—–~“O”~—–
—–~“O”~—–
September – silhouette of leaf
in time soon passed
men walk slowly
side by side out
from nowhere
talking shaping
the only portents
they knew
without guile or
ghastly duty
bonded by
aged to speak
safe ever if no one
hears of it
let it be be
gathering cloud over clifftop sea and houses
tween them
and the world
the importance
of honour kept
where twilight
covers the
whole of sky
the balance of
importance – the
inside and the
outside
(askance from the prologue to From Hell by Alan Moore and Eddie Campbell)
—–~“O”~—–
events happen
through all measure of name
(history happens in echo-wet streets while shop fronts stand and stare)
lives subsist behind walls
and know only of purpose to step through the door
(meanings glimpse
between windows both ways – make art and go to bed to sleep)
meanwhile chimneys
disperse coal at right-
angels angles, over
city and line and
only when the
streets occasionally
empty do you know
of immense happenings
in the silence
and the yard-silt
where the buddleia
and knotweed grow black into the night
(askance from chapter one of From Hell by Alan Moore and Eddie Campbell)
—–~“O”~—–
—–~“O”~—–
purpose
the journey to outside doesn’t begin
and doesn’t get anywhere but waits
and eventually sees the plumes sufficient
to every bird that passes in flight if you but
listen to the drips the shifts and echoes all
around in the long tunnel; if unheard a cry
of love will stay inside enveloped
in the dark around a window or under a throne
the dark around the brother’s corpse – not
his own – the misshapen head amid the dark
not ‘worfipped’ and all the blackness can
so easily be made imbecilic; the two men walk
to the distance little wondering that
there is only half of height of age below the clouds
(askance from chapter two of From Hell by Alan Moore and Eddie Campbell)
—–~“O”~—–
a child searches for a mummy
among the sketches while the
streets outside fill with traffic
the strong lines of architecture
inverse to sketchy life, there are
dark lives behind twilight streets
there is no power in the rain
there are no mummies possible
in sketchy line they all end up ‘…
down the rabbit hole’ there is only
discharge and account remaining and
the four whores of the apocalypse
(askance from chapter three of From Hell by Alan Moore and Eddie Campbell)
—–~“O”~—–
—–~“O”~—–
ha ha ha
so, there always is purpose
(two men ride on a carriage)
it was all about, everywhere,
locked in stone and resonance
(the gods never disappeared)
reason punctured the skyline,
vision was buried in the ground,
reason made the sky stop
in a line, defined the sky
in our mind, from the earth;
there is a point inevitably
atop every steeple, there is
always only a point, there is
always only one God, above
all columns and pediments …
(askance from chapter four of From Hell by Alan Moore and Eddie Campbell)
—–~“O”~—–
—–~“O”~—–
somewhere
amid the pediments and private windows
that make such things inevitable
a conception was made
that would wash the steps and pillars with awe and blood
for tens of cascading generations
all the while
the stations of toilet and repose
are observed with due quotidian solemnity
by both the Righteous and the Have Nots
until their ineluctable encounter through askance
diptych panels
nevertheless
and always hinged conceive
darkness clinging around
steeple and chimney like black-hatch etching
until light feels its way through the sky again making everything a grey
ink-wash
(askance from chapter five of From Hell by Alan Moore and Eddie Campbell)
—–~“O”~—–
in rooms of procedure and name-plaque
the days event and compromise as ever
while only the rooftops through windows ajar
‘for a bit of air’ seem to know things ‘what
happens’ and they’re keeping silent as ever
adrift under the sky
despite busy movement over the cobbles
the buildings recede in perfect line and
the streets just fill with business, while some
mop the pavements others exchange their
local stereotypes; two men stroll through, one
of them talks of lives
(askance from chapter six of From Hell by Alan Moore and Eddie Campbell)
—–~“O”~—–
—–~“O”~—–
it’s only when letters
threaten to tell all words,
that buildings in which we
exist and exit become
ghostly like curtains (then,
it is best to hang your head
in common with others
on public transport) oh,
and when all there is to
eat are the brand names
on the sides of passing
coaches in autumn; and
it is only when high up from
time’s point of view that
building solidifies again and
those who can tell the time
can also see the portents as
they pass, and know which
