the sitting room

Tags

2014, 5*, anxiety, being, carpet, evening, green, home, looking, pattern, remembering, sitting room, sweet, taste, texture, tired, velvet, windows

                the sitting room

                                in the early evening –
                                                tired and sprangled – I
                notice the pattern of the carpet
                                soothing as a deep mint-green boiled
                                                sweet

                                                that I
                                might have looked through
                                                for quite a while
                before holding it in my cheek as I shuffled about
                                swallowing occasionally
                                                in remembrance and velvet texture

                                                and after so much anxiety
                                of effect and agent
                far outside the windows of the room, it was
                                                                good to be
                                                                back home

 

 

 

^{————w}(O)rmholes_________________________________|—–

anxiety wormhole: too much in arrival
being wormhole: work
carpet wormhole: languidly close the portal
evening wormhole: lesson from watching two crane flies work the evening / skating across the panes flying and pushing legs grappling / the glass crossing repulsive over themselves and clinging akimbo / for a rest until lifeless just to get their stickly bodies through to the light
green wormhole: where else
looking wormhole: just
sitting room wormhole: Michael Redford: triptych
windows wormhole: dream I // dream II

 

lesson from watching two crane flies work the evening / skating across the panes flying and pushing legs grappling / the glass crossing repulsive over themselves and clinging akimbo / for a rest until lifeless just to get their stickly bodies through to the light

Tags

2013, 7*, apple tree, awareness, being, blue, breeze, Castleton, death, doing, eggs, evening, feeling, feet, flying, glass, holiday, kitchen, leaves, life, light, living, mindfulness, placement, table, warp, weft

                lesson from watching two crane flies work the evening
                skating across the panes flying and pushing legs grappling
                the glass crossing repulsive over themselves and clinging akimbo
                for a rest until lifeless just to get their stickly bodies through to the light

                                it is so sweet and simple
                                what I have to do: the keep
                                of mind on what I do the
                                turning of the lens until
                                what I am and what I do
                                are so clear and resplendent
                                that I can see each thread
                                of the warp and weft of the
                                blue gingham cloth hanging
                                over the edge of the wicker
                                basket holding speckless-
                                shaped eggs four to welcome
                                us to the holiday cottage

                back to Castleton two years on, cool feet on the fresh-laid flooring
                fresh breeze through the leaves of the apple tree
                but the drop-leaf table in the kitchen
                is mine all mine

 

 

 

^{————w}(O)rmholes_________________________________|—–

awareness wormhole: redundant
being wormhole: too much in arrival
blue wormhole: ssreet chak-chak
breeze wormhole: in the / Citadel / Park / a leaf / new / ly fell
Castleton wormhole: on the raised patio reading Plath
death & life wormhole: stone
doing wormhole: prelude: // travel
evening wormhole: south horizon
feet wormhole: six paramitas
glass wormhole: Salisbury Cathedral // suspended in everything
holiday wormhole: holiday
kitchen wormhole: Lapping Reflections [Deep Within Waters] – snow
leaves wormhole: monument to vainglory
living wormhole: wasted –
table wormhole: retirement

 

south horizon

Tags

1959, 1967, 1979, 1993, 1999, 2011, 2012, 7*, abandonment, anger, Bowie, childhood, Dad, discovery, divorce, drum, evening, experience, horizon, light, London, Margaret Thatcher, memory, Mum, Nan, pain, parents, perspective, purple, rhythm, river, saxophone, shift, Shooters Hill, south, texture, Thames, travelling, words, world

                south horizon

                out on the river
                the purple is shifting

                but in the evening-bulb light
                the world-shaping words

                of grown ups
                is shifting uncontrollably

                but,          no; it’s OK          look
                there is rhythm, there is

                a saxophone, a hi-hat – shflpt –
                in the crack there

                where words sift
                where worlds shift

 

