Category Archives: poetry

Dai Coelacanth – Mackeral’s cryptic cup lung

Dai’s words: One day I will steal your cup. The Colonel’s thoughts stuck to his balding head. He had to brush them off with a transceiver. I AM NOT ALONE. I AM NOT ALONE. He was alone in aisle 13 his basket full of freshly minted cassettes. Sensors in the wall detected a slight disturbance an aroma that didn’t match his profile. In the Control Booth Nancy gleefully rubbed the spectral analysis and spat on the floor. Mortuary Zero-Zero did her best to keep herself out of the news but…

Dai Coelacanth – Pure Country Magic

“Are you just going round and round. There are better ways to travel. The captain struggled with his boots they were never happy. Ironic. As a boy they called him ‘lucky feet’. She was singing in town. Had a nice set of irregular talons. Nearly tore my face off. I had to stop the flow of blood with dirty leaves. Made me look like a tree creature. People pushed coins into my pocket. They didn’t think I would notice. I’m allergic to metal. It makes me sprout. March is a…

Lord Litter’s Radio On Show – Semiotics

This is fun. Lord Litter applies the early ideology of the internet and creates a hypertext. The playlist below is a disguise for a magazine, such one as only the internet can produce, with sounds, images and words. Hypertext? Umberto Eco! “So how do I make sense of the mess? I try to learn some basic labels. But there are problems here too: if I click on a URL that ends with .indiana.edu I think, Ah – this must have something to do with the University of Indiana. Like hell…

Dai Coelacanth – Don’t lick the coins they will weigh you down

Dai Coelacanth arrived at Radio On in the year 2018. What is it? A prophet, a poet, a consumer gone mad? Is this the voice of Brexit? Is this a man who walked out of a Shakespearian play centuries ago and who still hasn’t found a stage that fits his words?Maybe his own words can illuminate you:“Last recording of 2018 and I say goodbye to my Cassette-corder TCM-150. The speaker was already broken. The microphone was bashed in. The motor was wheezing. And now there is nothing. It’s dead. I…

Dai Coelacanth – RANDOM SEWAGE FROM A STRANGERS WIFE / YOU’RE A WIG, Mr MALIGNANT

Dai Coelacanth arrived a year ago. He had been on a holiday in Greece. It started then. Thinking while listening. Something happened. A man who was there when Mr. Sony sent his walkman to earth. They fell on every shop and in every home like children’s balloons who had gone the reverse way. He still has a walkman. Other people have a smart phone. Both walk the streets and talk freely into a microphone. Both transmit messages. Dai makes cassette walkman art. And I wonder if he is the only…

Isn’t everything Poetry with Ilia Kitup and Alistair Noon and guests

“Isn’t Everything Poetry?” is a monthly event featuring poets, authors and spoken-word performers. It is hosted by Curious Fox Books. Situated in the heart of Neukölln, the poetry evenings have become a popular feature in the Berlin cultural life. Expats and locals from nearby and faraway come to listen to poetry and sometimes step up to the microphone to read some of their own. The announced poets are Alistair Noon & Ilia Kitup. Ilia Kitup has a website. It informs you about zines, books, authors and poems. Alistair Noon might…

Isn’t everything poetry? Readings with Ken Shakin, Robert Stastny, Ida Loggert and many anonymous others

The Curious Fox Book shop on the Flughafenstrasse in Berlin presents regular poetry evenings. Before the break invited poets read their poems, after the break poets in the audience, mostly announced by their first name step up, and cheered by the audience, read their short serious, intimate or hilarious poetry. I don’t know how the evenings would evolve if Guinness were consumed by the gallons. You can hear from the reactions that everyone has a very good time, and that the readings, organised by David Gordon, are a welcome contribution…

The Wandering, an opera by Ken Shakin

This happened a while ago at the Irsih embassy in Berlin. To record the Bloomsday festivities, Adrian was smuggled in by our man in the Flughafenstrasse and Ken Shakin. All he had to do was to put up ‘this friendly face’, which according to eye-witnesses was an Italo Svevo mask. Adrian says, that on arriving on a suitably wet day at the Irish embassy reception, having hastily prepared my passport and removed any articles that would not have survived a strip search, I was politely led in after saying I was with ‘ken’…

Isn’t Everything Poetry – January ’17 Poetry Readings at Curious Fox Book Store in Berlin

I like these evenings. And I was never there. But it is one of those happenings in town of which I think that they should exist; they should exist for ever. It is the same with people who write long letters on paper and send them to friends who might live around the corner or on another continent. In times of Proust letters were written in the morning, send out and in eager anticipation of the returning post a new letter was written to be send out in the evening….