From the Evening Standard yesterday. Carnival summary.

Carnival postcards from the Tabernacle. Notting Hill.

Photographs courtesy of

Cristopher Scholey.

Hat put to shame.

And most importantly the Tabernacle crew.

ENERGY LINES. Joanna & Caroline Lazzarini.

 Joanna Lazzarini

Caroline Lazzarini
















An exhibition of  Painting and sculpture by Joanna & Caroline Lazzarini (Often to be seen moving ethereally through this cityscape) opens on the 1st of September at the Tabernacle Gallery. W11 2AY. 10.00am - 9.00 pm.

TWENTY SEVEN.

As a response to the Rock n Roll poem the following arrived from my French corespondent...

Twenty Seven

Make twenty seven iconic in heaven

and rock reputations get made:

all the old songs get replayed

winning a Grammy displayed

the hip lip service repaid

dream of a lifetime portrayed

summative meaning conveyed.

Make twenty seven laconic in heaven

on rock reputations pre-paid:

friends and family dismayed

fans make a final crusade

pray by the house where you stayed

sad silent funeral parade

plaque on the wall where you played.

Make twenty seven mnemonic in heaven

and rock reputations don’t fade:

stardom afresh, unafraid

cutting edge voice like a blade

sold as somebody self-made

height of the talent parade

an internet site for the trade.

Make twenty seven sardonic in heaven

and rock reputations get flayed:

trust in the tabloids betrayed

celebrity savaged, surveyed

hype of the night of the raid

stoned and drunken tirade

the dealers of death all got paid.

Make twenty seven ironic in heaven

and rock reputations upbraid:

talent abruptly decayed

illness was like a grenade

exploding the soul’s serenade

unable to sing without aid

no audience left to persuade.

Make twenty seven Byronic in heaven

for rock reputations re-weighed:

sign with an airbrush resprayed

the end of it all masquerade

your careless cool disarrayed

god awful end in the shade

postmortem details degrade.

Make sixty seven bucolic in Devon

and rock reputations are staid:

Gibson exchanged for a spade

organic low cal lemonade

worry the livestock have strayed

past where the neighbour got laid

“Hope to die young”, got delayed.

Make believe heaven for children aged seven

rots reputations homemade.

Copyright Bob West. All rights reserved.

Notting Hill Carnival 2011 post mortem.

FRIDAY.

There is a god or at least there is a god of Carnival. A secular god though; keen on a bit of spliff, a drink or two and steel pan.

Having been forbidden to practice in All Saints Road Mangrove Steelband played in the Tabernacle courtyard. Wow. The rain stopped, the sky turned blue and we were treated to carnival of our own. A brilliant event.

SATURDAY.

The god of Carnival turned out to be a Mangrove fan. Our resident (at the Tabernacle) Steelband won 'Panorama'; a battle of the bands held annually. For 12 months they are now ' The best steel band in the UK. Well done Matthew Phillip (manager and drummer) Arranger Andre White and everyone involved. It is a 12 month labour of love for the whole team.

Photographs: Christopher Scholey


Saturday night found me at 'LOCO' Carnival special at the Grand Union on Great Western Road... A marathon 6 hour session with some great performances from some of our favourites. I managed to get in 20 or so poems with backing from James Simmins and Jono willis. Delphi Newman was great as always as were Mario Nardi, Chrystina Tomlin and Rob Alder. Roger Pomphrey delivered on of his pyrotechnic performances. Fishslice Pbrowse defies description; you would not believe me. It was a happy night.

SUNDAY.

I was wakend at Midday (I had gone back to bed for a little nap) by the loudest fucking noise on the planet. I was house sitting in the middle of Carnival, about 30 metres from the sound system in All Saint's Road. The house was vibrating. The only thing to do was to get out into the thing.

There was a big police presence, far greater than last year. High viz vests in abundance, every street corner held a group of them. It turned out that they were not needed after all. As the day progressed it became more and more clear that this was going to be a very peaceful and happy Carnival. I spent a lot of the day either at Gaz Mayalls stage or at the nearby Tabernacle. It all ended on the dot of 7.00 and I spent the evening walking through the detritus with a friend checking it all out. A lot of police lined the roads as the army of street cleaners went to work. It is extraordinary how they get the place ready for the Monday; they do an amazing job.






To be continued...

Poetry is the new rock n roll. (Revisited)

An old poem rewritten for Amy Winehouse.

They say poetry is the new rock n roll

Write another poem buddy. Go buddy go

Write about a rock star

write about her vices

write about her falls from grace

her personal crises

but write about a rock star

and dress her up in sequins

for rock n roll ain't a world

in which Jo meek wins.

Yeah poetry is the new rock n roll

Write another poem buddy go buddy go

Write about a rock star

write about he cocaine

talk about her cocaine

talk about her cocaine

talk about her...

Oh buddy push the needle on

and write about a rock star

sing it when you're done

sing it to a techno beat

badum badum badum

Yeah poetry is the new rock n roll

Write another poem buddy go buddy go

Write about a rock star

but not about her rehab

no don't write about her rehab

NO NO NO

write about her drinking

and write about her gear

because happy stories of the cure

are not what we want to hear

Yeah poetry is the new rock n roll.

(Guitar solo)

Yeah poetry is the new rock n roll

Write another poem buddy go buddy go

Write about a rock star

then kill her when you're done

kill her with a fatal dose

her vomit or a gun

but kill that fucking rock star

don't let her get too old

that way you'll get to number one

before the body's cold

Yeah poetry is the new rock n roll.


My poetry can be found Here

Mangrove Steelband rehearsing at the Tabernacle prior to carnival.

This is what goes on round here at this time of year. What a magical thing to find.

Offer.

A poem by yesterday's muse.

you appealed for help

I offered.

Please do not ask me for that which I offered.

That would be embarrassing

I don't have what I offered

I only have the offer.

Surely the offer is enough.

Enough to make me feel good.

About offering.

I will always love you. Brilliant lipsync performance.

Borrowers or squatters.

A friend phoned this morning. Concerned that squatters were breaking into the flat next door to hers. Initially they had said that they were from the council then owned up.

I went round and spoke to them. they seemed to think that stealing someone's home was acceptable. "It is not theft". They said. "We are just borrowing it".

The blue dress.

He gave her red things. Trinkets. He had no money but she would not accept the one thing of value he could give her.

she gave him blue things. Trinkets. She had money but she could not give him the one thing that he valued.

Until.

She called him. 'Where are you?' 'At home'. 'I am at the shop down the road, you know the one we talked about this morning. Come down here'.

He walked. Across the road from the shop he saw her, she came out of the door, beckoned, smiled, danced. In a blue silk dress.

He knew.

he crossed the road. The Red bus was doing 30 when it hit him. He died happy.

Which is more than could be said about her.

Pink shoes

The ghost of carnival past and the detritus of the Muse.

Bottle tops pressed into the tarmac by crouds at past Carnivals, Powis Square, Notting Hill.
The Muse left in a hurry leaving me with nothing to do but write poems about ballet shoes.