I submitted this to an online magazine; they didn’t want it; I’ll publish it here again with the copy that supported it:

about the poem: on my eighth birthday (in 1967) my Dad arrived home late from work; my parents had one of their last arguments; my Dad left home that night; I couldn’t remember much of what happened that night – what was said, how much I heard, how much I understood – but I realised that worlds could change quite quickly that night; years later, in 1993, David Bowie recorded ‘south horizon’ on his ‘Buddha of Suburbia’ album, but I didn’t really get to know the piece until 2011; hearing it etched that experience back into my memory – bevelled it up, almost – but it also supplied textures and chord changes to the memory that allowed me a perspective that held me from being just angry or hurt; (‘the river’ is the river Thames; we lived on Shooters Hill in SE London from where we could hear and breathe the river)

author bio: Mark Redford was born in 1959 and grew up in South East London until he bolted to university (like a bat out of hell) in 1979, hot from Margaret Thatcher’s election victory; London was never the same every time he returned back; his mother, who had brought him up with her mother (his Grandmother), died in 1999; since then he has travelled back to London frequently to find the previous 40 years, but only seems to find them when he writes down what he saw; you can see what he sees (possibly better than he can) at: https://mlewisredford.wordpress.com/; if you bump into him there, give him some directions would you?

 

 

^{————w}(O)rmholes_________________________________|—–

abandonment wormhole: monument to vainglory
Bowie wormhole: new-found love – poewieview #36
childhood & Thames wormhole: that comicbookshop … // … in dreams
Dad & divorce wormhole: beepbeep
evening wormhole: alighted
horozon wormhole: 1966
light wormhole: so pleased to see you again
London wormhole: 1967
Mum wormhole: 1967
Nan wormhole: work
purple & river wormhole: the silent night of the Batman
travelling wormhole: traffic lights and broad avenue
words wormhole: breathing out
world wormhole: Lapping Reflections [Deep Within Waters] – agricultural show

 

alighted

Tags

5*, childhood, clock, cuckoo, Eglinton Hill, evening, life, time

                      of an evening
                I alighted down in the breakfast room
                      and weighed the
                metal cones on chains unequal
                      that made the
                clock cuckoo on the hour and knew
                      that there was
                something I had to do in a life

 

 

 

^{————w}(O)rmholes_________________________________|—–

childhood wormhole: Lapping Reflections [Deep Within Waters] – … as the new town marches in
Egliton Hill wormhole: what life went on
evening wormhole: 1967
life wormhole: 1966
time wormhole: comfy

 

1967

Tags

1967, 2014, 5*, Burt Bacharach, desert, Dionne Warwick, evening, London, mauve, orange, prayer, purple, rock, sand, smell, sound, white

                                1967

                                one early
                                evening
                                in London
                                amid the
                                fug of
                                cabbage
                                and the
                                clack of
                                cleared
                                plates

                the deep orange sand was turning purple
                and the piled rocks remained white and mauve

                                in the
                                desert

 

reaching both from within, and through: I say a little prayer by Dionne Warwick and Burt Bacharach

 

 

^{————w}(O)rmholes_________________________________|—–

Burt Bacharach & Dionne Warwick wormhole: 1964
evening wormhole: beepbeep
London & smell wormhole: The Boats of Vallisneria by Michael J Redford – Follow Your Nose
mauve wormhole: hello, luvvey, do you want a cup of tea?
orange wormhole: magnificent salad
purple wormhole: the 19th century
sound wormhole: embodying
white wormhole: con / sum / mate

 

beepbeep

Tags

1960s, 1967, 2016, 7*, abandonment, colour, commentary, courage, crying, Dad, depression, direction, divorce, driving, evening, eyes, feeling sorry for myself, freedom, groundlessness, Have, home, hope, identity, life, light, looking, now, others, passing, people, pointlessness, purpose, renunciation, revolution, sense of self, sex, sign, sound, texture, time, true nature, Victoria & Albert Museum, world

                                did Dad leaving
                                trigger my sense of revolution or
                my sense of depression
that there is no purpose
                                in the world
                that I would eventually have to find the courage
to face those new tremors,
                                but five years on,
                                                there, between the given textures
                already cheap and fraying

                                or did revolution trigger Dad to leave
                                                                and find some other way
                                                                                to find some truer nature?

