I think our third season of Homework has been the best yet. So far this year, our Night Of Literary Miscellany at Bethnal Green Workingmen’s Club has seen the launch for John Osborne’s Newsagents Window, a surprise performance from Kevin Eldon, the debut of Luke Wright’s Cynical Ballads, and an amazing performance from folk legend John Smith.

Tomorrow night we’re back again with another amazing line-up: Joel Stickley reads from his blog How To Write Badly Well, Joe Dunthorne reads an exclusive extract from his new novel, and guest Kate Tempest drops it with the newly-signed Sound of Rum.

NEXT MONTH HOWEVER, we’re doing something very different, and we’re looking for help from as many writers as possible to make it happen.

On the 29th September, Homework is hosting a special event entitled THE LAST BARMAN POET: an evening of writing inspired by the rubbish poem that Tom Cruise reads in the 1988 motion picture, Cocktail.

We are looking for as many writers as possible to contribute homages, covers and remixes of the Cruise poem for this event. These can be recorded for YouTube and played at the event, or performed live at the event by the writer themselves (or by proxy by another performer if the writer wishes- we can sort this out).

The event was originally inspired by the Aristocrats joke: a (pretty unfunny) joke that US comedians use to show off their stagecraft. The joke itself is a test pattern; it’s down to the comic telling the joke to add their own brand of flair, and hopefully make it funny.

We wondered—is it possible to create an Aristocrats for poets? A poem so bad that the writer would have to use all their ingenuity and talent to make it worthwhile? We don’t know the answer yet, but we’re hoping to find out on the 29th.

Here our a few suggestions for things we’re looking for:

• The original poem, reproduced verbatim, but presented in an interesting way, either through video montage, overdubbing, or the poet reading the poem in an interesting place.

• A poem (even loosely) inspired by the original. We’re not just looking for performance poems. We are looking for examples from right across the spectrum of poetry. We’re also keen to have some formal pieces too: a Last Barman Sonnet would be amazing.

• A poem that contains the same structure as the original, but replaces the subject of the poem with another. Ie. ‘The Last Microbiologist Poet’.

Of course, this is by no means an exhausted list, but we hope it gets you started. We’ll condense all the material into an hour and curate the final event, weaving the whole thing together and discussing our findings.

If you’re interested, drop me an email with your idea and I’ll send back a gushing email about how many drinks I’m going to buy you the next time I see you.

I am the world’s last barman poet.
I see America drinking the fabulous cocktails I make.
Americans getting stinking on something I stir or shake.
The Sex on the Beach,
The Schnapps made from peach,
The Velvet Hammer,
The Alabama Slammer.
I make things with juice and froth.
The Pink Squirrel,
The 3-Toed Sloth.
I make drinks so sweat and snazzy.
The Iced Tea,
The Kamikaze,
The Orgasm,
The Death Spasm,
The Singapore Sling,
The Ding-a-ling.
America you’re just devoted to every flavor I got.
But if you want to get loaded,
Why don’t you just order a shot?

As the work comes in, I’ll upload it to the Aisle16 website and the Homework Myspace page so you can keep track of the project.

Submissions, more information, etc, contact me at RossGSutherland@Yahoo.com

“a forensic Stewart Lee-esque disdain for life’s stupidities. A moving and compelling show which might have you swiftly returning for seconds.” - The List (****)

“A distinct lack of hype means too many will miss out on affable music journalist and Fringe first-timer Ross Sutherland’s remarkable offering. The Three Stigmata of Pacman, a quirky mix of comedy, multimedia slides and poetry, puts many more experienced acts to shame with its experimental nature and comic impact.” – Fest (****)

“full of exhilarating Perecian word play, some eerie video and a time capsule that looks an awful lot like a plastic, flip-top bin.” – The Stage

“exhilarating and energising” – Three Weeks (****)

“With talent like this emerging, the future’s never looked so bright.” – Hairline (****)

The fine people at Escalator (to which I owe my presence at the Fringe) asked me if I could write a poem about Edinburgh that could be included in their press packs. I’m not sure if they used it or not (its kinda about me, rather than the Fringe, so I wouldn’t blame them), but here it is:

When I was five
Edinburgh was assembled
from the games I used to play
with my grandparents.
I turned the cold granite
stairwell of their council block
into a missile silo, ready
to launch me with ten seconds
notice into ancient Rome, or
a rain-blanketed prison planet, or
a world where gravity
was tilted ninety degrees.
Each street twisting into
some new narrative
of which I was the only star.

