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beautiful snapshot Chris, thanks for that.  what about publications.   
did the workshop do any publishing or did folks bring their latest to  
spread around?  & it also seems to me in the fix of this larger  
discussion, that WF workshops steered clear of alot of the workshop  
conventions that make them so suspect.

~mIEKAL


On Aug 17, 2009, at 7:47 PM, cris cheek wrote:

> hi miekal, well this is my xp from the mid to l8 1970s. it changed  
> over the years driven by different waves of participants. here's a  
> bit of fluff on the WF workshop at that time (Bill Griffiths, Allen  
> Fisher, Lawrence Upton, Jeremy Adler, PC Fencott, Sean O'Huigin,  
> Ulli Freer, Paige Mitchell, Pierre Joris?, Maggie O'Sullivan, Alaric  
> Sumner . . . help i don't want to get into attempting a  
> comprehensive list and either include nor exclude for portrait  
> purposes . . . that kind of lot though, maybe Eric Mottram . . .  
> Geraldine . . . ?? i know was around but not in London so less  
> frequently . . . Robert Sheppard, Adrian Clarke . . . Gilbert  
> Adair . . . it was a fun crowd)
>
>
>
> Writing was frequently (although far from always) read by more than  
> voice, two or three voices (or more), reading in close interaction,  
> with syncopation, with overlapping stresses, with partial erasure,  
> foreground and background scripting, staccato narrative assemblages  
> and dialogistic interjection. The workshop sat more or less in a  
> circle. Texts were sometimes arraigned across the floor or cascading  
> from the ceiling or fluttering loose in the hand. Listening with  
> attentive vision was at a premium. Spatial placement of sound became  
> an area of investigation and spatiality of paginated notations, both  
> placement of pages in the room and spatialisation of writings on the  
> page, were consequent. Some quite extraordinary musicians attended  
> from time to time. There were international visitors too. Bill  
> Bissett, Jerome Rothenberg come to mind. Interruption and  
> distraction of both the scripted and the unscripted were qualities  
> considered delicious rather than screened out; I referred at that  
> time to such displacements and noise in a performance of writing as  
> exquisite interference. Consequently attention was full on and wide  
> open. In workshop presentations a dynamic interchange ‘between’  
> improvisation and composition often presented itself. The potential  
> live performance of a piece of writing often gave rise to  
> consecutive versions in which two or three different possibilities  
> were offered. In other words the same poem might be tried in a  
> number of different ways, either during one workshop or in  
> consecutive workshops. Writings were thereby explored through out- 
> loud readings as being subjects for revision, a direct result of  
> having been aired. A performance of writing, in the majority of  
> these cases intended to be in conversation with the possibilities  
> for the poem, was an occasion of a moment. One occurring ‘between’  
> the body of giver and the body of receiver, belonging to neither one  
> nor the other, a signal, even secretion, of mobilised liminal  
> exchange. Also ‘between’ the writing on the page and the writing off  
> the page, projected through the bodies of its temporary operators as  
> sonic orientation and propulsive gesture.
>
> This workshop, which had the qualities of a research group, was a  
> seedbed for emergent collaborations; indeed collaboration was  
> encouraged by dint of the enquiries conducted as already mentioned.  
> Many of its participants helped each other to contest the boundaries  
> of their poems. The workshop would be held in an upstairs room of a  
> public house; in a meeting house; in a private house; in a theater  
> workshop space . . . Bob would usually start things off by simply  
> asking who wanted to go first. I never witnessed much by way of  
> detailed feedback neither for nor against a poem. There would simply  
> be the acknowledgment by those there that something had been put  
> into the pot.
>
>
> just a snapshot
>
> xx
>
>
>
> cris