RELUBBUS POETRY FEST

Saturday evening at the Relubbus Arts Club, in its sumptuous and prestigious location in Morrab Alley (just off the famed Boswedden Lane), was the setting for a most eagerly awaited Poetry Fest, presided over by renowned society and literary hostess, Dame Margo Boskenna-Pendarves-Stuff-Art (89, shown left).

The event was packed with luminaries of the Relubbus intellectual and literary world, all of whom had gathered to listen to new works by the giants of the Relubbus poetry scene -- Philip Trudgeon (15) and ‘Odjo Semmens (93).

The evening began with a delicious tea, which was generously donated by Mr R.C. Oates, the famous local mega-multibillionaire philanthropist, who had dug deep into his well-filled pockets to supply each person with a slice of cold ‘og’s pudden, a quarter slice of saffern with a smidgeon o’ cream and a cup tay (one only per person!).

After this regal repast, the crowd then settled into the five comfy wooden folding chairs provided and a reverent hush descended on the room as ‘Odjo (shown left) slowly made his way up to the lectern. This much-loved, albeit ripely smelling, old man clad in his hallmark brown (to be safe!) cord trousers with matching hat typically made a sartorial statement every bit as striking as his poetry by wearing a pair of stilettos in post office red.

After noisily, but necessarily, clearing his throat and mouth of several tissues worth of phlegm, he then spoke out his verse in the loud sonorous trumpeting voice we have come to love:

Aggie ‘ad a stroke

I seen ‘er g’win the Kwop down Prom

This mornin’ -- ‘bout ‘a’ pas’ nine.

An’ now I’ve ‘eard she’s up Treliske;

‘ad a stroke, but doin’ fine.

Tha’s the way ee duh go, boy,

You k’int never be too sure.

Take a good long look at the world, my cock,

Before you duh shut the door.

Silence followed the delivery of these potent words, as the mass of people - acting as one -- drank in their meaning and devoted their whole being for almost half an hour to intense interpretation of their significance.

The spell was broken when, led by Dame Margo, the other four leapt to their feet in rapturous applause, whilst the old man tripped slowly back to his seat, precarious on his stilettos.

It was then that the centre of attention focussed on the boy prodigy, Philip Trudgeon (15). He made his way up to the lectern accompanied by PC Carne of the Relubbus police. This unusual measure was a quid pro quo insisted on by the authorities in return for the temporary removal of young Philip’s electronic tag.
It was then that the young ‘master read out his latest work:

Bashin’ ants till tea-time

I duh like sitting on the pavement in the sunshine, when the summer’s ere.

I duh like to watch the ants come out their nest, when I got a ‘ammer near.

I duh ‘it all they little buggers as they duh come runnin’ out,

An’ I play out tunes wi’ the ‘ammer, when I duh give they all a clout.

I can sit three fer ‘ours doin’ that, till Mum calls me in fer tea,

Then I duh git up wi’ me ‘ammer an’ duh g’w’ome reluctantly.

For those who were counting, the other person at the event was Alice Chirgwin-Jacka, Poetry Correspondent of the Relubbus Roundup, who testifies to the powerful impact the poem had on all those present.

Each person attending was given a small memento, in the form of a little hammer and some captured ants in a matchbox, and then the hordes made their way home .

Alice Chirgwin-Jacka