The LPP Will Let It Be...!
What a great idea it is, is it not: a Literary Pajama Party.
And now it is has been adapted into all languages, all cultures, and to benefit all sorts of worthwhile causes too. Take, for instance, the example of this one that we've attended recently, on a still-cold-as-hell night of February: held at a venue known as the Lion D'Or...
That old-style, on the smallish side, ''traditional'' cabaret which tries, through its variety of staged shows and events, to keep the tradition of the classic cabarets of auld alive and well - well into the twenty-first century...! This ''Golden Lion'' here is achieving just that and, along with other lions to be found on this northern islet of all manners of urban pollution (and they are the Humble Lion, the one found on Mount-Royal and Lionel-Groulx college...) it is, overall, somewhat changing my opinion and views of the old Mont-Réal borough (in the British sense; all about certain special rights, eh)...!
But that's another story...
Of course, it's all in French (or Franglais - on occasion. But truth be told, this is à cent mille lieues de Sugar Sammy; fear not)
A wide selection of authors and selected quotes are read to the few, the proud, the elite that showed up on that cold night as on other such nights before: it is all fine and dandy whenever it is about local scribes' words, read in a decidedly-québécois tone, while drinks are joyfully consumed. However, when it comes to the fine citations of what few illustrious authors such as Fernando Pessoa were selected for this night, one wishes one could read the original text all by ourselves... It doesn't matter that you don't know Portuguese; I do... ;-)
But that's another story...
And speaking (figuratively, quite evidently - duh!) of which, it irks the pundits in the crowd (oh, my; there were so few of us there!) when they overpronounce the vowels in a name: it's Pessoa (Pessoo-a, with a barely audible ''a'' at the end; and don't anybody dare jokingly infer there's ''pissou'' in there or I... não sei o que é vou fazer...!) not Pess-ô-ah... mas que porra mesmo! Desculpa... And speaking of that - overindulging in Oscar Wilde quotes that have nothing to do with the theme of the evening, just to keep the crowd awake, interested, stimulated (...) or simply excite it (!) seems to, well, cheapen the overall purpose of the exercise (which was to generate funds for an organization that specializes in helping out the despaired and derelict on the islet in question - six months at a time. Six months/one evening - seems like nothing to deal with the calamity of a ''nation'' plagued by one of the world's highest suicide rate amongst young males, the whole world over; but, as we'll repeat further down in this piece, it is certifiably better than doing absolutely nothing at all.)
The readers, perhaps molded after or handpicked according to previous models of the sort found here and there in la Francophonie and beyond, are adequate - alas, not spectacular. One had hoped to hear something far more lively than the old Nuits de Poésie recitals... Not so. Perhaps it has a little something to do with that Québécois accent of theirs...? To be honest, they all have it but two: Winston McQuade, it is a testament to him, bears no accent at all (not even an English one, which one might think would be the case due to his name and lineage) while Kim Thuy also adopted, for these proceedings as for her own literary well-being, an International French stance that is much in-sync with my very own...! The rest of the ''reading cast'' (see the menu below - it is all yellow! You can't miss it: though it misses the name of one David Goudreault, slam poetry specialist made in Quebec and last-minute addition...) is obviously all ''Québécois Pure Laine'' - and if, outside of the area or, even, simply off the islet, no one has any idea who is Winston (former TV host and cultural aficionado) or Kim (an author) it goes at least ten-fold for the rest of them, from Claudia to the one credited with ''the original idea'' here, Alain... The former has been known for her love of books for the longest time; she even authors them, too. She doubles as a journalist who frequently involves herself in good deeds of the sort. The latter is a philanthropist and entrepreneur, who loves to write too. Laudable, all around (hmm... maybe we should have posted this on THAT blog instead?) but, oftentimes, such efforts go completely ignored - just as the notoriety of each reaches a negligible percentage of the masses out there...
They do say that nul n'est prophète dans son pays, however...
They still gathered all together for a good cause, which is so honorable indeed; with the entire exercise judiciously ornamented, also, by musical pauses inserted exactly at the right time: which is, basically, whenever a succession of odd quotes has been read out loud leaving the inquiring minds in the audience wondering ''why in blue heavens did they choose that over, well, millions of other possibilities, really...?'' But that's another story - yet again.
