A series of monthly poetry workshops open to anyone will commence on Wed., Oct. 8th, at the Landon Library in London’s Wortley Village.

The facilitator will be Kevin Heslop. 

Each workshopped poem will be read silently, then aloud by the poet, and will then be followed by a discussion. The workshoppers will try to see the intention of the poet, will comment on the poem’s strengths, and, with appropriate tact, on its weaknesses. The workshop should help the poet see the poem through the eyes of its audience. 

Since there is no way to predict how many people will attend, and there won’t be time to workshop more than six poems in the two hours, if more people arrive at the Oct. 8th workshop, a second room will be opened. The two simultaneous workshops could then hold a maximum of twelve participants. On the unlikely chance that more than twelve arrive, each workshop will select its six poets by random ballot selection. The second room will be facilitated by Stan Burfield. 

If you want to have a poem workshopped, bring ten copies: six for the participants, and four for others to read in case more than the six participants come.

Time: Arrive before 6:30.

Location: In Landon Library, the room immediately past the large hall at the base of the stairs.

Last night I attended a great Poetry London reading, but for me as an organizer the after-reading bar scene was even more productive. We decided London Open Mic's interviewer Kevin Heslop should interview Tom Cull about London's first literary festival, called WORD, scheduled for Oct. 24 to 26, which Cull helped organize. There are so many aspects to the festival that it's a little confusing and really could use the single voice of an effusive spokesman like Cull to bring it all together. The interview will take place and be posted soon.

And then Kevin and I sat up at his place till 3:30 in the morning talking poetry. At one point we were mulling over some of the great leaders of cultural change of the last few generations, their similarities, Presley, Dylan, and earlier Ginzberg and Kerouac. And during lulls, Heslop would recite from memory great swathes of Ginzberg's Howl, and Kerouac's October in the Railroad Earth, sounding so much like Kerouac himself it gave me chills. 

Of all the greatest readers of their own poetry in modern history, Kerouac has got to have been one of the best. See for yourself: 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-hjPZpaXNsw

After seven years of facilitating his monthly poetry workshop at London’s Landon Library, Ron Stewart is stepping down to put more time into his own poetry. He and wife Jan will continue to support local literary events, partly through the now-traditional announcements on his extensive email list, which many Londoners have long depended upon. 

Stewart, a retired airline pilot, began the workshop as an essential finishing touch to the group of ingredients already supplied to the local poetry scene by the Poetry London Reading Series, also held at Landon Library. Since then, many poets have benefitted from his initiative and hard work.

Following are expressions of thanks by Poetry London and some of the local poets who have attended the workshop:

Ron and his wife Jan continue to embody the creative energy, hard work, and congenial spirit that has come to define the London poetry community.   We offer our congratulations and appreciation to Ron for initiating and nurturing such a successful workshop - one that has meant so much to so many writers in London over the past several years.  We wish him continued success with his own writing and all of his future endeavours in our poetry community. 
~ the Poetry London Reading Series

To the other sentiments expressed here by others, all of which are true, I would like to add that if not for Ron’s workshop there would be no London Open Mic Poetry Night, which is simply a spinoff of his workshop.  
~ Stan Burfield, organizer, London Open Mic

Ron-
I want to thank you so much for making the London (especially winter) nights seem so much more welcoming for your generous hosting of those wonderful poetry gatherings.
With much appreciation and warmth,
~ Cheryl Cashman

I think Ron is a wonderful poet, and a great supporter of other poets. His way of summarizing other’s poetry and encouraging them to write, is remarkable, heartfelt and full of spirit!!! 
~ Joan Clayton

Thanks, Ron. I haven't been to any workshops recently, but I have good memories of those flights of fancy. Arriving to find you at the end of the table ready for take off. Orienting us to the program. Apprehensive as to what this flight would be like. Excited about reaching for the upper ether of poetry. Hearing your calm confident gentle voice reassuring us it would always be a good flight (which it always was) and landing us safely at the end (which you always did). They were quite the trips. I miss them. Good luck with your solo flights. Bon voyage.
~ Martin Hayter

When I think of Ron, I see, when entering the clean, well-lighted room in the Landon Library underground, at the head of the long, peopled table strewn with poems, the welcoming smile, the articulate, white goatee, the glimmering eyes and freckled dome which I have come to know and trust. If there is any one secret to the endurance of his workshop, I think it is that trustworthiness which has compelled each of us to uncloak the vulnerability which in daily life we habitually deny, to communicate in all its shifty-eyed, anxious humanity a wish to express ourselves and be heard. Ron - thank you for listening. And thank you for having tenderly impressed upon each of us those four simple words which unfailingly conclude your summations: Live Life, Love Poetry.  
~ Kevin Heslop

