mlewisredford

inexorable and quietly militant naïveté …

lifetime

 

 

 

                                              lifetime

                           I look and I gaze and wonder
                           but I don’t notice

                           lives shift and change but
                           I am quiet and not noticed

                           I see dawns over rooftops
                           I see angles from the pavement

                           but no one else notices;
                           and then I speak

                           and everyone continues
                           to listen to themselves

 

 

 

————w(O)rmholes________________________________|—–

change wormhole: new year’s eve 2014; train up to London to / walk the bridges across the Thames, and / listen to the voices say it is, and was, like, / but get back home before the fireworks / obliterate it all in the emptying twilight
dawn wormhole: dawn
identity & speech wormhole: 1963
life & rooftops wormhole: up here
looking wormhole: [start where you are III] – delve
others wormhole: time proceeds

 

1963

 

 

 

                1963

                                step
                                by
                                step
                I look down at the differing shades
                                stony beige and grey
                I hear the sound of shkrnts and scrapes and find my own clear voice
                                of ‘but’
                                and ‘I’

 

wishin’ & hopin’

 

 

————w(O)rmholes________________________________|—–

beige wormhole: 1963
(Burt) Bacharach wormhole: To my Mum
(Dionne) Warwick wormhole: Dionne Warwick
emergence wormhole: gazing at the night / as my eyes passed the jagged hole / my head disappeared
grey wormhole: Brugges April 2015 – looking lost
identity & sound & speech wormhole: up here
stone wormhole: thar she perched
voices wormhole: Woolwich Central – making life better II

 

up here

 

 

 

                                deep down
                in the streets light can only be noticed
                between step and event all the while slogans
                are shouting high and huddled to the
                                              receding
                                              rooftops

                                but the streets
                can be taken sideways (from third floor up) with
                panned vista of skyline for all to see; me, I crouch at right angles
                to the depth-rise of sky-plummet
                                              searching
                                              for the

                                (pinnacles
                amid stacks of façade discerned by ledge and cornice
                sheer sides with no purchase beautiful for all their …
                                              stark
                                              knowledge)

                                I find ways in,
                over rather than through, the vertical line
                that makes architecture wide such that up can only reach higher
                                              the better
                                              for me
                                              to arc

                                impossible
                through all manner of event
                and despite all presumption – birds flattering in all
                                              direction –

                                up here
                among the sooty stacks
                I know my footing up sides of wall
                while those below stand scattered about the ground
                                              pointing

                                up here
                                on the stack
                birds make their way in occasional formation despite cloud
                and measure, where on the ground there is no parking despite time
                                              from
                                              high

                                up here
                people walk the streets like filings
                still warm from the splinter but magnetised in damaged clumps
                they let the lonely antennae do all the
                                              tensile
                                              thinking

                                thinking
                                thoughts
                are best done above the storeyline, clung to the outside, lean and breathtaken
                (otherwise they get flabby) the angle always far better
                                              as nadir

                                rooftops
                higher than most are perspectives in which to dress
                that allow vault and flagpole-spring to one façade or another
                whilst people stand around at parties, their backs to the windows, unaware
                                              of their own
                                              identities

                                I will walk
                up to the window below, cars parked variously on the street,
                stacks of elegant housing ignore the open-air caught and struggle with
                                              venetian
                                              eyes

                                the up-
                                rumble
                of the city may be constant but only noticeable
                when strangled, oh, where is the moon waiting below rooftops
                to make shop fronts blind and apartments
                                              contemplative?

 

plucked in passing overhead from the pages of Spider-Man #90-113 (November 1970 – October 1972), written by Stan Lee & Roy Thomas; drawn by Gil Kane and John Romita

 

 

————w(O)rmholes________________________________|—–

1972 wormhole: 1972
birds wormhole: purpose
buildings & people & seeing & sky wormhole: Brugges April 2015 – looking lost
cars & walking wormhole: “King …”
city wormhole: events happen / through all measure of name
clouds wormhole: hot summer / morning
eyes & sound & walls & windows wormhole: Jackie’s slight smile
identity & thinking & time wormhole: [start where you are III] – delve
knowledge wormhole: the Apple
life & speech wormhole: out side of the writing / lodge
moon wormhole: tag cloud poem VIII – growth
rooftops wormhole: sight / seeing
searching & streets wormhole: Dionne Warwick
shops & society wormhole: 1959
skyline wormhole: gazing at the night / as my eyes passed the jagged hole / my head disappeared
venetian blids wormhole: 1963