How unexpected, then,
to return as an adult
and find these fantasies
still running.
As if my parents had forgotten
to switch them off
when we left for England.
Worse, the adventures have
multiplied wildly, had grandchildren
of their own, who now meet up
in late-night bars, swap notes
and fall in love with one another.
It seems they do not miss me, never have.

And now eighty dance routines
live in the sanitised remains of the Odeon
where I watched Ghostbusters.
Two hundred elegies to lovers
sing out from the bandstand where I had
once foiled the assassination
of Glen Michaels from STV.
And the Cowgate,
once a huge stone heart
that let me skateboard through
its ventricles,
is now stocked with quiet rooms
where fifty overweight men
talk about how hard it is to
move back in with your parents.

Without irony, this building
is the closest thing I have to home.
Where next door, up in the ancient aorta
some eighty years earlier,
my infant granddad is sleeping
in a cupboard drawer,
slowly beginning to imagine
an Edinburgh of his own.

This morning I am recovering from my worst gig yet at the Fringe: my pitiful attempt to rock the karaoke room at the Rockstar Games Party last night. I chose Phil Collins’s In The Air Tonight, and insisted that the reverb be turned up to 11 so I sounded “like Megatron”. Boos commenced. The humiliation was made all the worse by the fact I had to go right after Tim Clare’s award-winning rendition of If I We’re A Rich Man (Da-Da-Da-De-Da-De-Da-De-Da-De-Da).

But all is not lost- it turns out I’ve had two more four star reviews for The Three Stigmata of Pacman, courtesy of Three Weeks Magazine and Fest. I am super stoked about this, and as soon as the cackling spectre of Phil Collins leaves my head, I will celebrate with a pack of cocodamol and a can of Irn Bru.

Chapter One: Journalism and the Power of the Self-Fulfilling Prophecy

Chapter Two: Ode to a Grecian Time-Capsule

Chapter Three: I Run Out of Funding To Make This Show

Chapter Four: The Three Stigmata of Pacman

OK, so I hope that’s cleared up any confusion.

OK, so it looks like I’m censoring myself in the title there. The truth isn’t quite as dark as that, you’ll be pleased to hear. Brian Donaldson at The List gave me a really nice write-up for The Three Stigmata of Pacman.

Over the past few Fringes, Luke Wright has earned himself a reputation as the cutting thrust of performance poetry. Now two of his fellow Aisle 16 buddies are getting their taste of an Edinburgh ‘summer’. While Tim Clare takes us on a Death Drive at Zoo Roxy, the Underbelly is hosting this excellent debut from Edinburgh-born, Essex-raised Ross Sutherland. The Three Stigmata of Pacman (discussing the title will give away too much) is described by its creator as ‘live literature, or whatever this is’, and features plenty of projected imagery, slabs of music and swabs of poetry.

Sutherland’s story takes us from his happy life working as a music reviewer for Metro, amusingly sharing office space with the Daily Mail, to redundancy and the spectre of having to move back to the family home. The disintegration of his self is played out on a backdrop of fairy tale and Greek mythology with Sutherland showing a forensic Stewart Lee-esque disdain for life’s stupidities. A moving and compelling show which might have you swiftly returning for seconds.

Underbelly, 08445 458 252, until 29 Aug (not 16), 4.40pm, £9–£10.50 (£6.50–£9.50)

On top of that, Three Weeks magazine put me in their “Three-To-See” list in the Comedy section. I’m really really pleased with all this. I think its time to go climb Arthurs Seat and have a little dance on the top.

I’ve been a bit quiet online considering this is my first week doing a solo show at the Edinburgh Fringe. The reason is that I’ve been finishing the manuscript for my second book, Twelve Nudes, which comes out with Penned in the Margins in September. I just finished the thing about 20 minutes ago (YESSSSSSSS) so I’m officially coming back into orbit now.

My recommendations for Edinburgh so far: Clockwork Orange at the Radisson Hotel, Full Scottish Breakfasts from City Cafe, and the middle-aged American man who tried to buy weed off me in the Forest Fringe canteen. X

Recorded last week at our rum London knockabout, Homework. Under 18’s probably shouldn’t watch this.

If its not entirely clear from our rather garbled conversation at the start, Tim is reading a univocalism, where ‘A’ is only vowel he is allowed to use. I’m providing a lippogrammatic translation of Tim’s poem, where I have to tell the same story using all the vowels except ‘A’.

