Summer in the City with Anita Slater

Can a city be ‘scrunchy’? Thoughts and feelings in the frenzy of the city are often half-formed and confusing, so a surreal or abstract vocabulary, a poetic imagination, helps to bring out experiences in cities that we can’t typically express. Researcher and poet Anita has guided participants through a series of writing workshops based in MMU focused on exploring what an ‘urban poem’ might be. These sessions have culminated in a display in Manchester Poetry Library, where visitors are invited to view a ‘zine city’, and a collection of all the final poems resulting from an exploration of poetic methodology. 

Various prompts helped participants to think about how language around building, scale, and navigation might be incorporated into writing a poem. For example, Stav Poleg’s collection The City was taken as a starting point for writing poems that are conscious of being built, shifting, changing decision and starting a space or day over within a poem. We thought about Philip Gross’s collection Scratch City when zooming in on moments missed or lost in city life, moments under the ‘scratched surface’. We spent time comparing contemporary poetry such as Daisy Lafarge’s Life Without Air to the early twentieth century works of philosopher Walter Benjamin, taking a self-guided tour along only one street, focusing on one element, or thinking about what the air or the walls accumulate or hear. Thinking about how to create a poem and how to imagine a city, we focused on artist Gego’s abstract wire sculptures from the 1960’s, thinking about how intention and material play into designing a city. The display is an attempt at ‘thinking in miniature’, combining zine work with poetry, to prompt viewers to dream up their own urban space. 

Seeing Colours by All Saints Park
 

Splashes of blue,

and every leaf is green,

each a different hue.

A sea of green and brown

stretching towards the sky.

Ancient Roman floors,

the brick path –

a mosaic of reds

maroons, browns and greys.

The four-section-bins

standing at equal distance

like sentinels.

A flat umbrella riddled with holes.

Three stone blocks

facing the park, once a cemetery.

Do ghosts sit there

staring at their former home?

Sumithreyi Sivapalan

Walls and Air
 

Walls are made of concrete,

bricks, fibreglass, railings.

Some walls are invisible,

they are made of air.

The air we breath in and release.

Walls keeps us in, keeps us out,

protects and imprisons.

The air is best when it is not noticeable.

No heat, cold, dust or stench.

Where do walls belong?

And which side?

Walls are divided through the middle.

They belong to both spaces.

Sumithreyi Sivapalan

Manchester and Jaffna
 

A Roman city,

a cotton mill industry,

music, bands, nightclubs,

gangs, gays, illegal, legal,

academics, homeless,

Ferrari, Stagecoach,

skyscrapers, underground bunkers.

I needed to come to Manchester

to understand what Jaffna means.

I see my home with new eyes.

I realise now, that the sunsets I saw everyday

walking along the Pannai bridge,

were magnificent and rare.

The stars I gazed at

standing on the causeway

in the middle of the sea

will vanish in a city.

I no longer see the common Egret.

Swans have replaced them.

the salt air and hot spices

must be made or imagined.

In bed, in the dark, I dream

of the sea’s whisper and my father’s voice.

Sumithreyi Sivapalan

The Double Decker Bus

Where do you want to take me?

When I walk in between ancient and new,

Between trams and sculptures looking down on me atop stone buildings?

Where do you want to take me?

When I lose myself in maps

And sit on double decker buses, headed in the wrong direction?

Oh dear Manchester,

Where do you want to take me?

when I enter wrought iron gates to mystical gardens

and automated doors to self-checkout lanes in a sea of people

alone and crowded

I will go anywhere with you, my Manchester

Because I came to get lost, and be found

On double decker buses headed in every direction

Marvi Altaf

The City Walls

LGBTQI and Me

We all live together

Trying to be

We all scream for identity

We all want to be heard

The walls take it all in

As do the bees and the birds

Like the spectrum in the sky

Coloured and colourless at the same time,

Opinions, laws, demands, and the rights

We have them all,

As we live in rippled harmony

LGBTQI and me

Seeking our identities

Trying to be free

Marvi Altaf

 
London Underground
 

The endless connections a person could make in a city,

Seeing a person you like on the tube and stopping to tell them their pretty, Compiling a life together from Tooting to Charing Cross,

Just hoping that they just looked up, Overthinking a conversation I could strike up, Yet never uttering a word or even looking up, Simply keeping my eyeline off to the distance, The way my life makes me conceal…don’t feel, Just stay sick in this rat race that we call life, Commute and work,

Commute and sleep,

All of this on constant repeat, When in reality most want to flee,

Will anyone ever just wake up and see, What this place is doing to you and me.