 

out side of the writing / lodge

 

 

 

                                     out side of the writing
                                     lodge

                                     received pronounciation
                                     disturbing the branches

                                     of the chestnut tree but
                                     not too many of the blades

                                     of grass; the events of life
                                     age most heads to twisting

                                     bark but some faces to
                                     sweet, combed wrinkle

 

as my Uncle used to say of the greens when the Sunday roast dinners came to land on the table, ‘these were in the ground an hour ago'; this piece was written this morning, outside Virginia Woolf’s writing lodge at Monk’s House, Rodmell, East Sussex, listening to someone read a section from ‘Mrs Dalloway’ to the collection of visitors, 160515; I publish it with verve because I am not sure it is ‘fine’ yet, but I enjoyed the visit

 

 

————w(O)rmholes________________________________|—–

branches wormhole: on the raised patio reading Plath
breeze wormhole: after the storm
faces wormhole: hot summer / morning
life wormhole: prologue-ing
speech wormhole: [start where you are III] – delve
writing wormhole: time proceeds

 

1959

 

 

 

                                   1959

                           she stood like a Butterick
                                   sketch
                           fluffy shoulders and pointed
                                   legs
                           in white although silhouetting
                           before the whiter electric goods
                                   store

                           while Amory held his head

 

 

 

————w(O)rmholes________________________________|—–

economics wormhole: the 20th century
muse wormhole: [start where you are III] – delve
shops wormhole: 1972
silhouette wormhole: September – silhouette of leaf // the / inside and the / outside
society wormhole: prologue-ing
white wormhole: Jackie’s slight smile

 

Jackie’s slight smile

 

 

 

too much wine

the light from the lamp
spilt across the wall too quick
to notice

Jackie’s slight smile

the boats on the river
the white mist wafted
through the back of her eyes

 

 

 

————w(O)rmholes________________________________|—–

eyes & sound & windows wormhole: [start where you are III] – delve
Genesta Road & white wormhole: hot summer / morning
light wormhole: heirloom – break / after heavy shower
mist wormhole: thar she perched
open wormhole: after the storm
smile wormhole: really old
Thames & Woolwich wormhole: To my Mum
walls wormhole: prologue-ing

 

hot summer / morning

 

 

 

                                   hot summer
                                   morning

                                   it quickly
                                   clouded over

                                   the wind blew
                                   the trees
                                   the thunder
                                   rumbled

                                   in a dark corner
                                   Carol sat –

                                   her suntanned
                                   legs in white
                                   socks and pink
                                   dressing gown –

                                   pulling faces

 

 

 

————w(O)rmholes________________________________|—–

Carol wormhole: “King …”
clouds wormhole: on the raised patio reading Plath
faces wormhole: [start where you are III] – delve
Genesta Road wormhole: 1977
morning & trees wormhole: thar she perched
pink wormhole: Trinity Arts
white wormhole: I’ve only just realised / after so many decades / that the smell of neglected land is lilac buddleia
wind wormhole: prologue-ing

 

[start where you are III] – delve

 

 

 

                                prologue:

                                start where you are
                                envelopped in the world

                                so do I pry open the locale
                                to see how I am found

                                but careful not to crack the world
                                to see where I am located

                                … no, that’s not it

                                not prying open
                                but you don’t become stuck

                                in matter or location (and neither
                                become lost in daydream or script)

                                rather

                                you look where you are and
                                receive it with compassion and all the detail

                                flowing in without resistance and
                                whenever I evince judgement – ‘thinking’ –

                                let it sink back into view like
                                brushed paint onto a second coat

                                never located
                                always travelling

                                scene 1:

                                three women in the quieter
                                study area of the library

