverpool. Created by Roger Cliffe-Thompson www.poem800.com will collect 800 poems for Liverpool’s birthday.  I particularly like “Liverpool… in the sixties” by Ian Hunter.  Of course if you feel inspired to write a Bold Street poem, we’d love to see it here too!

3AM on Bold Street Baby….

One of the first things we uncovered during our Bold Street Research was writer and poet Jegsy Dodd’s song 3AM on Bold Street.

We got in touch with Jegsy who was kind enough to join us here in FACT and recite his poem to a live audience. Here is that performance in full - 3AM on Bold Street is available to purchase via itunes.

City Walks

“City Walks” by Andrew Taylor

Vernon Street stands large in memory.
Hidden behind screens, until the
move upstairs, where light poured in
framed by blind-less windows. Tom’s
studio, city model floored with Dave
working delicately. Faces familiar by
daily routine and shortcuts to
Tithebarn Street, somehow becoming
a part of it all. Captured in journal entries
and stored on the camera’s disks.

Town Hall on the lip of the hill. Sensing
the river at the foot of Water Street. While
Castle Street’s windows stand decorated
for Christmas, we gather at the entrance,
security check Billy’s, Stu’s and my
credentials. Nicki walks straight through!
Wonder at the chandeliers as the Mayor’s
chains rattle through wine soaked laughter.
Balcony waving, think of the Beatles standing
here 100,000 crowded below.
Continue reading ‘City Walks’

The Swoon of the Nightingale

poem_header.gif

The Swoon of the Nightingale

Hope Street calm bars have let out cabs idle on Hardman Street neon
buzzing like a summer fly need to follow the path well worn 3.00 a.m

route marches down the Dock Road desperate for her attic room
double bed lilac calming the bleating of ship’s horns in the bay

morning rises with a milk float echoing through terraced streets newspapers dropped on Hall’s steps the 61 on up the lane

breakfast a view over to North Park bus stop centre of activity
freshly painted graffiti under the billboards ‘Yozza loves Paula’

Haze rising south over the docks traffic increasing city bound
radios tuned into weather reports ‘Another glorious day temperatures

ranging from 23 degrees up to a maximum of 26 degrees dry clear skies
with slight sea breezes in coastal areas patchy cloud developing this

Afternoon’ cancelled train opportunity to wander the platform dappled
in shade left to right and under the bridge watching the Wigan train

shed its passengers it shudders to a halt recalling years of using this
station as a way out

Boarded up warehouses in Mathew Street Cavern filled in opportunities
not seen Eric’s closed under tatty sculpture only mention of THOSE

four now a mecca for Macca acolytes who want to walk the same cobbles
as he did drink where John drank and buy Blue Meanies from

Cavern Walks ‘The Place Where It All Began…/ filled in for our illustrious redevelopment’ replica replacement we’ll build roll up

roll up for The Mythical Hysteria Tour Expresso Exchange John had to move he was blocking the door he took with him his oversized mop

head now he props up another attraction where tourists stare at names
those who played there over the road you know where that car

park is The Wall of Fame glistens gold discs obvious ones removed
souvenirs that you can’t buy in The Beatles Shop

rebirth of Button St in moves Wade and Ted luxury apartments for sale soon for rent BHS all glass and steel a fifties pos-tmodern dream realised

Lewis’s food hall reduced to three shelves of Rich Tea and baskets of dented tins like being the last one in Christmas Eve and buying 10 year old Macallan

to celebrate the season accosted by people trying to sign you up for credit cards with extra low interest rates only 3.9% in Central while the homeless

ask for spare change for a bed for the night turn left Bold St leading
towards cemented in Squares where once Nightingales would swoon

by Andrew Taylor.

Summer’s over Drad

poem_header.gif
Summer’s over Drad

Air feels somewhat colder first
thing. Astounded by routes
to be hiked and arms of the Cathedral
which I want to loop me.

Temperature. Think of Montreal’s
first snowfall, Billy’s photos of
the Pier Head in December and BV3
‘Discosis’ shopping in HMV.