The poet Muriel Rukeyser said, "Breathe-in experience, breathe-out poetry."  Ron Stewart helped us add a third dimension, share poetry.  He did so by creating a non-threatening, congenial poetry workshop.  Thank you for that, Ron.
~ Louisa Howerow

Ron’s workshop was unique and will be missed. It was one of a kind. 
~ Carl Lapp

A bit lost at the Poetry London Events, it was really Ron's Workshop that helped me feel at home in the London poetry scene. His gentle and positive leadership developed my confidence and introduced me to friends I hope will be in my life for a long time to come.  Thanks, Ron (and Jan)
~ Janice M. McDonald

For Ron-
Ron is an enthusiastic and talented poet whose presence enhances many events in London’s poetry community. His dedicated work has fostered and supported the growth of various venues. Particularly important is the monthly workshop (held at the Landon library) organized by Ron. This workshop series has provided London poets an opportunity to share and discuss their poems. Many thanks, Ron!
~ O. Nowosad

For Ron, who has, in the Open Poetry Workshop at Landon Library, created a safe and encouraging atmosphere for poems finding their perfection, a place of meaningful, good-humoured discussion, an evening from which we come away with both wits pencils sharpened. For Ron, who has faithfully and with such generosity led the workshop 10 months of the year, for so many years. To Ron, I offer my deep gratitude.
~ Christine Thorpe

Beginning with the next interview, that of Monika Lee, Kevin Heslop will take over the role of interviewer for London Open Mic Poetry Night from organizer Stan Burfield. 

Maybe you think interviewing is just a matter of asking standard questions. Well, it has been in the past. But no more. Heslop will bring a whole new dimension to the task, a dimension that results from his talent, his experience, his enthusiasm and his education.  Just wait. You'll see. The difference will be obvious. 

Heslop is currently studying English Literature, creative writing and philosophy at Western and has been on the organizing committee of London Open Mic Poetry Night for most of its two seasons so far.  He is also one of the most popular readers at the open mic.

Check out Kevin's blogs:
On London Open Mic's site, where he puts many of his best poems
On Facebook, where he puts everything as of late. 

There was a little Greek restaurant just south of Oxford east and Adelaide of flat white sign hanging above the stout four-step-set of stairs reads Mykonos in blue letters. 

Open Mic poetry night in there Wednesday featured Jan Figurski who tread jazz, blues and radio-friendlies through the laughing air of wine-pouring and food coming or having arrived and hot before the readings began. 

Jan’s musical accompaniment consisted of Geoff Johnson of Big Picture, who battered the electric keys with a shootist’s decisiveness and the rhythmical integrity of a skilled carpenter, and I, who intended to keep drum kit rhythm under the current of Jan under siege and telling us, blowing blues through harmonica and the music happening and on. 

Time infringed, though, as it does, and with characteristic gentleness, Dawna, our host and the seamstress of these monthly evenings, took the podium and told us so, handing the mic to David Paul, sincere friend of Mr. Figurski, and we were under way. 

Jan began with the sensitive poet’s promise of intimacy; he took the audience to a vulnerable place with all the emotional momentum of a man of the blues, giving the audience a frock and his personal truths, an emotion-laden reel of raw images, his the harmonica resonating still, before ruddying his demeanor and loosening his face and ours with good humor and a few final poignant words. 

Following hearty applause, Dawna seamed either side of the fifteen minute intermission into the evening and we were into the open mic.

The readers ranged from first time readers to familiar participants, future featured readers and past and the communal act of our sharing was a pleasure to take part in.

With a final seam and some just applause, Big Picture took the stage, the dancing began and a joyful group raised arms in OPA to celebrate the victory of yet another open mic at that little Greek restaurant we know as Mykonos. 

Kevin Heslop

Kevin Heslop has an interesting prose style, so during the easy days of summer I asked him if he would like to take over my job of writing the summaries of our open mics. Well in those lazy, hazy days of summer he thought yes that would be fun and agreed. 

Kevin didn’t really realize what he was in for until it all came down on him at once. All right after that first Sept. 4th open mic, right when he was going to write his first summary. 

For starters, there was the stress of registration for his first full year at Western (English and philosophy), and immediately his first classes.  And then everything else he had jumped into. Here’s an email to me Wednesday: “Got a poem into the paper at western today, and I've got two articles going into  tomorrows and thursdays editions. And that's on top of class hours and homework   (just got back from a 3 hour class this evening). So…” And he’ll be a drummer in the university jazz band. And then there’s soccer. And not to forget his constant discharge of poems, which, though rapid, still takes time. 

