Read the review Fred co-wrote with E Thompson for the girls are
ReviewsMoon Duo: 16.11.12, w/ Emma Thompson
Zulu Winter: 8.05.12
Blood Red Shoes: 1.05.12
The War on Drugs: 01.03.12
St Vincent: 11.11.11
Connan Mockasin: 17.05.11
Frankie and the Heartstrings: 27.04.11
Dan Sartain: 26.04.11
British Sea Power: 2011
Fred is reliably informed that today is National Poetry Day. Yes! That day when we can all stake a claim to living, breathing and just being the language of all those greats who, through the ages, filtered or fuddled meaning from the course of the everyday and wrote it down in a way quite like no other could, can or will. Teachers pontificate to their students that we’re all poets deep down, we’ve all got a story to tell, you’ve just got to open your mind and be creative. And so, up and down the land, trees are cut down, the wood is pulped, the pulp is dried, processed, retailed and eventually written on. Fortunately, as folk become more conscious of their compartmentalised bins, there is a greater chance now than at any other point in history that their daubed-on paper will actually be put to good use, before eventually finding its way to the sea. Toilet roll is my first thought here.
And so, without further ado, let me unveil to you Fred’s Five-Point Poetry Day Plan:
Fred Yeast reads his poem, Normandy. This is the third of three recordings posted in the run up to Fred’s first publication. Details of the launch night coming soon!
Remember this day
Friend by Fred Yeast
The second audio in the lead up to Fred’s debut publication
Buckets and spades. Bank holiday Sunday.
Windbreaks, deckchairs, pink candy floss.
Fish and chips, plastic cartons, Cardiff City football shirt.
Dragon tattoos and sunnies.
Penny floaters, sandcastles, squawks of seagulls,
Names in the sand.
Donkey rides, dodgem cars, high tide,
Sea breeze, water slides.
Sugary tea, powdery milk, 99s.
Plastic tub filled with coppers,
David Bowie’s ‘Ashes to Ashes’,
A man pinned down by four security staff.
Kites, trackie bottoms, holding hands.
A Doberman. Two Dalmations.
Flipflops, rucksacks, pushchairs, bikinis.
Rolled-up trousers, white toes, mild sunburn.
Spraytan, highlights, disposable cameras.
Whiffs of seaweed, West Country acents.
Parasols, pot bellies, zimmer frames, wheelchairs.
Carers, vendors, pinball machines,
A cross-dressing karaoke star at the railway bar.
A bike with stabilisers tearing across the sand
A sign for ½ price rides, a trio of Union flags.
Socks and sandals, Lambretta bikes.
The handwritten licence above the pub door.
Echoes of cheers pouring onto the street.
A child screaming. A father chuckling.
Team GB t-shirts, carousels, waltzers.
A misjudged throw, mint choc chip.
Chimneys in Wales. A saree.