Derek Adams : poet, photographer & occasional short story writer, has published three collections of poetry: "unconcerned but not indifferent - the life of Man Ray", 2006 Ninth Arrondissement Press, "Everyday Objects, Chance Remarks", 2005, Littoral Press and "Postcards to Olympus", 2004 Poetry Monthly Press. Has performed at : The Poetry Cafe (Covent Garden) - The Troubadour (Earls Court) - Cabaret Voltaire (Colchester) - The Essex Poetry Festival - PoetryWivenhoe - The Derwent Poetry Festival - The Leigh Folk Festival - Nottingham Poetry Society - The Palace Theatre (Westcliff) - Southend Library - The Southend Poetry Group - Club Riga (Westcliff) - The Sundown (Southend), Waterstones (Southend), St Benets Church (Blackfriars EC4) - Colchester Arts Centre - Lumens (Bloomsbury) and Shakespeare & Company (Paris) "As a live performer he mixes depth and subtle humour " Jamie Spracklen (Sundown organiser) in Visionary Tongue Magazine Performed his work on : Poetry Please, BBC Radio 4, BBC Radio Essex Led workshops at : The Essex Poetry Festival, London South Bank University, The Southend Poetry Group. Based in Essex & London, but do not mind travelling further afield for gigs!
What a waste (for Ian Dury) There’s a feeling, like the memory of a Kursaal ride, an old wind, a cold wind that stirs inside. Rolling in like the wind off the estuary tide, down a dead flat, mud flat, eight miles wide. And somewhere, somefing, somehow sighed, what a waste - what a waste, Ian Dury died. Snazzy little geezer wiv a spazzy stick. A concrete mixer voice, rough and fick. Takes the stage, like a fief on the nick. Hard bard, art tart, don't giva shit. And somefing, somehow, somewhere sighed, what a waste - what a waste, Ian Dury died. Words of an angel, dressed wiv a mallet, mixed wiv spit from a painters palette. Raw sound, foot down, pushed to the limit, escaped from the cage of an old cock linnet. And somehow, somewhere, somefing sighed, what a waste - what a waste, Ian Dury died. from Everyday Objects, Chance Remarks MINOTAUR Bull-headed, I sit at the centre of a labyrinth. Staring at walls, that I have constructed, from the designs and desires of those about me. I do not know if this maze protects or imprisons me, or why you come with strings attached, weaving your way into the darkest recesses of my lair. from Postcards to Olympus Impossibilité Dancer/Danger 1920 Throw away the old brushes, the old ideas, the old order. Dada. Dada. Dada. The future is as clear to me as this piece of glass, as solid as these cogs, as obvious as the paint from my airbrush. I embrace the dancer, I embrace the danger, I am the dance. from unconcerned but not indifferent - the life of Man Ray
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