So I suggested, to Kevin’s relief, that he skip this first summary. I don’t want to be the cause of some 21-year-old guy having a heart attack. Assuming that’s possible.

So no Heslop summary until after our second open mic of the season, October 2nd, featuring Jan Figurski. 

However, any day now we have a batch of videos coming out, taken at last week's open mic. Erik Martinez Richards, our esteemed videographer, is working on them as we speak. As with Kevin, this is Erik’s first shot at his new job for the open mic. It’s his on-the-job training, as he has never done this kind of fussy work before, only your normal vacation shots, etc. But his learning curve is steep, as you’ll see. 

--Stan Burfield reporting, sort of

I had a terrible time writing the summary article for this last (June 5th) event of our first season. It took me all of three days! It would normally take maybe three hours, including revisions. I was burnt out. My mind was rebelling at each phrase. 

Well, it takes no genius to see if that’s the case now, at the end of season one, I’m going to need help from other people to get through a second year. Otherwise, my anxiety will go up even further after a little dip in the summer. 

One thing I can do fairly well is solve problems on the fly. 

I had finally gotten most of the summary down on paper (so to speak), but just the bare bones. So then I was trying my damndest to put some humour in it, as I had done to fairly good effect in the previous month’s summary. But humour requires a much more fluid and open mind than I was at all capable of. A mind like....Kevin Heslop’s. Well, a lot of people have fluid and open minds, but for a long time now I’ve been reading Kevin’s stuff, first his poetry and now prose. So he was my example. I began imagining myself as Kevin writing the summary. And then of Kevin writing it himself. And then I started to get excited. My god, what a great idea. Ask him to do it. Not only would it be better written, but I wouldn’t have to write a word! And that’s when I suddenly got the energy to get the summary done.

The thing is, just when I need someone the most for this, Kevin is ripe and ready to go. In the year that I’ve been reading his stuff, since we started the open mic, he’s gone through phases. First it was Bukowski, then D. H. Lawrence, and then Kerouac’s poetry and now his prose poetry, or poetic prose, or just prose or whatever it is. This prose thing happened on Kevin’s adventure in Montreal the week before the open mic. So he’s really into it now. (At least he was a day ago, but one day for him is like a month for me.) Well, the big news is I did ask him and he actually did say yes, he would give it a shot. So there we have it. Something different to look forward to. Now the problem will be having an open mic that stands up to it’s summary!! :) But I can tell you now that it will. For one thing, there are a bunch of open micers (plus our next feature) who are going away in July to their own special retreat to hatch up stuff! But more on that later. 

For now, just to give you a feeling of how Kevin can report on an event, and what it might read like, I have a taste for you. 
 
I follow Kevin's output on his blog and a week or so before the open mic he seemed to be slowing down. The flood was drying up. So I thought I would give him a new experience, picked him up and took him along on my job as a support worker for a guy who always likes to meet new people. After several hours, I dropped Kevin off at home. This was on his website maybe three quarters of an hour later. (He writes as fast as Kerouak ever did.)

THE KING, THE WHEELMAN AND THE BUSTED BLUE VAN

This afternoon the mad Wheelman in his rickety busted down old blue van of dent and rust jabbered up to my driveway, his foul-mouthed pal Gregor riding shotgun who said my name as I sat in back and I said his and we were off cackling about suburban corners and out out towards a McDonalds for coffee.

We arrived in the parking lot of gloom and doom-skied afternoon, the wheelman hunkering out first to get a scooter for Gregor, and did so, got him set and we rolled in together and ordered and sat down to drink our hot cups of coffee in the lighted inside bustle and shuffle of blue trays, yellow sandwich wrappers and ‘I can help whose next please’, you know it. And so began a game of backandforth between the tyrant Gregor and the Wheelman, one upping each other with play venom banter and ramblings that struck fear into wrinkled eyes all over the place, say an old bald guy in pressed corduroy jacket and khakis, green eyes heavily spectacled peeking over his newspaper wondering what’s what. The whole place beginning to stare, in fact, and without a care and having more kicks than anybody ol’ Gregor guzzling coffees with ten sweeteners and maniacal of eye, really letting loose like with the top down on sum sunset stretch in the desert.

