As I mentioned yesterday, I went to see Benjamin Zephaniah today, at Keele University. The place was crammed, no seat was left empty. He walked onto the stage with dreadlocks almost down to his knees, his teeth gleaming brilliantly at his audience, walking with a bounce in his step. He started talking quietly, and we all strained to hear. How can someone with such a small voice possibly put across something that the audience want to hear? But he got louder.

This was no ordinary reading! No! It was part stand-up comedy, part song, part drama, part poetry. Zephaniah paced from one end of the stage to the other, clenching his fists, rolling his eyes, bouncing on tiptoes, pausing, pacing, talking faster and faster, melodically, rhythmatically. And while he was talking, everything made perfect sense. He had to stop at some point obviously, and when he did I reverted back to my state of permanent total confusion once again.



"Would you buy a collection of his poems?"

"I don't think so. The words wouldn't be as exciting on paper as they are when he performs them. I'd rather buy a DVD of him in action."