I’m a multidisciplinary artist working in poetry, theatre, television, literature, music and the weird gaps in-between.
★★★★ - The Scotsman
★★★★ - The Wee Review
★★★★ - Everything Theatre
★★★★ - Corr Blimey
HIGHLY RECOMMENDED AWARD - Fringe Review
PICK OF THE FRINGE - Scots Wae Hae
Kevin P. Gilday is an award-winning writer and spoken word artist from Glasgow, Scotland. He is the curator and co-host of spoken word cabaret Sonnet Youth, a National Theatre of Scotland Breakthrough Writer and a BBC Writersroom Scottish Voice. His hit show Suffering from Scottishness played to critical acclaim at this year's Edinburgh fringe - gaining a four star review from The Scotsman, amongst others.
Kevin has performed all over the world, from Hollywood to East Kilbride, including major festivals (BBC 6Music Festival, Glastonbury), Fringes (Edinburgh, Toronto, Vancouver) as well as large scale tours of the UK, Germany, Canada and the US. He has supported artists such as Akala, Saul Williams, Sage Francis, Alabaster DePlume and George the Poet.
The Man Who Loved Beer
Some of you may be aware
Perhaps some of you here
That I'm Kevin P. Gilday
And I'm the man who loves beer
I'm an ale house resident
A can carrying man
An amber elixir imbiber
A Pint swallowing bam
An alcoholic interloper
Forever available for a drink
With an etch-a-sketch diary
There's no plan I won't sink -
For a night out
For a quick one
For a lunchtime beverage
For a night in
For a nightcap
For early morning leverage
For a swift one
For a curer
For a Sunday session
For the hair of the dog
For a few tins
For a late night lesson -
In how to drink with the best of them
Induce vomit ridden stupor
And get right back on it without complaint
You can't say I'm not a trouper
Dedicated to the cause
Field marshall general of the drink
With strategic intelligence of my targets
Instinctively aware of the nearest clink
Of glasses shared between lovers,
Acquaintances and friends
Stories regaled of stupendous feats
Bridges burned and made amends
The booze seeps into my blood
Just a trickle and then a flood
It coils around my brain
A calmness spreads across my chest
My anxiety it soon arrests
Replaced instead with a yearning for chow mein
You might let me fuck you now
After I charm, and wear, and beg
But will you still love me tomorrow
When I have shit running down my leg
When the poison does its bidding
Capillaries swell and explode
As bile is ejected
And stomach lining erodes
I pray for some God to take me
To heaven, Valhalla or the pub
Where the antidote awaits me
And therein lies the rub...
The comfort
The hunger
The thirst
The craving
The longing
The lust
The demand
The desire
To Feed
The urge
The want
The need
For an artificial aid
A social vibrator
Personality lubrication
Conversation stimulator
And maybe one day it will kill me
And no flags will fly half mast
But friends and lovers will tell stories,
Share a joke and raise a glass
Chisel it on my gravestone
The man who rests here:
Is Kevin P. Gilday
The man who loved beer
There's A Workie In My House
There's a workie in my house
He's fixing the boiler
Or something
I'm not too sure
But he wears overalls and boots
Just like my da
There's a workie in my house
And I should probably offer him tea
But that seems offensive
When did we decide
That all workies liked tea
There's a workie in my house
And I'm watching him work
In silence
It got really weird
Over a minute ago
There's a workie in my house
He's about my age
So he should really know the score
Follow the rules mate
Ask me if I saw the game
If I saw the game last night
Where that team were shite
and the manager will soon be on his way
They spent millions on that guy
And all he does is fucking dive
At least then I'd have something to say
There's a workie in my house
And I wonder if he judges
Wallpaper and furniture
Probably not
He'll have seen worse than mine
There's a workie in my house
And I'm trying to play it cool
Though I admire his skill
And his craft
And his rationality
There's a workie in my house
And he knows all about it
Pipes and stuff
But all I can do is write
Bad poetry
There's a workie in my house
And I really shouldn't feel
This level of angst
Existential or otherwise
Because he does something useful
Just like my da