Loose ends having gotten tied, and Gregor up one on the scoreboard with the Wheelman, we get set again, into the van, the scooter returned and roar clattering around bends, two wheels coming off the pavement at times, and on to the next and the next, Gregor making obscene jokes and planning lap dances for the gang of us on the Wheelman’s dime. The Wheelman just an mouth open revealing teeth rows and those laughing eyes pressing into the gas as the trip ripped forward.

To the next McDonald’s, onward, the white lines jumping past that familiar careless window and the gloomy sky shuddering at the jagged lines of light rippling up and down the cloud canvas, and we, in that heavy handed van strong-arming it and beating past yellow lights and turning heads and we’d arrived at the next stop suddenly.

On his walker now, Gregor denying the sloped curve and opting to hop the perpendicular one, which he did, and called out to us he needed to piss! and so made his way to the bathroom, passing by a widescreen T.V. playing The Elephant Man, which seemed a strange film to be playing in an easy café like that but that’s the truth.

The Wheelman and I paired with frantic eyes in line to order more coffee and a Coke for Gregor tapping our restless road ravaged toes and then Gregor, having pissed, making his way to sit down at a table by the window beside a couple, 80 years old each, and the coffee lidded and Coke filled and brought to the table we sat and made chat with the pair.

It trickled out the Wheelman and I were poets, the Wheelman in fact a fine poet and tireless madman putting forums for readings together in the city at a real pleasant Greek dig other side of town, and the tender bag-eyed couple taking interest in that, she an oil painter and he an engineer with an ear for words, and so we made chat, and the old Engineer shared a story about a preacher they knew who used to smoke out front the chapel between masses, used to every day say ‘how are yah’ to an old lady with walker out front the church there, and her always responding ‘bugger off’, ritually, just like that with no prelude, and they laughed brightly at that and we too.

Gregor then jumping in insisting his kingliness, his king’s horses back home waiting for him, and we I think ‘prolly all knew the subtle truth in that, you know, something Gibran saying the most massive characters are seared with scars, and he Gregor ridden with them but beautiful sure worthy of a crown but just wearing an old blue and white baseball
cap.

And the chat being made the elders moved off to beyond the door, I guess, into the bright day, and Gregor then demanding a story, and to deny a king a tale being treason I acquiesce with just so happens a Kerouac book on hand to read, and did, about two pages finally easing off it, and then nothing, and the King asking for more and so to the end of the chapter me spinning best I could those mad rhythms of bright open sky and beach bumming with fire roaring and spic clad in hot meat cooking for dinner, eventually the King blurting out that the Wheelman, who’d been sitting back grinning contentedly like a just fed cat, had farted, and so the reading ended there and just fine- he’d had his fill, I guess.

So a couple stagnant looks thrown over our shoulders, the King shuffles off to make royal pudding in the bathroom (haha), and the Wheelman gets the door open for him.

Me, I move off to the sidewalk to smoke, sit and think a bit at all that’d transpired- the old man peeping over papers, the busted road and the lap dances, the Elephant Man and the announcement of Royalty and the reading, and I nestled back into the book a bit smoking there in the fternoon air, the sun way out now bastardizing the dark grey tarp over the trees, and eventually the King set and the Wheelman ready to go, we went back out to the street to count the jumping white lines of the road.

 © Kevin Heslop  http://thechainsmokingpoet.wordpress.com/

Kevin Heslop

Kevin Heslop is a twenty year old writer-in-the-making, currently attending Western University as an English major. He is heavily influenced by the poetry and prose of Charles Bukowski and Ernest Hemingway, the philosophical works of Arthur Schopenhauer and Friedrich Neitzsche, the paintings of Vincent Van Gogh and Pablo Picasso and the music of J.S. Bach and Miles Davis. When not reading or writing, Kevin is either playing the drums, drawing with an 8B pencil and/or feeling distressed about not writing, at which times he often waits patiently in...



the garage 


the flannel blanket is thin and grey and tossed and disheveled lying

weeping upon the wooden chair with one shorter leg.

two blue garbage bins with crooked headpieces languish in the corner.

the garage doors are quiet and gaping like observant militia and

nestled in the shelving on the wall are browning gasoline cans

half empty and waiting for spring.

the cigarette butts in the ashtray are standing at odd angles

as if having maintained their positions at the conclusion of an interpretive dance

crumpled and embellishing the romance of their fate.

the metal structure of the withdrawing mechanism bends smoothly and decisively

each moment hanging with the threat of animation.

it is winter and the cool light slouches in

bordering the garage doors in soft clumps.

the naked bulb buzzes like a luminescent bee

hanging in midflight

hovering callously in the face of the

light switch.



For more from Kevin Heslop, his blog,  thechainsmokingpoet