Atmospheric though the city of Edinburgh is it's ghosts come alive every year when the Festival pops up and performs it's rite of enactment of crowd pleasing. Every year is a pilgrimage for me to discover the odd, strange and even the weird and I never regret it.
First stop is another mini-pilgrimage to the Poetry Library that stands as a testament to the enduring quality of poetry and it's many delights that lie within it. This year I discover the poet Tony Curtis whom I wish to read more of and of the interestingly titled 'Nietzsche's Attaché Case' that I wish another browse through. Stacked with everything from Pam Ayers to Zoe Skolding it is my own mecca that I love for what it posses and for where it is; tucked away, for those in the know, in a side street off the Royal Mile as humbly as those who read poetry, I say not without a little hope.
It is a hard person who could not be a bit more idealised sitting in an entire library packed with words written by hungry writers.
In previous years I learned that Edwin Muir himself contemplated suicide rather than work another year at the dreaded fish remains factory and having to bath himself every night to be rid of the stench. It was a fact I needed to have and now have passed it on to you, both without charge. Though I could have stayed I had to leave for I had another appointment- one with the Metaphoric Table.
Chiasmus was my new word for the day. The meaning being the second half of a sentence reflecting the first, as in: 'Scotland has not let you down, don't let Scotland down'. There were many other words in the show but that was the first. Written as a lecture by a professional writer due to the lack of easy to access information about literary devices they have devised a table similar to the Periodic Table showing these devises and their names.
Most were frankly (should that be embarrassingly?) new to me as the techniques of writing I've never given much thought to, but this show gave me an understanding of how useful these trials could be if one were only aware of them. Fortunately they are all printed out on a sheet to buy for only a fiver. A future purchase, I expect.
Next was a show by fellow Word Mustard poet Melanie Branton and her inability to 'get' a boyfriend. Though I have seen Melanie perform a number of times most of the material was new to me and though there was a total of four audience members we were captive. Mostly humorous pokes at the advice she has been given about relationships, and the idea of relationships in general, the tone turned harrowing with the poem about Jesus being her boyfriend. "It was very good therapy", she said.
Congratulating her with her show I moved on to another poet from one door to the next, which turned out to be apt as the show was The Door to Door poet by Rowan McCabe. The premise for this was the poet knocking on doors and asking people if they wanted a poem written for them showing that poetry can be for them. A good idea that I'm firmly in favour for but his show demonstrated the pitfalls of this lowly line of work. Performed well and with a sweetness of human kindness Rowan showed that he was OK to open the door to.
Further afield in the Summerhall, an ex-veterinary training centre, was the play Black Cat Fish Musketeer, which was about online relationships. Probably cleverer than it needed to be it was a ingenious use of space, which there wasn't much of. Using filing boxes and a personified computer to mediate between the two leads. Very satisfying.
Last, after a hallomi burger in a bar round the corner of the coach station, was a late night show double bill of two comedians male and female. The smallest stage so far yet the two did a comparable job of making whoever was there laugh. The best line was from the woman with 'I'm told I'm sexually active, which is strange because mostly I just lie there.' There the night ends and I go back to my tent next to the airport and sleep as the planes fly over.
Edinburgh, welcoming, forgiving and trying. Fun experiments in the art and science of creating, I'll see you next year.
Now this is where you hit a paywall- well not exactly a paywall more like a moat you can swim across- but what I'm saying is that if you enjoyed this blog and my previous work than you can help support me by going on Patreon.com and search for Alistair David Todd-Poet.
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