Posts tagged ‘stories’

18/08/2013

The Things (Les Choses)

 

Video Poem: The Things (Les Choses).

Poetry by thecheesewolf (aka Gavin Jones), music by Joseph Kwasnik

Inspired by the writings of Georges Perec and Walter Benjamin, The Things (Les Choses) is a history of the everyday, of objects imbued with personal meanings and stories. The five poems together tell the tales of five objects which have formed part of my life (indeed part of me) for the last twenty or so years. The images were all filmed in my home on the Lancashire and Yorkshire border (in the North of England). The music, by Joseph Kwasnik, was recorded in the same room as the filming. In keeping with my other works, this poem looks at the central theme from a range of perspectives.

16/08/2013

Trailer for “The Things (Les Choses)”

 

 

 

Trailer for the video poem “The Things (Les Choses)”.

15/06/2013

Three Storytellers

 

He hears his name in robin’s songs,

The cadence calls him from the scrub.

He answers in his shaky voice:

They understand but don’t respond.

 

She sees the heron spell her name

In semaphore with arching wings.

She signals back, she jumps and flaps,

They catch her drift, but on they pass.

 

I see the clouds, I hear the trees,

I feel the rumbling through my feet.

The world is here, and I am here,

With robins, herons, clouds and breeze.

 

They speak to us, they know our names,

And nothing here will ever change.

 

 

26/01/2013

The Waters of the Acheron Gorge (Walk No.1)

 

The storm had turned the river white,

And everywhere the waters flowed.

The plain trees dripped and deadwood drenched,

A thousand springs welled through the rock.

 

We took the river, cold and deep,

And waded past Achilles’ stream.

Our footsteps on the gravel bed,

The same as heroes, gods and men.

 

And from the water, plants and air

We sensed a deeper current there:

The flood would usher in the heat,

And Demeter would swell the fields.

 

From facts we walked, from knowledge fixed.

Then – story drenched – emerged in myths.

 

 

22/05/2012

“Why do Monsters Cease?”

 

The town wore dust as some wear skies,

Its buildings barely stood on props.

The crumbling had been centuries long.

A rootless people drifted through.

 

Around the town the maquis spread

Obscuring tablets pressed with tales,

And ancient bricks which burnt and broke:

The merest trace of palace walls.

 

Its stories scattered through the world,

With sails for wings and widening eyes.

They drifted off beyond the earth,

Became a breath, became a fear.

 

The truth lies lost beneath the scrub:

A pile of bones reduced to chalk.

 

(The title is from Seneca: Phaedra, 173ff)

21/05/2012

Grassington Minotaur III

 

From off the moors I’ve heard your moans,

And seen the blood stains on the stones,

The howl of fearful winter storms:

Above the doors I’ve seen the charms.

 

But were you ever any more

Than breath exhaled in voiceless awe?

A thought which lingered on too long,

And left the anguish clinging on?

 

And did you taste the cavern’s air:

The dampness, rock and trapped despair?

Your monstrous counting of the space:

The skeletal wrecks through which you pace.

 

And did the living curse your name,

And weep as lovers fed your shame?

12/05/2012

The Lies of Heroes

 

His jacket, buttoned tight and neat,

A face of honour, proud and true,

An air of quiet dignity:

A man for all that they might say.

 

He stands to face the hero’s sword.

He offers up his throat quite calm.

His death was written long before.

His life was made to take that thrust.

 

As Erskine Childers said “shoot true”.

He knew the world would judge him well –

Might even call this martyrdom.

He stares the man right in the eyes.

 

The monster’s death was not the end:

They severed his head, then spun their lies.