On the can with a door spitting rhymes

Customs House on a Saturday afternoon and the people on the first floor of the building overflow. None of these fans of poetry fans of fire safety as they block doorways with their doe eyes or musty elbows. No ease of access, no breathing space for those who may instruct their brains to implode on the claustrophobic nature of it all.

Event for the day and reason enough to see another, Toilet Door Poetry. Engaging those otherwise preoccupied with matters on the other end.

Against all previous experiences and outings under the name of spoken word and live poetry bleeding fresh in the ears, a sweet rush of early time.

No better way for an afternoon of poetry than a night listening to Dutch, German and Flemish dialects and conversations over the din in a Belgium Cafe. Surprisingly dreamy, even if a little isolatory.

Soon Van

Monday, 3 April 2006 - 09:30

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