It was billed as an evening of music and words. And because it was being held at the Chang Thai bar in Ludlow with its Buddhist kitsch decor, was called The Elephant in the Room.
What the organisers hadn’t reckoned on was a bunch of boozy builders on a pre Christmas night out rolling in just before the first poetry reading. Elephants in the room. Plural.
I don’t think the landlord was down as a performer. But he got the first line: “Don’t be a prick in my pub” he said whilst simultaneously pulling a pint.
The second line fell to the poet, Gareth Owen, reading his piece about a Western gunslinger with a Virgilian theme. He may have said Virginian theme. Sixties television, Shiloh Ranch and all that. But we couldn’t be sure as the shushes and the shut-that-doors ricocheted off the walls when some of the posse went out for a smoke and others came back in.
And then something magical happened. The words began to register. Maybe it was the meter. The narrative. Or all three. As one by one the lads fell silent and listened. By the end they were captivated. Shot through the heart with a silver bullet as it were.
Poetry can do that. Move everyone and anyone in unexpected ways.
They didn’t stay after that first reading. But I like to think the words stayed with them.
Thank you to my poetry coach Pele Cox for being there to witness the magic.
