Last time there’d been jazz and women in slacks. Now it’s just poems and blokes wearing beards. The poet, so-called, stands at the top in the spotlight of a dodgy-looking bulb that’s strung up in one corner. The beam of light, slightly off-kilter, means his head stays out of sight and his voice full of eked-out emotion, is coming from the shadow. This may well be for effect but even if it’s not, Farley isn’t complaining – bad enough having to listen without having to look at him as well. The poem is called ‘Rain’ and seems to have something to do with the soul of Africa, or Africa in the soul of some down-at-heel under a bridge in London. It’s a poem of few words and many pauses. He wonders if the rest of the punters, with their angled jaws and frowning foreheads, can really be as interested as they seem to be? Or is it a case of one half of them pretending to know what it’s all about, while the other half is biding time till it’s their turn to get into the spotlight and spout?
What do You think about Cold Eye Of Heaven, The (2011)?