Seek the answer. Loaded lunchtime
Catharine Street. Si’s speed getting
somehow predictable in its urgency.
Aware she’ll feel exactly like me.

*
‘You can take a trip around the world
without leaving your easy chair’

Locations will differ. The Friary,
the Town Hall quiet. Walk St. Anne Street
en-route to the Tower, sleep sticky in eyes
coffee somewhere our tonic.

‘The poet’s have been called for creation
we were born free to the world as we were
born we will depart’

Bold Street shop, curry ingredients.
Red Stripe fridge chilled. Hope in
Summer sun foreign students, open day.
‘Representing Faith’ attention holds.

‘I’ll carry on every single part I play
I’ll be so strong, hell I won’t give up the fight’

Hair zapped in Razor’s Edge. Flyers
given out, cash point trips. Step sitting
lock-out, provisional licence loss. Feel
magical, mystical, motherful logistical!

by Andrew Taylor.

(with thanks to Karl and Bran Van)

Blueagale

poem_header.gif

Blueagale

Everytime you look
at the Cathedral
think of me and know
that I’ll be thinking
of you

As I wander the routes
where Henri’d walk home
McGough’d stand at
the bus stop and Patten’d
stand and smoke

watching pretty girls
go by I’ll think of you

Wrap up warm in
your new coat Winter
has its teeth out pull your
collar high drink plenty and
as you do

know that I’ll be
thinking of you

When you spend time
buying books on Bold St
watch the crowds split past
The Great Escape and into
the throng know that as they do…

by Andrew Taylor.

An Art

poem_header.gif


An Art

There’s a German girl with a yellow greyhound
walking through warehoused back streets in
Liverpool, while a Vietnamese man who’s
painted green, sits in a press conference in
the Holiday Inn.

Parr Street afternoon. Karl and Wesley
guard 62-74. While artists seek invigilators
to sweep rubbish, I walk to Bold Street to laminate
Tracey’s poem and reacquaint myself with memories
of evenings spent hill walking.

Feels like a form of homecoming. Familiar faces,
shop fronts and city smells. Banners hang, announce
the 2002 Biennial, in time to mix with commemoration
and bids to place an already world famous place on
an ever shrinking map.

Light points upwards from the Liver Building. In Henry
Street, Stu sits wiring lamps outside Gelatin HQ. with
tales of  artist’s egos. Away from street lights, a caravan
sells postcards in Campbell Square and somehow shines
like summer.

by Andrew Taylor 

Troubadour of Light

poem_header.gif

Troubadour of Light

Glow with blue check the status
revelation through spray luminol
in the dark an indication of love?

Ryan argues it is hell and I would
agree parts one and two
a meeting on Bold Street in summer

or building snowmen on sloped
gardens taking photographs
skipping and dancing and laughing
through unique air

that exists solely with you

by Andrew Taylor

I will colour your shoes in with black permanent marker pen

poem_header.gif

I will colour your shoes in with black permanent marker pen

Cottage garden has long disappeared under grass
a smell of celery soup and bread in the foyer
‘they’ve had a different veggie one all week’
Smudge squints in Autumn afternoon sun

Breakfast at The Egg rooftops a feeling of home
signal breaks intrusion travel speeds you to town
snarl at the barrier new trainers and shopping list
rain then sun then Kangol inducing rain again

Flags barely visible where you named plants
decked with colour and bric a brac photos of India
tall and thin with beige undertones leading to office
Lime tree whose ‘leaves dance when the sun hits’

Sadness seeking The Smallest Church In Sussex
sale items in HMV visible on scabrous tired arms
Bold Street way towards the Soul and sandwiches
eyes fill olives are dissected coffee stands cold

Sweet lavender once now tyre tracks set in mud
Buscopan aided trip talk of new baskets and workshops
bustle through to snaffle milk for tea
window reveals a draught no sill for Cacti

by Andrew Taylor

The Far Lea

poem_header.gif

The city is not only a form of modern life; it is the physical embodiment of a decisive modern consciousness – Raymond Williams

