Write Out Loud Articles
Accessibility? Must do better. Disabled poet Shaun Fallows looks back at the good and bad times on his Arts Council-funded tour
I could have kicked myself back in the summer when I realised I’d written the wrong date on the calendar for disabled poet and wheelchair user Shaun Fallows’ gig at the Poetry Jam in Durham. I’ve known Shaun for a few years online and on Zoom, but I’d never seen him live. Both of us were looking forward to meeting up. So I had to get in touch afterwards to say sorry, and to ask him how the tour to promote his poetry collection Redundant Butties was going. Shaun quite rightly has waited until it is almost over before getting back to me:
Many apologies for my senior moment in missing your Durham gig at the Poetry Jam. How did it go?
The Durham gig was lovely, it was in a little community centre and people were so friendly, making me feel instantly at home, not to mention the beautiful scenery of the cathedral and hills. In a practical sense I found I had to drive more carefully, and my PA who was on hand, had to shove a bit if I got occasionally stuck. But overall no problems. I also came away thinking, rather than traditional, largely inaccessible pub venues, how easy it would be if most gigs were in this type of building - a building already adapted for everyone anyway and living up to the community ethos poetry has at its heart.
Your blog points out the many frustrations you experience travelling about in London before your Camden gig, which wasn’t all it had been cracked up to be, access-wise. Can you say anything more about that?
I think Camden was a reminder of how thorough you need to be when having a disability. It’s sad but we’re not yet allowed to have much spontaneity over where we go yet, so the requirtements need to be very exact. There’d been some communication between the host of the night and my producer, but when asked about the step-free access and toilet access, the host just said yeah, it's accessible, which turned out to not be the case at all. There was also just one properly accessible tube station in London, which I think is just wrong in today’s times, and made just getting to the venue a big ordeal. In a strange way though, Camden was useful, because it was such an uncomfortable feeling under those circumstances - but I take heart that I did the same level of performance and didn’t let the anger I felt win. I look at Camden now as if it's a footballer playing in bare feet on a rubbish pitch managing to play on that, and you glide anywhere else.
In 2022 you did a show at the Edinburgh Free Fringe titled Sunny and Chair. How would you describe that experience?
I look at Edinburgh in much the same way as Camden. I was proud to do the gigs and enjoyed that aspect. Meeting football commentator Martin Tyler and comedian Justin Moorhouse was great, too, but in a practical sense, like Camden, I found it shocking that these places that are labelled as claiming to be ‘arts’ have no or very little access or disability awareness. In comparison to other minority issues, disability is left behind and not taken as seriously, I think. I’ve learned the hard way when my able-bodied friends say go to a trendy place, it's odds on to be awful for disabilities.It was a big moment gaining Arts Council funding for this recent tour that took in dates at Liverpool, Southport, Kendal and Derby, as well as your home town of Wigan, reading from your latest poetry collection, Redundant Butties. Do you think the tour was a success in highlighting the problems wheelchair users face when performing at poetry nights? Did any of the venues you appeared at fully pass the accessibility test?
I do think the tour was a success, definitely. I got so much pleasure from reading the poems in new places and hopefully getting the balance of poignancy and some humour and all the venues with the exception of Camden felt easy to be at. I read a bit of everything and the new things like ‘Disabled Ghost’ and ‘Stolen For A Store Cupboard’ highlighted the problems of not getting into venues or toilet facilities, without labouring OTT on the point. I would love to do more little tours for sure in future because access issues aside, I feel like I've found my thing.
In conversations we’ve had in the past, you have said that ‘most politicians never mention disability’. Do you still believe that to be the case?
Yeah, I think it's still the case. Just look at how long governments take to appoint a disability minister, including the current one. That tells you a lot about where they place disability issues. They also tend to be able-bodied, the appointed ministers, which in my opinion is patronising and can’t be right. I think many people including myself are left wondering when the issues we’ve had from our youth are ever going to be addressed. I think that's largely why I don’t have any interest in politics. Able-bodied or disabled, all our politicians always scratch each others’ backs.
You have said that after the tour there would be a symposium or some such thing to look at how it all went, and what lessons can be learned as far as access is concerned in the future. {It recently took place]. What points were you planning to make?
