Liv Torc

Biography

Liv Torc seeks the humanity and absurdity within the human condition and when she finds it, she strips it naked and kicks it... The winner of the southwest heat of Radio 4 National Poetry Slam 2009, Liv Torc is a stand-up poet, wondermentalist and comedian and the new reigning Bard of Exeter. She has shared a stage with John Hegley, Murray Lachlan Young, Andrew Motion and Matt Harvey, working for Apples and Snakes, Phrased and Confused and the Wondermentalist Cabaret. Liv performs all over the UK at festivals, gigs, cabarets and the occasional front room. She is an honorary bard of the order of Bards, Ovates and Druids (OBOD) and the current holder of the Small World 2009 bardic chair. Liv runs regular cabaret events and hosts a monthly open mic night at Exeter Phoenix, where she provides a platform for emerging poets and comedians and she will be opening Exeter’s first ever Poetry Festival in October 2010. Last summer Liv and Beryl the Feral launched their 2 woman show ‘For Our Sins’ to an audience on 300 people at Ways With Words Festival of Literature and Ideas in the Great Hall at Dartington, which was none too shabby. Liv and Beryl will be touring ‘For Our Sins’ in 2010/11. Liv is also the shyly proud author of the shiny yellow poetry compendium ‘Take Your Monkey and Get out of My Life’.

Samples

Ceiling When I look up at my bedroom ceiling I will often smile and think of you Not just because of the sex But because you had ostentatious coving... too Superman Pants When you stand on my bed In your superman pants It’s hard to feel weary of life But on further reflection And some conversation I see you’re not over your wife So get your feet off my duvet It’s best if you don’t stay I’m not looking to take on your stuff Without trying to sound callous When it comes to flawed heroes This damsel’s had more than enough The guilt that you live by And the burdens you carry Would be seriously bad for my health   So turn your pants inside out Superman - and for fuck sake Go save yourself Sperm Whale Last night I had a dream That my dad - who I hardly ever see Had won a Nobel Prize For his amazing contribution to art history. To highlight man?s domination Over the oceans that he sails He had created an environmental masterpiece With the help of 20 oversexed local males Yes my father - who was somewhat down on activism But pretty good with oils Had abandoned his usual ambivalence To comment on the human race's Oceanic spoils. Crafting an unlikely collage From which he asked mankind to learn It was a backlit life size sperm whale Fashioned out of sperm. He then captioned it with the words 'Beware of deadly sea men' Before signing it with his blood Like some narcissistic demon. Up until that point Artistically, I'd always considered my Dad a saint In my mind he was traditional He liked to paint with paint Now standing cowering in the shadow Of this 60-foot sperm encrusted orca I was feeling quite conflicted Was I really this man's daughter? Biologically I was reeling My stomach nauseous and cart-wheeling Desperately trying to shake the image Of my father sculpting cum While at the same time feeling strangely proud Of the award that he had won. I mean whales are really suffering Over hunted and harpooned Killed my military sonar Or washed up, polluted and marooned So the fact that my Dad had found the gall To encourage 20 willing men To ejaculate up a canvas wall (Emptying out each sweaty bollock In the style of Jackson Pollack) Was a pretty unexpected twist A sly flick of a heroic wrist. In the face of his utter conviction To this piece of edgy eco art The dustsheet was finally slipping Off his very dusty heart And i realised with some triumph That my Dad was a Nobel Prize winning giant Doing his bit for bio-diversity By ejaculating with a purpose Straight into the outline of a porpoise. Then I woke up. And with bleary eyes Shuddered to consider the symbolism Behind my rapidly fading dream What was it saying, just what did it mean? (And ignoring for this lifetime the mortifying Freudian father/daughter connotations) I noted with some horror That the sperm whale he'd created And somewhat masturbated Was not in fact my dad's idea But mine. And I sunk beneath my duvet like a shy dolphin.

All poems are copyright of the originating author. Permission must be obtained before using or performing others' poems.