The sun belted down. Couples lay back to catch rays while children hop skipped and jumped over them. Icecreams wobbled in procession like the beehives of a thousand screaming beatles fans. Children racing from a Jaqueline Wilson event to the bookshop. And the green room was its usual assortment of goodies. Read more [...]

I shall now be on the radio most of the night. That's two performances, a book signing, five hundred miles and six hours travelling, two countries and one meeting in a seventeen hour day. Done. Read more [...]

The stage area from were the evening is presented is beneath a suspended airplane. The hall is that big. This museum is incredible and to be here is also incredible. By seven thirty the musicians and I are sat at our respective tables and the nobel laureates and scientists too. They arrived from a day discussing climate change with Prince Charles at St James Palace. Read more [...]

The symbolism of the performance in this area on this day is not lost on me. The complex racial politics in today’s cape town need bridges and tunnels. The centre is packed and the welcome warm. I have three minutes on stage alongside all the poets. It is the finale. Read more [...]

His story is like Tupac’s. But she was there. There’s no iconography just a brother who went to help his father who was being beaten by some drunk boys on the corner. I wonder if heaven's got a ghetto Read more [...]

On the first day I noticed a dark bruise on her right wrist. It was the bruise of a gripping hand. Each day I’d watched her and wondered how such a circular bruise could happen. Only a grip. Read more [...]

It was a beautiful event to be a part of. “It wasn’t you on stage tonight” said a woman afterwards “the spirit got you and took you. It wasn’t you.” After the event I rushed outside for air. Read more [...]

As we mingle outside the centre two Xhosa men, Imbongi, in traditional dress cloth thrown over their shoulders cloth wrapped around their waists trailing to the ground and bare strong arms. They stand with clubs in hand and scream a blood curdling scream – their first words. The language is Xhosa. We stand in awe and silence. They thrust the clubs forward into the air. Read more [...]

They are my family, my poems, and I a proud father stand back as the audience applauds them. The applause sounds like rain, like tropical rain. Read more [...]

Lorelle and Malika the festival directors tap their glasses and walk up to a microphone that appeared from nowhere. They welcome us all and rounds of applause are given to various notables who “helped make the festival what it is”. We are ready for coffee “One more thing” Lorelle says. “today is the birthday of one of our guest poets”. I sit stunned. Read more [...]