Charlotte Alice Boylan

Greenery Amongst the Concrete Jungle
 

All Saints Park,

A place people go even when it’s dark, Nature plonked in the middle of this city,

Everything in it on a sunny day looks so pretty,

Uni buildings and takeaways surround the perimeter, Without them this place might be a better buffer,

A place to truly unwind after a lecture,

Everyone dotted around perched on the boulders, Spotting groups congregating amongst the trees, Hovering around like little mancunian bees,

Overhearing a group playing D&D that one player got attacked by a beholder, Busy all year round even when it’s colder,

Yet leaves me questioning…is this a place I would come when I’m older?…

Charlotte Alice Boylan

Urban Loneliness
 

Loneliness in the city,

Whether you’re a newcomer or old, Dwelling on the fact that it’s such a pity, Why can’t I be so bold?

Feeling emptiness inside even though the city looks alive, While some stay tucked up and others are able to just thrive, Experiencing yet never overcoming,

Longing for some sense of loving,

All while thinking that’ll never happen.

Trying to embrace this loneliness in the city, How can a place be so packed,

Yet I feel so empty,

Forming connections so I don’t think, About alternatives of how this life could be,

If I stopped holding back and doing stuff just truly for me…

But them oh so busy places sometimes can make a person feel even more lonely, Knowing there’s so many people around yet no one truly knows me,

How do you find a balance between solitude and building everlasting connections?

How crazy this life could be,

If we all didn’t feel confined so we could express ourselves freely, Or there simply was no loneliness in this Urban City.

Charlotte Alice Boylan

Tent City
 

Seeing a Homeless persons tent on the street is a double edge sword, I wish to look at it because of that sense of longing to escape,

Yet not for too long as I don’t wish to engage.

Seeing a Homeless persons tent on the street,

Hoping there are no rips and tares when examining the seams, Because being in a leaking tent with wet feet is just the worst thing.

Seeing a Homeless persons tent on the street,

Unable to be pegged out properly as it’s pitched out upon concrete, Randomly popped up and propped up to allow shelter,

All while being a part of an alternative community.

This alternative community is not what most think of when they see a homeless persons tent on the street,

For most it’s a topic they’ve never pondered to stop or truly think, When their tucked up in bed or fresh out the shower,

Never reminiscing whilst chilling on the sofa,

About the Homeless person they always witness begging on the concrete.

Charlotte Alice Boylan

Hypersomnia
 

Waking up at the end of most people’s day, Closing my eyes to daylight,

Opening them to the sunset.

Waking up in a dark room,

The pure peace and tranquility,

All while there’s Hussel and Bussel going on outside my room.

Waking up at the same time as those in a different time zone, Without a care in the world,

As this unconventional life unfolds.

Rising,

Elongating arms to the ceiling,

All while removing an eye mask, Bonnet, and earplugs, Seeing flatmates in shock you’ve only just risen.

Waking up at the end of most people’s day, Feeling like a moth surrounded by butterflies,

A nocturnal animal that sometimes is forced to comply.

Being a slave to the sun is not good for a child of the moon,

Being a slave working on autopilot feeling like I can’t truly think or move, All of this because I’m a nocturnal child of the moon.

Charlotte Alice Boylan

Life feels like one big Conspiracy
 

Life in a city,

Whether it’s summer, winter, or fall,

Being cast under the illusion we’re forming connections, Even though that died out with the creation of socials, Those against the agenda are labeled a nutter,

All while when finally proven truthful no one utters a mutter, Conspiracy theories being proven factual,

Yet the news just seems to want to brainwash you, So it leaves everyone questioning what to do?

Do we carry on living in this system? Or do we try and not let the elite win?

But with all that said and done,

 Really and truly they have already won.

Charlotte Alice Boylan

Summer in the City

Eyes meet, a moment shared

Like two stars in the night, paired

A connection beyond compare

Soul to soul, our glances collide

A story untold, yet implied

As if we’re two angels, in the sky

A higher power, we adorn

A feeling deep, a sense unknown

A bond that can’t be overthrown

Eyes meet, hearts skip a beat

Like two planets in orbit, we fleet

A cosmic dance, so discreet

Our souls entertwine, our fate we meet

In that moment, time stands still

Like a painting, surreal and still

Like two flames, we spark and thrill

In the blink of an eye, we connect

But in this dog-eat-dog unfair world, I am unsure of the pack you walk with.

So cog sets cog turning under my hair curls

Should I cross the road’s width

and meet the girl with the pearls.

and say hello, allow me to introduce myself.

