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Francesca Beard
Francesca Beard was born in Malaysia and spent
the 70's growing up in Penang,
an idyllic island paradise. Since then, quite frankly, life has
been down-hill all the way, but with occasional slow climbs... a
bit like mowing a sloping lawn. After a spell in real jobs, she
gave it all up to become a fictional character and now exists as
a London-based poet, performing spoken word to lucky audiences
all over Britain and the World. She is currently touring her
one-woman show, ‘Chinese Whispers’, produced by Apples and
Snakes. In May 2005, her first radio play, ‘The Healing Pool’
was broadcast on BBC Radio 4 and London Live. She is developing
a new show, workng title, ‘London Tales’, supported by the Arts
Council, England.
Francesca gained experience and training through the Apples and
Snakes programme PIE (Poets in Education) and has been working
as a workshop facilitator in creative writing, poetry and
performance since 1999. She runs one day workshops and
masterclasses for all ages, as well as working on longer term
projects with theatres and organisations, from the National’s
‘Transformation’ programme in East London primary schools to
being writer in residence at the Metropolitan Police for
‘Emergency 999’. With the British Council Live Literature
Department, she has run poetry workshops and masterclasses in
Bulgaria, Azerbaijan, the Czech Republic and Russia. Later this
year, she will be speaking about her work as a poet in education
at conferences in Berlin and the Phillipines. |

http://www.francescabeard.com/

Francesca Beard on Twitter
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Two Grains Of Sand
Tuesday, June 23, 2009, 01:18 AM
We went out together a while ago, when he was a
painter and I was a mess. It lasted a few years. I remember the
first time I saw him - it was in some bar and I had been about
to leave when this angel walked in. At the least, I'd never seen
anything more worthy of a belief in God. He paused under a
spotlight, or at least it seemed so and I went up and told him
my name as if he'd been waiting to hear it.
It was the best and then the worst of times. Replayable
Lo-light: Curling up to sleep in a fire.
He was someone it was worth being a real person for -
problematically, this wasn't in my remit, so I did some d.i.y
The dust-fall was so messy it took me a good nine months to
realise he'd gone, but by then, I was a charred nerveless freak,
so it was for the best.
Every night, for nine months, I'd lie, whiskey-soused, on the
communal lawn of an old people's sheltered apartment in
Salisbury mumbling at the semi-precious stars. It was there that
I started writing poetry.
I remember thinking that maybe one day he'd have a child and I'd
have a child and one day they'd meet and feel an irresistible
connection to each other and fall in love and make it work.
At some point, later, we started a band together. Music is a
healing thing, though our alt-pop/folk-hop music really really
pissed some people off. Anyway, it requited all that love
without wrecking anything important.
Music has always had my vote as the most blessed artform.
He's married now, to a beautiful woman, inside and out. They
have two sons. I'm with someone who possibly deserves me and is
no better than he ought to be. We have two daughters.
His sons are already quite cultured and play musical
instruments, even the baby, while my girls are into Batman and
even the baby can name-check all the Ninja Turtles. So if they
do get together, it'll be carnage. |