The main points are that the arts in places like Edinburgh, Camden and my home town Wigan do have a massive way to go. But that in no way detracts from the fact that you belong there. We should be socialising and mixing. It's a part of life most able-bodied people take for granted. I'd also add that when set up well, it brings the same massive buzz and joy sharing stories as it would for anyone else. Don’t let stubbornness and lack of change be the defining point. It shouldn’t still be on the person with a disability to be pointing these things out, or making big concessions to stay involved. The tour overall was a great experience but afterwards I can’t help asking why many of the places I visited weren’t prepared to go that bit further to get the access better, whether through looking at other more adequate venues, or acquiring funding to adapt existing ones. Ultimately a lot of the changes aren’t earth- shattering adjustments, and with the technologies available to us the time of excuses has to fade one day. The arts needs to start matching the buzz words it throws around regularly with actions, if it is actually for everyone. I think also not being afraid to chat or ask questions in an honest, polite way would be a big help in getting better access. I believe that political correctness or whatever you’d like to call it has made people less inclined to talk honestly, and that in the long run isn’t true equality. It’s based on fear and damages basic human connection.
Who would you like to thank in helping with the tour?
My producer Louise Fazackerley, who helped me apply for the Arts Council funding. Photographer Benji Reid, who it was a pleasure to work with, plus Wigan artist Leanne Mansfield who drew the cover for Redundant Butties. I’d say a big thanks as well to everyone who hosted their individual nights, for making me feel really welcome.
"I gave it that title because firstly I thought it sounded funny and I love comedy, but secondly because I feel disability as an issue is the redundant butty that's easiest overlooked." Shaun Fallows talking about his third poetry collection, Redundant Butties, available to order here
PHOTOGRAPHS: (top) BENJI REID PHOTOGRAPHY; (second from top) TONY KINSELLA; (third from top) BENJI REID PHOTOGRAPHY; (above) BENJI REID PHOTOGRAPHY/ (poster design) ZAK BRETHERTON
They Race Me In The Streets: Shaun Fallows, Lulu
The title poem of Shaun Fallows’s second collection is uplifting and full of love. It tells how Fallows, a wheelchair user who has cerebral palsy, is surrounded by youngsters in the street who admire his chair. He in turn loves their curiosity, “long before they develop expressionless faces / Covered by headphones / Obsessing over grimy beats.” “These kids”, as he keeps referring to them, “decide to run beside me … egging me on / The working class iron-man.” It sums up his position and constant search: “My feet never ever touching the floor / But finding common ground.”
Shaun Fallows has been a familiar figure on the north-west open-mic scene for a number of years, becoming a popular face at Write Out Loud Wigan, his home town. During lockdown he ventured much further afield on Zoom, becoming a regular at the online version of Write Out Loud Woking, for instance. He missed the feeling of live nights, but at the same time relished the wider access that Zoom gave him.
This collection includes other poems of affirmation, such as ‘Up North’, ‘The Orange Clock’s Still Here (For Auntie Christine)', and ‘Teaching the Kids with ADHD’ (“But yeah, tough crowd / Tough crowd.”) There are also poems of longing and frustration: ‘One Careful Owner’; ‘I Can’t Tell’; ‘Leaving After Lockdown’; ‘The Girl In The Waiting Room’; and a poem with a title that says it all, ‘Message From A Man Who’s Been Up The Walls So Much He’s Sick Of The Sight Of The Wallpaper’.
There are probably more poems about disability than in his excellent debut book Access-Ability, which may reflect the frustrations of lockdown. ‘How Come?’ was written in response to the news that a shockingly high proportion of deaths in the pandemic were people with disabilities; and ‘The Term Disabled As Defined By Me’ reflects his feelings about the word itself: “A term to say thank God that’s not me.”
But when Fallows is able to get out, he looks outwards, such as in ‘The Ice Cream Woman From Milan’ (for Marie):
The ice cream woman from Milan
Saw me change from through all those years
From child to man
The ice cream woman from Milan
Her eyes lit up like a torch
The last time I saw her
And I said I’d seen the old country
He finds himself in Bruges, rattling across the 14th century cobbles, at a time when there’s no one else around, and composes the most poignant poem in the collection as he observes two creatures’ devotion to each other:
I wanted to be like those swans so badly
Not a cold canal
But to have someone
Who couldn’t live without me like that
(‘The Swans In Bruges’)
He talks of his early life at school: “Tomorrow was something I didn’t think I wanted” (‘Tomorrow To Me’). There is an ode to his cat (‘My Beautiful Black And White Pick Me Up’), as well as an occasional dash of surreal comedy (‘The Woman Who’s Baby Was A Bag Of Chips’).