Swallows chatter and dive through the estate
some resting awhile on cables breeze bobbing

possibly pondering an early return? The day’s
heat not quite melting the unlined tarmac

still seeking the shadow of established trees on
my route to the station past The Far Lea the house

where the border collie patrols in some kind of
pretence at guarding dappled light past the fields

where you can see rabbits bask in late afternoon
sun the train intersecting the M57 and past the

golf course to the left and the racecourse to the
right so many hours spent staring through glass

speeding by waving back to those waving jumping
when a half brick clangs against the thankfully double

glazed window recalling time spent sleeping on the
6.58 a.m. to Sandhills 17 and the walk past the BAT

tobacco factory before it was sold gutted and half-turned
into flats mindful of Vauxhall’s regeneration cul-de-sac

‘Brookside’ wannabes Stanley Dock magnificent river
light cascading through Hartley’s neglected masterpiece

unhappily gathering litter on Sunday’s ‘Heritage’ market
day contrasting old and new Imo Car Wash Costco ToysRus

to the right car park sited on the old Tate & Lyle to the left
descend under Leeds Street running parallel with Pall Mall

counting tunnel strip lights through to Moorfields ignoring
the stop Central new goal for the fifteen minute

walk up the hill to Jordan Street through Bold Street’s bustle
onto Berry Street past the Parking Space Gallery where Jane

had her exhibition opening the night before Billy and Karl went
to Amsterdam the Chinese Arch shouldering the Blackie a riot

of colour through morning sunshine rice cast into gutters for
regular pigeons Square empty artificial hills concrete

pathways multicoloured play area quietness surrounds the
Cathedral stout proud protective aura towards the river

downhill once through the lines of streets St James’ Road
giving way to road widening schemes community decimation

Georgian grandeur  ripped apart raining bombs not the excuse
The Chinese Gospel Church shifting sideways making space

for flats to edge the Square Chinese Wholesalers bustling with
trade buses trundle along past scattered pedestrians the Liver

Building on the horizon to my right as I amble slowly towards
Jordan Street past Industrial Units and seascape railings

by Andrew Taylor 

The Important Progress of a Major Northern City

poem_header.gif

The Important Progress of a Major Northern City

Bold Street Eighties heyday.
Cafe Berlin versus
Cafe Tabac Icicle
Works LP sleeve
at the Berlin,
soup bread
and cosy chats at Tabac.
Rain cascading
down turning
the gutters
into a river
of litter as the
Echo sellers
ask you
to buy their
last copies.

Bold Street Nineties decay.
Coffee Union versus
the bar XS
The Face, Wallpaper*
and The Independent
at the Union,
Bottled beer two
pound a throw
and greasy
American imitation
French fries.
Sunshine optimism
as the motorised
road sweepers
carve their way
through the
litter.The Big Issue
sellers insist
you buy
their last copies.

By Andrew Taylor.

Caffeine Fix (for Alicia)

poem_header.gif


Caffeine Fix (for Alicia)

Ironic that we spend the odd lunchtime sat where Ruth and
Nichola once worked and where I’d arrange to meet them for lunch

As we partake in our caffeine fix occasionally glancing through
coffee shop steam towards the windows overlooking Bold St

Trading news like pioneers hitting the West for the first time
safe in the knowledge that friendships can remain rooted

despite year long silences and lost addresses emerging into
afternoon light with work calling and poetry needing to be

typed up the world being a better calmer place because of an hour
and a half sat amongst clattering coffee cups and shared memories

by Andrew Taylor.

A poem a day for Bold Street

We are lucky enough to have local poet Andrew Taylor’s work to share with you.  Liverpool-based poet Andrew Taylor often uses Bold Street within his work and we are pleased to be able to present a selection of his poems here on the Bold Street Blog. We have quite a selection, so we’ll be publishing a poem a day! The first  installment coming soon!

You can find out more about Andrew at: http://www.andrewtaylorpoetry.com




Get the Flash Player to see the wordTube Media Player.