Hoping the play goes well, we ride out till we hear

the bells

but I could get unlucky as the number after twelve.

To me, this choice is hell.

The chances to meet good people overcome by the

chances to meet wrong people

Utuera Uka Oduba

Summer in the city

In this fictional themed speed dating house, is an

environment that emphasizes meaningful

connections and engaging conversations. Picture a

charming Victorian-style establishment with

elegantly furnished rooms and a warm, inviting

atmosphere. The house is tastefully decorated,

with soft lighting and comfortable seating arrangements

that encourage intimate conversations.

This venue prioritizes fostering genuine

connections. The participants engage in thoughtful

conversations, getting to know each other on a

deeper level. The setting allows for open and

honest discussions, creating an environment where

individuals can explore compatibility and shared

interests.

Neo-burlesque hosts and facilitators are present to

guide the participants and ensure that the

conversations flow smoothly according to theme.

They offer ice-breakers and conversation prompts

to stimulate interesting discussions, helping

participants to discover common ground

and shared values.

Throughout the house, there are designated

spaces for different conversation themes, creating a

diverse range of atmospheres to cater to various

interests. Some rooms may be dedicated to art and

culture, while others focus on intellectual pursuits or

hobbies. This arrangement allows individuals to

explore their passions and discover potential

matches who share their enthusiasm.

To further enhance the experience, the speed

dating house could offer refreshments and light

snacks, creating a relaxed and enjoyable

ambiance. Participants can take breaks between

conversations, socialize with others, and recharge

 before diving into their next interaction.

In this unique setting,

the aim is to provide a

platform for individuals to connect emotionally and

intellectually. The speed dating house fosters an

environment where meaningful relationships can

develop naturally, allowing participants to form

genuine bonds without the pressure or expectation

of physical intimacy.

A space for dodgy/sleazy people to do wholesome

activities with each other

Utuera Uka Oduba

Summer in the city

As I take each step outside the perimeter of All Saints’ Park,

I am in reach of magic in depth,

I ride off a particular scent of cigarettes, set off from a

small, faint spark.

Behold, a crushed stick of a Marlboro, although, it’s

been here since yesterday’s time of dark or so. To me, it is litter. To the other man, he can still get a

couple hitters.

In a city of gold that glitters, information is shared

rapidly from gods to critters.

The ones that build are the ones that hold secrets.

And as the walls talk to only those that believe it,

buildings remain continuous after completion.

To me, the bee can’t be nothing less than a beacon

of hope and inspiration.

The wind under the wings carry the spirit to point two,

starting from point one.

Of all that hints magic over this street,

I find the most awesome of all, to be the hive mind

that boasts quantum connectivity shared with all kind,

all classes of religion, sex and ethnicity.

“Us” is we and “Them” is those we don’t see.

Utuera Uka Oduba

Summer in the city

I move through the city like a ghost in the machine,

like a perfect simile in a poem, I’m blending in.

In this city,

I feel anonymous and free, like a bird in the

firmament.

I’m a wanderer, a nomad in the night.

I’m invisible, like a shadow in the light.

The world is my oyster, that’s no lie.

Invisible, like a whisper in the trees;

I’m a puzzle, with pieces untold,

I’m a shadow, but I shine so bright.

I’m a ghost in the crowd, unseen;

A breeze in the air, light and serene.

I move like a whisper, swift and slick.

The city’s my playground, my domain,

I navigate its corners, without disdain;

I’m a phoenix, rising from the ashes.

A rebel with a cause, who never clashes

So when you see me, just know I’m on a mission.

Feeling happy, proud of being unknown 

Utuera Uka Oduba

 Looking for a room in Manchester

Must be within walking distance of the poetry library

Neo-burlesque hosts and facilitators are present to guide

The participants and ensure that the conversations flow smoothly,

According to the theme.

with colours of skin and personality

The wall keeps us out, keeps us in, protects, imprisons

Like a perfect smile in a poem, blending in

walking away with the secrets

a brick path, a mosaic of maroons, browns, and greys

In a city of gold that glitters, information is shared from gods

to critters

he saw me in that moment, when nobody else did

Seeing a homeless person,

I wish to look,

Yet not for too long as I don’t wish to engage

The air is best when it is not noticeable:

no heat, cold, dust, or stench

A connection beyond compare

falling down majestic trees and delicate flowers

The endless connections a person could make in

a city, yet forever just feeling loneliness in the city.

Sumithreyi Sivapalan, Utuera Uka Oduba, Marvi Altaf, Charlotte Alice Boylan