Understandably he did not react well to lockdown, and there are poems that reflect that, such as ‘Where Does Enthusiasm Go?’ and ’31 Thousand Thoughts And Counting’. But others reflect his spirit, determination, and joy at what he has achieved: “All you need to do is smile and accept your gift.” (‘The Fire Within’). And these lines from ‘The Bright Man For The Job’:
There’s no regret ‘cos I’m not really missing out
…
I could just as easily have been a celibate snob
A contented slob
An unaware knob
But I’m none of those things.
May the fire within Shaun Fallows keep burning, fed by defiance, affirmation, love, and triumph. I’m sure it will.
Shaun Fallows, They Race Me In The Streets, Lulu, £7 plus p&p
'We ride the electric horse without any reins': poet Shaun Fallows on disability and freedom
Shaun Fallows was born with cerebral palsy, and is a wheelchair user. Last year the Wigan-based poet appeared on a Channel 5 programme to talk about disability, and also published his first poetry collection, Access-Ability. During lockdown he has been appearing at open-mic nights he wouldn’t normally be able to get to, via Zoom. In this interview Shaun talks to Write Out Loud about the daily frustrations of disability, why he still prefers ‘face to face” poetry nights, plans for his next poetry collection, and why he feels that “the chair has given far more to me than it’s taken away”.
I really like the longish, autobiographical intros to your poems in your collection. Maybe it wouldn’t work for all poetry collections, but I think it really does in yours. Like intros at an open mic.
Yeah, I’d be the first person to say that technique-wise I’m not great, I’m not a person who spends ages crafting poems, with a set structure, like sonnets and the like, but I really enjoy the chatty expect of open mic before you actually go into a poem, so I said to my mates who helped edit the book, the intros have to stay. I’ve watched loads of comedy stuff over the years like Richard Pryor live and the way that they’d build up before getting to the joke was what I wanted, so by the time the main poem arrives you’re already in and anticipating. When you hear music bands say we made this album to capture what we sound like live, I hoped for that because I knew that was my strongest suite. Also finally just from a practical point I felt some poems had such an unusual personal angle that an intro was needed to explain where I was coming from.
A number of your poems deal with the practical frustrations of wheelchair users – access during roadworks, lack of provision or priority on buses, arguments with social services, and perhaps your most powerful one of all, ‘What They Said to Derrick’.
A lot of the poems do deal with this aspect because to be honest that is my life, almost day in day out, those frustrations have cropped up so regularly that at first I’d always assumed most people already knew about these issues. It was only when I noticed people’s reactions at open mics I said to myself, Jesus, people really don’t know these things are happening. I knew then that, far from stating the obvious, or so I thought, they needed to be in the book. I thought too that it served as therapy for myself and a kind of historical record.
There are many moving passages in your poems, including the last stanza of ‘Recently Diagnosed Disability’, in which you give advice to someone who has not been disabled, as you have, since birth.
This was a strange one. When I heard the guy say he couldn’t continue and life was finished I didn’t want to come across as if I had all the answers because I only knew what worked for me. But at the same time I was slightly hurt, even offended, because what this bloke was sort of saying was, if he had my life then he would end his life and that’s very hard to hear. You see that a lot with injured soldiers. I always think they didn’t really consider disability as fit young able-bodied [young men] but as soon as their lives are changed, they’re the first ones to say how awful it is and then try and charity run up every possible mountain fund-raising … I understand that they just try and cope with it, but I can’t help but find it disrespectful, as a person who always dealt with it. Perhaps if I hadn’t had it from birth I wouldn’t cope, who knows, but I was desperate to tell him, listen, I go on plenty of nice holidays, eat great foods, I can buy nice things, there are many different ways to make a life.
There are many lines to savour in your poems. I love the one about Scouse Lil in ‘Jimmy Next Door’ – “one eye facing east the other in a caravan somewhere near Rhyl” – and the last two lines in ‘I Met Elmer’: “I met Elmer and said, don’t worry, my artist friend, / for we ride the electric horse without any reins.”