                -O~~~

                                I didn’t want the headphones, now
                                I didn’t want the commentary
                                                all safely wrapped and bordered
                                                                so I kept my own eyes
                                                                open and saw 50 year old memorabilia
                                                                                strangely mute, now
                                                                                despite the peacock-print

                                                and little in between
                                                                save shuffling overcoats with
                                                                no sense of direction where to go
                                                                                save their right of individual                
                                                                                                                way

                                                                                                ~~~O-

                                I don’t think I want the revolution
                                anymore –
                                                away with your awkward sex! –
                I want to know the innate freedom
                                I trust I have already,
                                                save for my sense of right of way

                                                                I cried for fifty years later that evening
                                                it is hard to lose your way returning home
                                                                cut up and turning in circles
                                                                                hoping for the right lane
                                                                                                lights on and direction to go                
                                                                                                                everywhere
                                                                                                signed
                                                                and passing overhead
                                                                it is hard to arrive
                                                toe to toe
                                                                with a fifty year old overcoat
                                with no face
                                but a blinking eye
and me with no headphones

                                                                beepbeep

 

on 30th October 2016, I visited the Victoria & Albert Museum exhibition @You Say You Want a Revolution’ – Records and Rebels 1966-1970 (a birth day present, thank you, Carol); my Dad left our family on 2nd November 1967, my eighth birthday, and the divorce became final by 1969; I think it was Brigitte Bardot who said something about the ‘tremors’ which were felt in the late 60s, but few who had the ‘courage’ to face them, but I can’t seem to find the quote verbatim; we got a bit lost, at first, driving back from west London

 

 

^{————w}(O)rmholes_________________________________|—–

abandonment & Dad & people wormhole: chartless …
depression wormhole: the both passive and transitive / non-presumptive pre-conceptualist attenuation of being
divorce wormhole: 1967
evening & identity wormhole: sleep now
eyes & life & sound wormhole: Lapping Reflections [Deep Within Waters] – snow
groundlessness & pointlessness wormhole: [once a] dilemminal [always a dilemminal]
Have wormhole: Doctor Strange III – the needs of billions
light wormhole: adjustment
looking wormhole: Clea
others & passing wormhole: passersby
renunciation wormhole: escape from Flat Planet
time wormhole: the too big moon
world wormhole: The Boats of Vallisneria by Michael J Redford – Snow

 

sleep now

Tags

1997, 2012, 7*, breathing, cotton, doing, dream, dress, embarrassment, evening, feet, girl, hands, identity, lap, legs, movement, muse, neck, portal, purpose, quiet, searching, shop, shoulders, sitting, sleep, streetlight, talking, toes, waiting, writing, yellow

I am safe in a corner shop (looking for portals on shelves in racks)
evening gathers inside ending-day-busy streetlights just          on

a girl and myself waiting to be served quiet     I am seated     waiting
the girl is fidgeting her shoe drawing her foot out slightly

to see her veined feet the root of her toes; she notices me noticing
and moves to another part of the shop adjusting         something

I am sorry; she has on a yellow dress; she comes back to the counter
stands beside me talking to the shopkeeper adjusting her tights now

plucking them up raising her dress a little, she steps and sits on my lap
without talking without referring to me still talking to the shopkeeper

clean crumpled yellow cotton neck; oh; a little bashful I put my arms
around her waist, she continues to talk engaged in her business

her hands come to rest on my hands on her legs I am embarrassed
but she is comfortable in my lap moving and leaning as she talks

thank you yellow cotton shoulder, now I know what to write
now I know what to do, now I can breathe      deeply, I think I could

sleep now

 

 

 

^{————w}(O)rmholes_________________________________|—–

breathing & doing wormhole: I
dream & girl & muse wormhole: adjustment
evening wormhole: traffic lights and broad avenue
feet & writing wormhole: returning home handsome
hands wormhole: tag cloud poem IX – haiku is awkward / the more that is left in / like uncombed hair
identity wormhole: passersby
searching wormhole: cut while you’re ahead/cut while you’re a thread – poewieview #35
sitting wormhole: time
sleep wormhole: gone black
streetlight wormhole: well,
talking wormhole: The Boats of Vallisneria by Michael J Redford – Snow
waiting & yellow wormhole: Lapping Reflections [Deep Within Waters] – snow

