I'd only been to one poetry reading session before, back during Book Day 2009, and that was filled with secondary aged students eating their lunch with crumbs dropping into their laps as they eagerly listened to the next poem to be read. A kind audience. I braved reading one of my own poems at that one too. This time, however, on World Book Night 2011 the audience was comprised of seasoned poetry lovers, cooing with excited appreciation for the next "Betjeman" or "Keats". I discovered "Diary of a Church Mouse" to be rather entertaining when read with the voice with which it was intended. I also discovered that my knowledge of our poetry heritage was dire. (I need to either read up, or learn to nod or coo in the right places.) The local Book Night organiser, whose focus on poetry readings was responsible for enticing me in, via a good friend's invitation, read her selected poems like a stage actress whose pronunciation of vowels were all simply perfect (a history of elocution lessons it transpired). She put her heart and soul into each reading, not thinking for a moment to feel subconcious of the onlooking audience. She read with her whole body emphasising the roll of the poem's rhythm. I looked on in awe wondering if I had the same sounds when I spoke or if my lack of elocution would betray me. I jumped in when the chance came to read my poem with an announcement that I was offering "one of my own". (It's a hard job to follow Keats but someone's got to do it). I stayed safe with the first one "The Peace of 6.a.m. on a Sunday". Then later, once others had the chance to read too, I offered two more to give them some air, (there is no point in writing 479ish poems just to leave them gathering electronic dust on my hard drive): "For She Who Hates Herself Not to Eat" and "The Cycle that Turns", both based on my observations of young people during my time either as a teacher in a secondary girls school or as a volunteer youth worker. I had some good feedback and was encouraged to keep writing. This was a good day in my journey into the sub-world of poetry readings. 7 March 2011
World Book Night 5th March 2011
I'd only been to one poetry reading session before, back during Book Day 2009, and that was filled with secondary aged students eating their lunch with crumbs dropping into their laps as they eagerly listened to the next poem to be read. A kind audience. I braved reading one of my own poems at that one too. This time, however, on World Book Night 2011 the audience was comprised of seasoned poetry lovers, cooing with excited appreciation for the next "Betjeman" or "Keats". I discovered "Diary of a Church Mouse" to be rather entertaining when read with the voice with which it was intended. I also discovered that my knowledge of our poetry heritage was dire. (I need to either read up, or learn to nod or coo in the right places.) The local Book Night organiser, whose focus on poetry readings was responsible for enticing me in, via a good friend's invitation, read her selected poems like a stage actress whose pronunciation of vowels were all simply perfect (a history of elocution lessons it transpired). She put her heart and soul into each reading, not thinking for a moment to feel subconcious of the onlooking audience. She read with her whole body emphasising the roll of the poem's rhythm. I looked on in awe wondering if I had the same sounds when I spoke or if my lack of elocution would betray me. I jumped in when the chance came to read my poem with an announcement that I was offering "one of my own". (It's a hard job to follow Keats but someone's got to do it). I stayed safe with the first one "The Peace of 6.a.m. on a Sunday". Then later, once others had the chance to read too, I offered two more to give them some air, (there is no point in writing 479ish poems just to leave them gathering electronic dust on my hard drive): "For She Who Hates Herself Not to Eat" and "The Cycle that Turns", both based on my observations of young people during my time either as a teacher in a secondary girls school or as a volunteer youth worker. I had some good feedback and was encouraged to keep writing. This was a good day in my journey into the sub-world of poetry readings. 
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