way to turn that lets ‘you
know how it is’ happen in
all decency without thought or echo under silent direction of architecture
(askance from chapter seven of From Hell by Alan Moore and Eddie Campbell)
—–~“O”~—–
—–~“O”~—–
by September the leaves
are browning and dry
if not caught by cobble
and drain leaving branches
to reach and twist in all
consequence; is the bigger
picture really worth more
than lodging, release and the
muffled glass echoes of
occasional compassion
the gnashing below the
startled eyes suggest yes,
the lines of three four
storey houses in rows
cast doubt in passing;
is purpose only outside
and love only in, is the knife
or the coming century enough;
the dash is magnificent
the shadow grotesque
(askance from chapter eight of From Hell by Alan Moore and Eddie Campbell)
—–~“O”~—–
carved faces more real than
peoples’ cross-hatched lives
make chaos easier to understand
as curse – March of Civilisation –
the beginning of the Word has it all;
those who know of symbol
come to participate and connive
in that to which it points, those
who don’t live and struggle on
bench-cold poverty, but it brings
the nation together like glue, we
know where we stand and the
wheels keep turning over cobbles;
the buildings were raised and we
burned the common traitors with
our whore-y little compromises
(askance from chapter nine of From Hell by Alan Moore and Eddie Campbell)
—–~“O”~—–
—–~“O”~—–
the darkness
is always gathering, the light
only picks edge and selected texture
it is hard
to tell the age we are in – scarcity
of perspective, rolled-up eyes – it is
the sudden
violence releases it, throws
absorbing stasis to scatter
but why bother
for when light is digested complete
it shines through all the click-construction
and neon
nevertheless; it has been millennia digesting
and it
will …
be …
con
sumed; the world cannot let light just be,
sleep now is just
darkness
(askance from chapter ten of From Hell by Alan Moore and Eddie Campbell)
—–~“O”~—–
—–~“O”~—–
the 20th century
and so everything’s for getting
and it’s business as usual as long as
the denominator remains common
enough, high and low, because it is
so much easier to re-circuit a life
at the mere implication of a switch
(no need to call ‘howzat’ anymore)
it makes certainty very difficult, even
inappropriate; some thrive in it,
most live with unanswered questions
and awful duty (well, someone’s got to
do it); but the cranes on the riverside
must
keep
lifting
(askance from chapter eleven of From Hell by Alan Moore and Eddie Campbell)
—–~“O”~—–
it’s only
the guts and instinct worry us now,
parley of glimpse mostly inured to us, and
only in desperation and worthless art do we follow them
to unravel the unholy mess a little
(too much strain to untangle
too much compromise to try)
the cab
that took him away left
perfect receding lines by the kerbside
out into the busy streets of London;
peoples’ lives are not so sacred now
they twist and float
like idle smoke
from the settled skyline
(askance from chapter twelve of From Hell by Alan Moore and Eddie Campbell)
—–~“O”~—–
—–~“O”~—–
during
months
studying the walls and windows
from across the street; the lines are not that straight
after all; you have to talk with people now and read
between all sorts of lines
creatively and incredibly
there is
a crunch
decades into a career
decades coming (all the while
adverts growing out the ends of terraced housing)
puts decades of striving into doubt when
pension is mooted
(askance from chapter thirteen of From Hell by Alan Moore and Eddie Campbell)
—–~“O”~—–
—–~“O”~—–
`comes a time also
when inside and
outside do not matter
anymore – ha ha ha
and what heavy and cantilevered structure in which life in all its wrappening
falls away then
and what hideous possibilities
we have propelled become in all our many life we are (sic)
and we suffer them all
step by lifetime-step, accompanied
or alone, within walls, looking
through windows and centuries or just
outside in light
(askance from chapter fourteen & the epilogue of From Hell by Alan Moore and Eddie Campbell)
—–~“O”~—–
—–~“O”~—–
I own none of the images used to illustrate this work – they were all found on the internet; all the drawings were made by Eddie Campbell, any text included in the drawings were written by Alan Moore – if there is a problem with any or all of their use, I will certainly take them down; both my poems and the illustations have been included as homage to From Hell by Alan Moore and Eddie Campbell which I contend to be a beautiful (sic) and significant piece of work
mlewisredford 