Jenny Lindsay

Jenny Lindsay is one of Scotland’s best known spoken word performers, as well as the director of Flint and Pitch Productions, which has just been placed in The List's Hot 100 for 2017. Jenny has performed across the UK and further afield at a variety of festivals and events including Latitude, the Edinburgh International Book Festival and the Ubud Writers and Readers Festival in Bali. She is the author of one full collection and two pamphlet collections of poetry, was the BBC Slam Champion in 2012 and was longlisted for the inaugural Jerwood Compton Poetry Fellowship in 2017. Her debut solo show, Ire & Salt (2015), gained a four-star review from the Scotsman and acclaim from the Orwell Society and her second solo show, This Script (and Other Drafts), debuts in February 2018. "Defiant, eloquent and inspiring." (The Scotsman) "Takes to the stage as if staging a coup." (Gutter, on Ire & Salt)

www.flintandpitch.com

www.msjlindsay.wordpress.com

Jenny Lindsay

Ryan McGoverne

Events

Poetry on the Street Corner »

Catch a glimpse of our poets taking poetry for a walk this afternoon

Sat 10 March | 12:00 - 16:00 | FREE | Around the festival and around St Andrews

Poem

This script
(A part-univocalism in, and about I)


Since six, it imprints in skin.

This ‘girl’ script.

This birth-right, which kills spirit.


Whilst timid lips twitch, ‘Shh, girls;

swirl mildly within this!”

‘I’s itch in this skin; in this script.
 

Misfits spit:

Kill this!

Whip nit-wits stingingly with livid riffs!
This script stinks!

It is shirt lifts, it is skirt shims with impish grins!

It is slits pink, bikini tits,

It is pricks infringing with victim scripts!

It is in birth ‘til infirm; this script, this ‘girlish’ mimicry.
 

Grim risk, if girls wish trim bits within knicks;

If thigh-ripping “thick-skins” in big biff shirts; if bits binding

in rigid, distinct, ticks-in-identifying-with-scriptish-wish-lists is INSPIRING??

Pft!
 

It binds ‘I’ within slim-picking, piddling limits!
 

Misfits flick digits, fists twitch, indignity fizzes, sighs rising.

 

‘I, girl’ – is it implicit? Is it I.D?

This insipid script, is it simply right? Writ in birth, identity: ‘cis’?
 

Irrrrr……Is this misprint?
 

Pft.

Quit it.

Stick it in bins brimming with skin flicks.

High-five other ‘I’s, let a collective “I” light up within winning shin-kickings!
 

Bitches, reclaim this script – be singing:

One is not born, one becomes a woma…..”
 

Oops!
Off script…

 

Illicit thinking – skirting kinship with siblings, whilst

hissing indignity within ‘isms’ splits I.D from ‘I’s;

Schisms rip Twit’ring vigils – timid girls flit, sighing

Skirmish? Irk. Pitching in is visibility, crisis rid! Shhhhhh…..
 

Kick it.
This script is I-ridden. ‘I’ is limiting. ‘I’ is I, first; tight-knit wiring gives wind-chill.

 

We are not this script.
Though we act it well, and with vim…

 

‘I’ stands still, individual, while a collective head wricks necks to listen.


 

Jenny Lindsay

Originally published in The F Word (404 Ink, 2017)