The DGPS or to furnish it with its fully rolled out title of ‘The Dead Good Poets Society’ is Liverpool’s equivalent to our very own Write Out Loud. It encourages performance poetry or at the very least provides a platform for those of us who feel compelled to read our poetry before a subjective audience. And with this in mind I attended at the Everyman theatre and with it, I confronted one of my biggest prejudices.
I’m not a huge fan of Liverpool and cannot remember - ever - being a fan. Where this thought process derives from is perhaps something to do with an allegiance to football teams and the fact that I don’t like The Beatles or Cilla Black or Ken Dodd or Stan Boardman or Gerry and the Pacemakers or - I could go on. In fact, I think I will. Brookside. Echo and the Bunnymen, The Farm and Liverpool Airport are all particular dislikes of mine. So, it was with some trepidation that I ventured Westward toward the European Capital of Culture - and all this on a slow train from Wigan.

I needn’t have worried. Within minutes of arriving in the heart of Liverpool, myself and Mr Togher my hairy accomplice, took advantage of the town’s festival of drunkenness and immersed ourselves inside a Victorian sideshow known as The Punch & Judy. This historical building was home to many things, including various forms of bacteria, several vagrants and the cheapest drinks this side of Lime Street station. After a libation we rather lazily flagged down a local taxi and asked him to convey ourselves to the finest performance poetry night in town. With a puzzled frown he said that he was unaware of the whereabouts of such a night but that there was a night at the Everyman theatre where ’people go’. That, as they say, would have to do…

I don’t want to dwell on this too long so I’ll be frank. I didn’t enjoy the DGPS. While it was supported by some familiar faces of Write Out Loud namely those poetic gangsters, The Clays. They provided the evening with a touch of normality and Sandre’s poem about getting older was very observant and perhaps a touch biographical. John Togher uttered in his familiar and instantly recognizable tones poetry about his life with women before he was married. In other words, when he had a sex life. I enjoyed John - but then again I am a fan of his poetry. Which brings me on to the performers and people who I have never seen or heard before. If I could quote Samuel Johnson then I could do a lot worse than,
“Their work was both good and original. Unfortunately the parts that were good weren’t original and the parts that were original weren’t that good”.
Perhaps that sounds too harsh? There were of course suitable exceptions. A women who performed a poem about a boy wanting to be a poet and not a footballer was impressive and Sophie Mckeand gave us the undiluted and still raw emotion of her feelings when she scripted and uttered her poem about ‘fingerprints’. I’d never met Sophie until that night and my prejudice extended to expecting a left wing ‘Greenham Common’ type person. How wrong I was. Realising that my prejudices were a hindrance, I decided that I would have to return to Liverpool, at least on one other occasion, just to see if there really is a level of pretentiousness at DGPS that I've never experienced at WOL AND to take advantage of the cheapest drinks this side of Notty Ash.

I echo Darren's sentiments; The Punch & Judy does have plentiful bacteria and the cheapest drinks in Liverpool.

Nights vary. It wasn't the busiest or brightest, but still a good mix. Colin Watts and David Batemen were particularly good, but then they always are. A couple of young first timers were promising too.

Mmmh - now I'm REALLY glad that I didn't do the one about 'Vaginas'.