                                              delve

                                a cough when I sat to join the table
                                an ‘excuse me’ a look up a wink –
                                was that a wink? – she reads lime highlights
                                and Evian, arms crossed prop the book like
                                a lap top over the edge of the table
                                a book on museum ethics awaiting
                                her right eyebrow crooked naturally to read

                                unplugged, but she has a good hour
                                on the central table, she plinks and
                                brinks open and sits still as a hill range
                                receding only the corner of her mouth
                                and lip-emote and deft at the text
                                the clear green eyes flick and decide
                                at the corrections to be made

                                legs crossed ankle boots
                                foot pointing circling retrieving
                                boot cuffs clapping slightly behind
                                while reading, then stopped when editing
                                round chin profile, raggedy hair
                                spun in constant bun brow raise –
                                mess of poised fingers work the keyboard

                                interlude:

                                I delved awhile into ‘Stars Over
                                The Dordogne’ – falling
                                presentiment – and looked up

                                scene II:

                                my boot-circler was gone, just gone –
                                I didn’t see her leave – was she even there?

                                but the sun had moved window-
                                tinted across their faces

                                one had shiny hair and breathed
                                regularly head-collapsed

                                the other placed her book flat on the table
                                keep the sun off her face on her ponytail

                                scene III:

                                during ‘The Rival’ unplugged was called
                                she had to go to Nero’s to check her link

                                (library censorship – smirk in her lilt)
                                she stretched long and distant …

                                … then gathered and left

                                dénouement:

                                I wrote the scenes I checked the dictionaries
                                time to go, ‘oh’ she said tapping her phone

                                ‘time flies …’ I said, ‘yes, but I feel I haven’t
                                got anywhere’; ‘but you’ve been here all along;

                                all four of us’
                                I didn’t say …

 

already, there is a sequel in post-production, coming to a post near you soon: all the distance I have travelled!

 

 

————w(O)rmholes________________________________|—–

being & emptiness & identity & letting go wormhole: fall
books & travelling wormhole: Desolation Angels
breathing & settling wormhole: … back to the outbreath
compassion & faces & lime & speech wormhole: Brugges April 2015 – looking lost
eyes wormhole: gazing at the night / as my eyes passed the jagged hole / my head disappeared
feet & table wormhole: gold wedding band
green wormhole: “King …”
hair wormhole: sight / seeing
hills wormhole: the poppies / of van Gogh
looking & sitting & sound wormhole: prologue-ing
mouth wormhole: new year’s eve 2014; train up to London to / walk the bridges across the Thames, and / listen to the voices say it is, and was, like, / but get back home before the fireworks / obliterate it all in the emptying twilight
muse wormhole: oh,
reading & Sylvia Plath wormhole: on the raised patio reading Plath
sun & windows wormhole: heirloom – break / after heavy shower
talking to myself wormhole: really old
thinking wormhole: relapse
time wormhole: time proceeds
woman wormhole: End Israeli / Apartheid
world wormhole: mass

 

heirloom – break / after heavy shower

 

 

 

                                     heirloom – break
                                     after heavy shower

                                     is that a silver seagull
                                     that reached a height then

                                     dropped and swooped
                                     muted and salt-downed

                                     or did it just catch rainbow-
                                     glints from my mother’s

                                     cut-glass vase on the table
                                     in the conservatory windows?

 

 

 

————w(O)rmholes________________________________|—–

conservatory & rain & windows wormhole: prologue-ing
glass wormhole: ‘a spark from the empty light socket …’
light wormhole: Trinity Arts
Mum wormhole: letters to Mum VI – Years / after you have gone. Still.
seagull wormhole: we’re born // to die
silver wormhole: Brugges April 2015 – looking lost
sun wormhole: “King …”

 

fall

 

 

 

                                like a single tumbler
                                fallen down the middle
                                of the thoracic cage

                                I was never locked
                                as I had felt secure
                                it feels I am undone

                                and I cannot reach
                                deep enough down
                                in my throat to speak

                                maybe I should let
                                the space expand and
                                let the other tumblers

                                fall

 

 

 

————w(O)rmholes________________________________|—–

being & letting go wormhole: really old
emptiness wormhole: time proceeds
identity & space wormhole: Brugges April 2015 – looking lost

 

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