With these two poems I thought it was really important to capture characters, particularly with Jimmy and Lil. They argued all the time and did really daft things when they were drunk but they seemed to show a time that is dying out, a working class generation that always went to the social club, a generation that seemed to look out for each other a lot more. As for Elmer, this was the first time I’d ever seen someone in a similar position to myself, working for himself, without a government scheme that’s more about ticking boxes. He was being judged purely on his arts skills. I was so pleased, I had to say that in the poem. I thought, I want to back this guy to the hills. Afterwards when I got home, I posted his website in as many social platforms I could find, and emailed him my poem, too.
A lot of your poetry brings a tear to the eye. Not so much out of compassion, but from a sense of inspiration. It occurs to me that being disabled has given you insights that an able-bodied person could never have. This is probably a very patronising thing for me to say, and if so, I apologise. But do you think that it is in any way true?
That’s absolutely true. I feel the chair has given me far more than it’s taken away. I mean, there’s no guarantee of anything. I could have been such an idiot if I was able-bodied, I could have frittered all my time away taking drugs, drinking or whatever but the chair forced me to go a bit slower and think about things others might not have the time for. It also helped in that seeing many of my friends die young, as awful as that is, it’s always made me feel like I need to get a move on. When you are aware of being this vulnerable, I think you’re not afraid to try anything and take a chance. As mad as it could sound, I don’t think I would change it. There’s many down times but I enjoy my life. Disability feels like an asset, not a problem.
Have you found a kind of community within poetry? I ask this after reading your poem ‘Strange Army’: “We are a strange army, / We’d probably never brush shoulders if it wasn’t for this.” And you and me probably wouldn’t have done, if it hadn’t been for lockdown and Zoom. I first met you at the online Write Out Loud Sale, and subsequently invited you to read at an online Write Out Loud Woking. Does the current pattern of Zoom meetings mean you are able to read to more groups than you would normally be able to?
Second time around I began to feel like this - but I say second time because when I first started poetry open mic things around 18, I had no idea what it was about, my confidence was racing just after finishing college and I was convinced I was somehow going to be the next Paul Weller. It didn’t pan out like that though and after feeling such success, well, for the first time ever I was in a mainstream environment that wasn’t cotton wool protected, and things went a bit south. I dropped out of a writing degree at Bolton which really shook my confidence so I stopped doing poetry nights and concentrated on sports and fitness. After a gap of about three years I realised that all my writings seemed a bit pointless if I had no way to show or read them, so I went back to open mic and began to really try and work and practise my poems. As soon as I came back I realised that people really did miss me and I missed them. It did feel like a family then once I’d grown up a bit and decided it was all about basic enjoyment. I also noticed that I’d known these people for a large chunk of my life and aside from poetry I had no clue about their lives, hence the ‘Strange Army’ poem. If feels brilliant now to look for these people at open mics and know that they’ve watched me develop. The Zoom aspect is strange because I’m a bit old-fashioned, I love the face to face, and I can’t stand the digital problems or sometimes lack of atmosphere. But then again it’s supplied me with the mini-country tour I’d always thought of trying. So many buildings and poetry nights just don’t plan on accommodating wheelchair users. I hope it changes because I prefer this [face to face] way. But perhaps tech is just the future.
Last year you took part in a TV debate, outlined in the poem ‘Thank You Big Time’. Can you tell us more about that?
The TV was a fantastic accident. Very long story but my cousin used to date a girl and now years later she works for Channel 5. She’d still kept in touch with my cousin though, and over those years she’d seen various rants and poems from me. She contacted me and said she really thought my words had weight and could come across well for a little interview on disability issues today. Originally it was only supposed to be a very quick, five-minute segment recorded from my home, but I talked so long on the phone to the producer she said, you know what, just come on the show in London. I was so nervous but would have felt like such a hypocrite if I’d not had a go. I think that because of my strong accent I was worried I’d come across like Forrest Gump but the day went better than I’d ever imagined. I even got to do my poem ‘Computers’ for the programme
https://twitter.com/5_news/status/1172495742902124545
It was the first time I’d had anything seen by that many people - apparently around 20,000 views
https://twitter.com/5_news/status/1172206633683800064?lang=en
The show itself did go so fast, I wanted it to last forever, I was desperate to do a good job because they believed in me and took a chance. The only disappointing thing for me was the government minister for disabilities didn’t even bother to show up or even send a letter. I was buzzing and would jump at the chance to do it again.