Instead of a rather mindless quote from either one of them reformed ''vagrants'' or well-known sources of witticisms in writ (Oscar Wilde, Bernard Pivot, Socrates himself) it would have perfectly been suitable here to have included actual poetry, true lyricism from former homeless men who have been ''discovered'' for their way with words and given the chance to exploit their God-given talents, at long last. One or two very famous examples come to mind: most notably, this one right here who rose from his ashes like the proverbial phoenix after a long descent ended when he was salvaged from it by a mere passerby: maybe the name will ring a bell? It is Raimundo Arruda Sobrinho. The passerby, Shalla Monteiro, did much more than help him out for a maximum of six months as those ''intervenant(e)s'' du Tournant do; she set up a Facebook page for the man so that his poetry would get to be read not just for one night either and not only one or two lines of it, but all of it, all the time. Even the peeps behind facebookstories.com were so impressed (they have to be happy to see such kind of free publicity arise virtually out of nowhere: what a comforting thought to learn that social media, especially their brand of social media, can be used to such heights, change someone's life, all for the very best?) and the amazing story has been circulated around ever since. I cannot believe that Kim, Alain and the rest did not find a single quote from Raimundo's writings to be ''percutant'' here, and they'd rather quote Plume Latraverse and Woody Allen - three times! It is probably true, too, that the customer-base of that Tournant place is not as literally-gifted as sr Sobrinho; they have other talents that need nurturing and, within a six-month timeframe, it needs to be done FAST... There are follow-ups though. Oh well...
It is difficult to choose which siren was the most well-suited or a joy to listen to with this event, as far as the accompanying singing voices go: Coral Egan's voice is clearly the better one, however Mara Tremblay's lyrics seemed to fit the bill on another level - and not just because they were in French either. A guitarist was on hand just to play along as the readers were doing their thing: that helped immensely, at times (again, the choice of quotes was not always so judicious... Music would salvage the lost moment; often. But... we're repeating ourselves, now? That's a definite no-no for an LPP...!)
Thus, LP left the LPP a tad disillusioned with such events overall: for they are but a drop in the ocean of sorrows that they are trying to sponge out. It is, of course, better than doing nothing at all. We departed the Lion D'Or voicing our concern and wish that other, age-old charitable organizations could be so... inventive themselves. One comes to mind immediately: the KofC. Ah, if only they were so enthused to combine arts and chivalry, charity and literary wit, what a wonderful, wondrous fundraiser it could be...? But that's another story - one last ''other one'' yes! Thanks to Marie-Noelle for making us know about this soirée and listening intently, at the end of it - and to Isabelle, for pretending to listen, too! And isn't it just too bad that we missed out entirely on that backstage confessional thing, though... hmm? Maybe next time... eh? Not.
And now it is has been adapted into all languages, all cultures, and to benefit all sorts of worthwhile causes too. Take, for instance, the example of this one that we've attended recently, on a still-cold-as-hell night of February: held at a venue known as the Lion D'Or...
That old-style, on the smallish side, ''traditional'' cabaret which tries, through its variety of staged shows and events, to keep the tradition of the classic cabarets of auld alive and well - well into the twenty-first century...! This ''Golden Lion'' here is achieving just that and, along with other lions to be found on this northern islet of all manners of urban pollution (and they are the Humble Lion, the one found on Mount-Royal and Lionel-Groulx college...) it is, overall, somewhat changing my opinion and views of the old Mont-Réal borough (in the British sense; all about certain special rights, eh)...!
But that's another story...
Of course, it's all in French (or Franglais - on occasion. But truth be told, this is à cent mille lieues de Sugar Sammy; fear not)
A wide selection of authors and selected quotes are read to the few, the proud, the elite that showed up on that cold night as on other such nights before: it is all fine and dandy whenever it is about local scribes' words, read in a decidedly-québécois tone, while drinks are joyfully consumed. However, when it comes to the fine citations of what few illustrious authors such as Fernando Pessoa were selected for this night, one wishes one could read the original text all by ourselves... It doesn't matter that you don't know Portuguese; I do... ;-)
But that's another story...
And speaking (figuratively, quite evidently - duh!) of which, it irks the pundits in the crowd (oh, my; there were so few of us there!) when they overpronounce the vowels in a name: it's Pessoa (Pessoo-a, with a barely audible ''a'' at the end; and don't anybody dare jokingly infer there's ''pissou'' in there or I... não sei o que é vou fazer...!) not Pess-ô-ah... mas que porra mesmo! Desculpa... And speaking of that - overindulging in Oscar Wilde quotes that have nothing to do with the theme of the evening, just to keep the crowd awake, interested, stimulated (...) or simply excite it (!) seems to, well, cheapen the overall purpose of the exercise (which was to generate funds for an organization that specializes in helping out the despaired and derelict on the islet in question - six months at a time. Six months/one evening - seems like nothing to deal with the calamity of a ''nation'' plagued by one of the world's highest suicide rate amongst young males, the whole world over; but, as we'll repeat further down in this piece, it is certifiably better than doing absolutely nothing at all.)
