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Book Slam: Dave Eggers 24/04/2010

April 3, 2010

I have written about Book Slam a fair few times now and instead of prose I’m thinking of writing in pretentious spacey prose-poetry because it must be getting very boring hearing me talk about the ‘cove/cave like quality of The Tabernacle’. So here it is. A review that is not a review but a poor cover up for my lack of imagination.

Malika Booker. BREADFRUIT.

The mic is brought down, small. Fiery.

“At the moment I’m like a bear, I’m hiding behind a desk.” She says, her necklace glinting across the crowd.

She has spun a poem out of a headline, of a group of immigrants, ARCTIC WOLVES, who travelled here and then on hearing they were being deported. Committed Suicide.

They Did Not Want To Go Back.

DAMAGED KITE. The poem about the disappointment her father wields upon her, yet is the dead earth, she continues to harvest.

“He was the corn.”

Her earthy clipped, Grenadian flavoured voice blasts her internal loss, universal.

THE PASSING ON, is of dancing matriarchs and of baby-girl would be’s. Of Aunts rubbing their backsides against the Po-Faced Police Men. Setting a pattern of behaviour which the baby-girl-childs recoil from but will follow.

“Old Spice Island. Why did we leave?”

BLUES FROM MY MOTHER. Of all the things mother’s say to us – of the burden and the love, of the conflicts and the contradictions. The infuriation that leads to us walking away from the cord. Still Tied.

“She is my ancient civilisation crumbling and we don’t want her to go away.

Oh no.

We don’t want her to go.”

Dave Eggers.

Heavy brows, eyes hidden by the bright lights. A Good Egg.

Zeitoun. Giving a voice to the unheard. Caught between the War on Terror and Katrina. The All American Family who happens to be Muslim.

He left his newborn baby in the yard, helping his wife up the stairs.

“How could he be partner to one and protector to another” At The Same Time.

Valentina. Amy. Flora.

Mutters and giggles into the mic. Bounces from the guitar to the Dulsima to the Yamaha.

Pulsing Symbols echo a reflection on the projector screen like sunbursts. Milky gold sun spots.

She has sad, heavy, wet eyes. She frowns when singing her songs of loss.

Furrows frame two glittering black orbs.

One Comment leave one →
  1. April 7, 2010 10:09 pm


    Thanks for the heads up on your book slam reviews!

    Really like your site too! Real refreshing! Love it!


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