Past J6 performances have been in Bedford, Luton,
at St Anne's College, Oxford as part of the Oxford University Poetry Festival, at
The Poetry Place in Covent Garden, in Cambridge, at the Babylon Gallery in Ely, in
Peterborough, at the Old New Inn, Llanfyllin, at the Ucheldre Centre in Holyhead, the Blackwood Miners Institute, in
support of the Sawston Arts Appeal at Sawston Village College, near Cambridge, at Swaffham for
Swaffham Arts, at the Cley Little Festival of Poetry, at The Pumphouse as part of the 57th Aldeburgh Festival,
at Magdelene College, Cambridge, at Jesus College, Cambridge and at the Aldeburgh Poetry Festival.
Abroad, they have performed in New York, at
Ozzie's, The Flying Pig, Mt Kisco, Exoterica,
Cornelia Street Café, and Ear Inn.
The Joy of Six at the Aldeburgh Poetry Festival 2006. Photo by Peter Everard Smith
Andrea and André at the Aldeburgh Poetry Festival 2006. Photo by Peter Everard Smith
The Joy of Six in Wales
J6 going for a paddle
J6 in New York
J6 in New York
Wayne, a founder member of J6, has found True Love in the
West Country, has followed his heart there, and so is no longer with
us. Until and unless we can replace the irreplaceable, the rest of us
continue as a (very sixy) five.
Wayne Hill is a San Francisco native. He has been (or is) a playwright, theologian,
publisher, marketer, organiser of charitable works and, latterly, a writer of poems. He jointly compiled the
definitive popular book Shakespeare's Insults, Educating Your Wit, which was lauded in The Times as
'a publishing miracle.'
Read poems by Wayne
Moving like a world would move, the hills are cloudy and
the stream subsides, smooth boulders rise
and the roots of live oaks lie exposed.
Hard leaves hurt like a world would hurt
if the world were skin, but the live oaks lean
on the ivory sky as if the world were air.
Slow lichen strew the stream bed. The blue-veined sky skins
spray off the ocean and the ridge grass
fingers invisible gutterings random as branches
headstrong as courses for flashfloods to gather and strip
out arroyos. A charge in the ground strikes one in the air
and the fattest oak burns artery bright.
The sky is all whitecaps. It's crazed as skin
at the squint of an eye. Leaves spun with spines
stick in the dirt, edges that hurt, wedged
by the air in the bend of the channel,
rattle and deepen then fan down alluvials ivory and blue
farther and deeper than root tips can go.
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Out of nowhere
The basking shark came up
Beneath our keel,
Swam with us in from the Western Isles,
Echoes going down
Coming back up.
Sensing something nearby
I imagined you
Were deeper than the ocean
Like the centre of the earth
Located by sailing the surface.
You're one of the only sure directions.
Indulging in another kind
(He was to gloaming as we to the swell)
The enormous creature shadowed us
Miles out from the Tiree Light
Then sounded and, unlike you,
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