Tim and I both have shows at the Edinburgh fringe this August. My show, Ross Sutherland: The Three Stigmata of Pacman is at 4:40pm in the Cowgate Underbelly. Tim Clare’s Death Drive plays at the Zoo Roxy at 7pm. Just go, will you.

include a one-off special event with fellow Aisle16er Tim Clare in the Banshee  Laybrinth on August 18th. Me and Tim will be presenting an hour of stories, poems and music inspired by video games, past and present. Infinite Lives is a show that we initially wrote in collaboration with Joe Dunthorne and Chris Hicks. We’ve done it about five times, so its still pretty much under-wraps.

Infinite Lives is part of the PBH Free Fringe, which is programming a huge amount of poetry this year. At the centre of their poetry schedule is Utter!, Richard Tyrone Jones’s excellent poetry/cabaret extravaganza, moving up from its usual nest in Kings Cross. Seeing as RTJ was hit by chronic heart failure in March, leaving him gasping for breath and walking with the aid of a stick and a pacemaker, he really shouldn’t be taking on the Edinburgh festival at all. But rather than act sensibly and look after his health, he’s enlisted over 80 poets to back him the hell up.

Highlights include:

Sat 7th: Utter! Tims – Tim Clare, Tim Turnbull & Tim Wells. Plus open Tim. Guest host: Tim Phillips

Tues 10th: Utter! Literary Deathmatch – Four top performers go head to head in the format that’s conquered 6 continents. Hammer & Tongue’s Steve Larkin vs Utter!’s Niall Spooner-Harvey vs Scotland’s Jenny Lindsay vs Molly Naylor. Judges: Liz Niven, Ross Sutherland and Tim Wells. www.literarydeathmatch.com

Fri 13th: Utter! Ghoulies – Helen Mort, Tim Turnbull, Gavin Inglis, Ernesto Sarezale.

Mon 16th: Utter! Lutonists – John Hegley, plus other Luton-based or Lute-playing poets – Tim Clare, Gareth Lewis, Lee Nelson, Luton’s very own Klod Magazine, Danni Antagonist and Simon Munnery (well he lives near Bedford, which he describes as ‘Greater Luton’).

Tues 17th: Utter! UEA – Megan Bradbury, Ross Sutherland, Molly Naylor, Hannah Eiseman-Renyard

Sat 28th: Utter! Finale – Best of the Fest, including Ross Sutherland and the winner of Utter!’s Got Talent 2010.

That’s all at the Banshee Labyrinth (Banqueting Hall), 29-35 Niddry Street EH1 1LG. Check Richard’s website for full listings. Thanks mum. x

Wazzup Polyglots

This weekend, I’m working in collaboration with Game/Art supremos Hide and Seek. H&S are all about fusing developments in technology and theatre, in order to demonstrate how improvements in game and design lead to new kinds of theatrical practice. The audience gets more involved, basically. In a fun way.

The result of this collaboration is the London Poetry Game, designed by H&S founder Alex Fleetwood, and produced by live literature / digital whiz Sarah Ellis. Here’s how it works:

My new poem SYMPHONY has been split into 26 languages. If you can translate a line back (or can find someone who can), phone up and leave your translation on the London Poetry Game answering machine. Every translation wins a DOPE PRIZE, with a HELLA DOPE PRIZE to the caller that provides the most translations overall.

Come Sunday afternoon, all the recordings will be collated into a sonic performance at The National Theatre, as part of the culmination of the Hide and Seek Weekender.

We’ve only just gone online and already the poem is twisting and turning in new directions. The Twitter feed has become a manic bilingual switchboard, firing off translations in all directions. I confess, it’s already become a much better poem than the one I initially wrote…

Read the poem and start playing here: http://www.londonpoetrygame.org/

Myself and the rest of Aisle16 have just dragged ourselves back from Glastonbury Festival. Probably one of our best yet, both as performers and as drunken nobs. On the Cabaret stage, we rolled out almost all-new material, including John Osborne’s World Cup poems and extracts from Luke’s new Cynical Ballads show. WE EVEN FOUND TIME TO HAVE OUR PHOTO TAKEN TOGETHER. A momentous occasion that has only happened once before in the basement of Bethnal Green Workingmen’s Club (except that time the flash didn’t go off.) So at last, we can prove that we exist, although a night drinking rum in a field does blur the edges a bit.

On Sunday night I got to go onto Jarvis Cocker’s show on 6music for a poem and chat about my Edinburgh show. You can listen to us mumbling nicely to each other here:

Ross and Jarvis on 6Music