There were only a few odd things I also want to mention. The train guards forgot to get me off the train coming back home from London, and as a wheelchair user this is far from a one-off occurrence, so even after the show it highlighted the problems faced. The minister’s absence too did say it all in my mind, showing exactly what they think of disabled people in the world’s pecking order. But overall such a great day.
Your collection is self-published. Did you submit it to any poetry publishers, before embarking on this route instead? Do you have plans for another one?
In your introduction to your collection, you say that you were quiet at school and felt isolated growing up. But now “I am doing the things I always hoped and prayed for but honestly never saw coming. I actually feel really lucky.”
I did try many times to get the book published, and out of all those that I wrote and emailed only one came back saying I wasn’t cliché. That still motivates me now, I smile and think of this before nearly every open mic. Perhaps in fairness I wasn’t ready then but eventually having seen many of my friends do their books and collections, I got their advice and I thought, you know what, balls to it. I’ve had enough experiences and my work’s just as good. Worst-case scenario I thought would be, at least I’ll have a record of my life. I’m honestly overjoyed with how my book as turned out and been received, so yes, during this mentally draining, very depressing time of corona lockdown the one thing that’s kept going is my writing. I’m not sure when it’ll be all tidied up, but all the poems are there for book two. I’ve said to my friends that as good as I feel the first book went, many of those memories now are quite old and they were really raw. Book two I think will feel a lot more progressed because most of the first book revolves around access. This was a conscious choice because this is such a big part of it. The next phase sort of comes in book two when other aspects away from disability come into play, and that I feel would be a really important thing, because I’ve never wanted to be just that guy in a chair and the one-trick pony. If I had a plan then it sort of was, get your foot in the door, then if it goes well expand the thoughts. To see my words down in the book makes me realise it wasn’t all flukes, and not everyone has a way to capture their lives clearly. So yeah, just dead lucky, I reckon.
You can buy a copy of Shaun's poetry collection Access-Ability here
Poetry on Zoom ... the good, the bad and the ugly. From Manila to Chester, but trouble at Wigan
Poetry events on Zoom are undoubtedly a force for good, for most of the time. They provide access for housebound poets, and also allow poets from far-flung places to attend. On Tuesday Write Out Loud Sale organiser Sarah Pritchard welcomed Kevin Reid, a poet based in Athens. And another poet at Sale, Debz Butler, who organises the Testify open mic night in Chester, told how their recent Zoom event was visited by five poets from Manila, pictured – even though it was 2.15 in the morning in the Philippines.
But things can also go wrong on Zoom nights, because of the perils of zoom-bombing, when events are disrupted by uninvited trolls who somehow manage to force their way in. Write Out Loud has already written about this hazard – and it happened at Write Out Loud Wigan late in proceedings on Thursday night.
The meeting, which was being hosted by Write Out Loud Wigan’s regular venue, the Old Courts arts centre, had already had a few technical problems when a group of new faces appeared towards the end of the event, delivering personal remarks and obscene insults. Afterwards compere Ian Whiteley said online security would be increased for the next Write Out Loud Wigan Zoom event early in June.
Poet and wheelchair user Shaun Fallows reacted with anger immediately after the Wigan event, but said on Friday: “On reflection it wasn't the end of the world. I think they were just young lads daft drunk or on drugs. They'd managed to log in to our meeting and kept saying rude stuff and flashing up weird pictures while somebody was reading. I think I reacted so strongly because being a really social person, the virus had closed everything down apart from the odd chance to chat and read my stuff - it was a little bit mentally crushing.”
Shaun, who read at Write Out Loud Sale’s Zoom night last month, feels generally positive about virtual poetry nights. He said: “I'm not very good with the tech and I hate using it. On the other hand, many open mics in the real-life world are off limits to me, being a wheelchair user. In this way I'm excited because the always-there barriers like stairs, the layout, or age of building don't exist. I've been amazed at being able to join the odd event anywhere in the country - it’s been truly inclusive.”
He hopes that when “real-life” open-mic nights return, virtual poetry nights will still be available as well. “When this is over I've decided that as long as they are still up and running, I'll do a mix and match of events at venues, and a few on computer. I'm glad we're doing it now but I wish we'd have done it a bit sooner. This is the extra choice that was so long overdue.”
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