The readers, perhaps molded after or handpicked according to previous models of the sort found here and there in la Francophonie and beyond, are adequate - alas, not spectacular. One had hoped to hear something far more lively than the old Nuits de Poésie recitals... Not so. Perhaps it has a little something to do with that Québécois accent of theirs...? To be honest, they all have it but two: Winston McQuade, it is a testament to him, bears no accent at all (not even an English one, which one might think would be the case due to his name and lineage) while Kim Thuy also adopted, for these proceedings as for her own literary well-being, an International French stance that is much in-sync with my very own...! The rest of the ''reading cast'' (see the menu below - it is all yellow! You can't miss it: though it misses the name of one David Goudreault, slam poetry specialist made in Quebec and last-minute addition...) is obviously all ''Québécois Pure Laine'' - and if, outside of the area or, even, simply off the islet, no one has any idea who is Winston (former TV host and cultural aficionado) or Kim (an author) it goes at least ten-fold for the rest of them, from Claudia to the one credited with ''the original idea'' here, Alain... The former has been known for her love of books for the longest time; she even authors them, too. She doubles as a journalist who frequently involves herself in good deeds of the sort. The latter is a philanthropist and entrepreneur, who loves to write too. Laudable, all around (hmm... maybe we should have posted this on THAT blog instead?) but, oftentimes, such efforts go completely ignored - just as the notoriety of each reaches a negligible percentage of the masses out there...
They do say that nul n'est prophète dans son pays, however...
They still gathered all together for a good cause, which is so honorable indeed; with the entire exercise judiciously ornamented, also, by musical pauses inserted exactly at the right time: which is, basically, whenever a succession of odd quotes has been read out loud leaving the inquiring minds in the audience wondering ''why in blue heavens did they choose that over, well, millions of other possibilities, really...?'' But that's another story - yet again.
Instead of a rather mindless quote from either one of them reformed ''vagrants'' or well-known sources of witticisms in writ (Oscar Wilde, Bernard Pivot, Socrates himself) it would have perfectly been suitable here to have included actual poetry, true lyricism from former homeless men who have been ''discovered'' for their way with words and given the chance to exploit their God-given talents, at long last. One or two very famous examples come to mind: most notably, this one right here who rose from his ashes like the proverbial phoenix after a long descent ended when he was salvaged from it by a mere passerby: maybe the name will ring a bell? It is Raimundo Arruda Sobrinho. The passerby, Shalla Monteiro, did much more than help him out for a maximum of six months as those ''intervenant(e)s'' du Tournant do; she set up a Facebook page for the man so that his poetry would get to be read not just for one night either and not only one or two lines of it, but all of it, all the time. Even the peeps behind facebookstories.com were so impressed (they have to be happy to see such kind of free publicity arise virtually out of nowhere: what a comforting thought to learn that social media, especially their brand of social media, can be used to such heights, change someone's life, all for the very best?) and the amazing story has been circulated around ever since. I cannot believe that Kim, Alain and the rest did not find a single quote from Raimundo's writings to be ''percutant'' here, and they'd rather quote Plume Latraverse and Woody Allen - three times! It is probably true, too, that the customer-base of that Tournant place is not as literally-gifted as sr Sobrinho; they have other talents that need nurturing and, within a six-month timeframe, it needs to be done FAST... There are follow-ups though. Oh well...
It is difficult to choose which siren was the most well-suited or a joy to listen to with this event, as far as the accompanying singing voices go: Coral Egan's voice is clearly the better one, however Mara Tremblay's lyrics seemed to fit the bill on another level - and not just because they were in French either. A guitarist was on hand just to play along as the readers were doing their thing: that helped immensely, at times (again, the choice of quotes was not always so judicious... Music would salvage the lost moment; often. But... we're repeating ourselves, now? That's a definite no-no for an LPP...!)
Thus, LP left the LPP a tad disillusioned with such events overall: for they are but a drop in the ocean of sorrows that they are trying to sponge out. It is, of course, better than doing nothing at all. We departed the Lion D'Or voicing our concern and wish that other, age-old charitable organizations could be so... inventive themselves. One comes to mind immediately: the KofC. Ah, if only they were so enthused to combine arts and chivalry, charity and literary wit, what a wonderful, wondrous fundraiser it could be...? But that's another story - one last ''other one'' yes! Thanks to Marie-Noelle for making us know about this soirée and listening intently, at the end of it - and to Isabelle, for pretending to listen, too! And isn't it just too bad that we missed out entirely on that backstage confessional thing, though... hmm? Maybe next time... eh? Not.
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posted by Luminous (\ô/) Luciano™ at 11:59 PM
2 literary comments
