DANTE in the DUCK SHED

 Back from another Purbeck. Poemed up and ready with the show and tell photos.
While watching the acts on the open mic now known rather grandly as The Duck Shed Stage, I came up with this poem [I spent the weekend tinkering with it].

DANTE IN THE DUCK SHED

In his own circle he plays his heart out.
It's not on his sleeve,
look, it throbs in his hands.
Close by a coterie of followers
i-photo the moment.
Think: wobbly Youtube video.
The next circle is intrigued,
or tired enough to want sit and listen.
The outer circle talks,
it's chatter stains the room.
Caught somewhere between,
I catch the last song and half a life story.

OK. So if you don't know your Dante's Inferno, it's a guide to the different circles of Hell. I thought there is the performer bearing their soul and the further away you get from the stage the less the people listen. I am not sure the analogy bears close scrutiny.

Here is a haiku, also from the duck shed:
they rush the crash cart
he is dying on the stage
they cut the set short

I have to say I thought this year was not one of the best in terms of music. I did not come away raving about some new performer as I have on many occasions in the past. Though I did enjoy Idlewild and Lloyd Cole. 

 Martha Tilstson was wonderful both times she played. 

Lizzie Nunnery and Vidar Norheim were excellent. Lizzie's voice just gets better every time I see her.

On the Sunday Chris Wood played a very relaxed and enjoyable set.
I leave you with Martha.