standing at the rear. ‘Danny, that’s brilliant. It lays bare your feelings and we share your pain.’ He paused and walked towards the bony frame of the poet, hunched over his paper, his dreadlocks falling over his face. ‘Look up, Danny. Your words have so much more impact when you raise your eyes and look into the faces of your listeners.’
Danny looked further down and muttered. ‘I want my words to speak for themselves. I write these words for
me
. I don’t care about the listener.’ He looked round at the cameraman and sound engineer. ‘And I can’t read with these wankers here. We’re not performing poodles. This isn’t what I came to the poetry group for.’
HJ moved towards him. ‘Your words are a wonderful gift. Share this with others. Other people can experience the release you felt when all your feelings were crystallised into words.’ HJ looked directly into the eyes of the tortured young man. ‘You have helped me. You inspired me to write again. What we have here is beautiful and we can share it with others through filming this programme.’
Danny shrugged his shoulders and went to join the small group sitting to the right of the podium. Rory leant over to Sarah. ‘We’ve got it all on camera. This is great television, showing what an inspiration HJ is.’
Sarah looked over at Danny’s hunched figure. Did Rory see everything in terms of great television?
After a moment’s pause, an overweight young man, with a round, childish face and a too-tight AC/DC T-shirt, walked in a determined way, head down, onto the podium. He clutched an exercise book tightly. Lifting his head he turned directly to the cameras. ‘Before I read my poem I want to say that it is HJ who’s given me the confidence to stand up and read my poetry. I was bullied at school, I had no friends, I stayed in my bedroom nearly all the time. Now I can write, I feel the tightness released from my chest. I can create something.’
Sarah looked at his eyes shining in the arch lights and glanced at Rory. Was this a set up? Rory was grinning and rubbing his hands together. ‘This is pure magic. I couldn’t have scripted it better myself.’
The poet began to read in a low, even voice. Sarah listened carefully. To her surprise it was a short, beautifully-crafted poem about autumn. In the hushed pause after he had finished, the image of melancholy, stark bare branches, and leaves crisping in the first frost on the black streaked pavement, stayed in her mind.
HJ appeared at Sarah’s side and put his arm round her shoulder. ‘Now you can see why this project is so important to me. Poetry has given young people like Neil a focus in life, has even saved lives in some instances.’
Sarah nodded and turned to face her old teacher. He was looking at her with concern in his deep blue eyes. ‘Sarah, I need your help. I agreed to this programme because of this project, because of the talent of these young people. I don’t want it to be about me. Or my family.’
He cleared his throat. ‘We’re estranged and it would only cause hurt if old wounds were reopened. I’ve asked Rory to stop asking about my family, but he’s a journalist; I’m not sure that he will do what I’ve asked.’
He paused again. ‘You have more influence with him than I, and I’m pleading with you to persuade him to back off. You’ve heard the talent of these young people and you can see how important this project is. I want Rory to go ahead with the programme, but my family has never understood me and I’m afraid that his digging up the past could stir up some things that should better remain forgotten.’
He pulled Sarah nearer towards him and and moved his face very close to hers. ‘Please, Sarah, do this for me.’
Sarah tried to move away. He was too close; she felt uncomfortable, but she nodded agreement and his mood immediately lightened.
‘And now watch this. Lara is going to be the star of the show.’
Sarah looked back at the stage and
Danny looked further down and muttered. ‘I want my words to speak for themselves. I write these words for
me
. I don’t care about the listener.’ He looked round at the cameraman and sound engineer. ‘And I can’t read with these wankers here. We’re not performing poodles. This isn’t what I came to the poetry group for.’
HJ moved towards him. ‘Your words are a wonderful gift. Share this with others. Other people can experience the release you felt when all your feelings were crystallised into words.’ HJ looked directly into the eyes of the tortured young man. ‘You have helped me. You inspired me to write again. What we have here is beautiful and we can share it with others through filming this programme.’
Danny shrugged his shoulders and went to join the small group sitting to the right of the podium. Rory leant over to Sarah. ‘We’ve got it all on camera. This is great television, showing what an inspiration HJ is.’
Sarah looked over at Danny’s hunched figure. Did Rory see everything in terms of great television?
After a moment’s pause, an overweight young man, with a round, childish face and a too-tight AC/DC T-shirt, walked in a determined way, head down, onto the podium. He clutched an exercise book tightly. Lifting his head he turned directly to the cameras. ‘Before I read my poem I want to say that it is HJ who’s given me the confidence to stand up and read my poetry. I was bullied at school, I had no friends, I stayed in my bedroom nearly all the time. Now I can write, I feel the tightness released from my chest. I can create something.’
Sarah looked at his eyes shining in the arch lights and glanced at Rory. Was this a set up? Rory was grinning and rubbing his hands together. ‘This is pure magic. I couldn’t have scripted it better myself.’
The poet began to read in a low, even voice. Sarah listened carefully. To her surprise it was a short, beautifully-crafted poem about autumn. In the hushed pause after he had finished, the image of melancholy, stark bare branches, and leaves crisping in the first frost on the black streaked pavement, stayed in her mind.
HJ appeared at Sarah’s side and put his arm round her shoulder. ‘Now you can see why this project is so important to me. Poetry has given young people like Neil a focus in life, has even saved lives in some instances.’
Sarah nodded and turned to face her old teacher. He was looking at her with concern in his deep blue eyes. ‘Sarah, I need your help. I agreed to this programme because of this project, because of the talent of these young people. I don’t want it to be about me. Or my family.’
He cleared his throat. ‘We’re estranged and it would only cause hurt if old wounds were reopened. I’ve asked Rory to stop asking about my family, but he’s a journalist; I’m not sure that he will do what I’ve asked.’
He paused again. ‘You have more influence with him than I, and I’m pleading with you to persuade him to back off. You’ve heard the talent of these young people and you can see how important this project is. I want Rory to go ahead with the programme, but my family has never understood me and I’m afraid that his digging up the past could stir up some things that should better remain forgotten.’
He pulled Sarah nearer towards him and and moved his face very close to hers. ‘Please, Sarah, do this for me.’
Sarah tried to move away. He was too close; she felt uncomfortable, but she nodded agreement and his mood immediately lightened.
‘And now watch this. Lara is going to be the star of the show.’
Sarah looked back at the stage and
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