I love Kate Tempest. I’ve written about her before.
Her face looks so young and fresh, but she speaks with the jadedness and bitterness of someone much older — and yet she speaks with hope.
Her poetry’s painful power and the electrifying emotion with which she performs [makes] me think differently about other people and my place in the world, just for a while.
I know that for me, a middle-class, privileged woman, to love her is painfully naive. But I love her work so much that I can only listen to one or two poems at a time because they’re so overwhelming.
I came across this performance from a friend’s Facebook timeline.
Do yourself a favour and listen to it all the way through.
Now without the fear of retribution,
We found guilt-free pleasure.
But we lost the sense of union that had kept us all together
And we needed something new to fill the emptiness that grew:
And what better to believe in
Than all-you-can-eat freedom?
And we feed our callous little urchins
In the best ways that we can
And then we wonder how they’ve grown to only know what’s in their hands.
Her novel, The Bricks that Build the Houses, is on my to-read pile. I’ve heard rhapsodic things and I’ve heard dismissive things. I am unsure how well her voice will translate to something as with such conventional form and sustained pace as a novel.
I’ll post a review once I read it.