 

traffic lights and broad avenue

Tags

1965, 2016, 6*, avenue, body, brick, buildings, clouds, Dr Strange, evening, eyes, face, grace, implication, manifestation, morning, mouth, place, realisation, storey, streets, sun, synchronicity, traffic lights, travelling, uncaused, will

                it is always the willed renege
                that let’s the face dislocate-
                hideous in full disclosure
                when implications emerge

                that the mouth no longer
                forms, the nostrils lose
                their boundary, the eyes no
                longer level, that the body

                fulfils its natural grace to
                tend to travel where point
                is cornered without street
                to edge and dwelling stands

                familiar as brick but
                stacked in storey and cipher
                whence cones and bolts will
                manifest but unoriginate

                `till squint is healed and
                morning cloud will shred
                the evening sun between
                traffic lights and broad avenue

 

not surprised by the camber of “The Demon’s Disciple!” by Lee & Ditko in Strange Tales#128, January 1965

 

 

^{————w}(O)rmholes_________________________________|—–

buildings wormhole: fresh destiny
clouds wormhole: did I get old?
Dr Strange wormhole: Clea
evening wormhole: the 19th century
eyes wormhole: adjustment
morning wormhole: magnificent salad
mouth wormhole: a crack of lightning / in the dark of night
realisation wormhole: just one, open, nerve,
streets wormhole: through the pane – poewieview #34
sun wormhole: Lapping Reflections [Deep Within Waters] – I suddenly / remembered
traffic lights wormhole: Christmas lights / around the lamp post
travelling wormhole: “The Lady from Nowhere”

 

the 19th century

Tags

19th century, 2016, 5*, balcony, black, blue, death, evening, halo, head, portrait, profile, purple, sitting, smile, walls, white, windows, wood

                even into her later years
                the 19th century sat in the
                darkening room with dark wood
                furniture long into the evening

                on warm nights you could
                see her profile and slight-etched
                smile between the balcony railings
                and all the height of window and

                coving above her sometimes-
                nodding head; when she died
                she left a chalk-purple and dark-
                blue halo on the bare white walls

                glistening sometimes
                where her black cap used to be

 

 

 

^{————w}(O)rmholes_________________________________|—–

black wormhole: gone black
blue wormhole: magnificent salad
death wormhole: cut while you’re ahead/cut while you’re a thread – poewieview #35
evening wormhole: AT-tennnnnnnn – waitfrit waitfrit – SHUN!
purple wormhole: the purple mist between
sitting wormhole: moment
smile wormhole: and smile / like a bud
walls wormhole: coagulating
white wormhole: The Boats of Vallisneria by Michael J Redford – Simon Upon The Downs
windows wormhole: through the pane – poewieview #34
wood wormhole: Lapping Reflections [Deep Within Waters] – from arm to nature, doing nothing

 

AT-tennnnnnnn – waitfrit waitfrit – SHUN!

Tags

1960s, 2013, 6*, abdomen, attention, birth, emergence, evening, eyes, feeling, flower, heathland, history, identity, infrastructure, life, light, lime, looking, meaning, mist, possibility, posture, reading, rebirth, shade, shoulders, sitting, streets, time, womb, writing

                AT-tennnnnnnn – waitfrit waitfrit – SHUN!

                decade of ever-immanent emergence
                but yet womb-like misty with heathland-lime streak

                forefeeling borne and colourful possibility
                then birthed starving and naked into too local streets

                with all their historynfrastructure; born within
                two months of the 1960s, towards the end

                I was flowering, but with a knuckle in the
                stem below the petal receptacle, made me

                always look downwards to the ground: I sit
                for hours hunched over a table writing, I sit

                for evenings correcting a tendency to
                close my eyes, I sit slouched in all manner of

                chair reading and reading; it will take decades
                of shade and whither before I raise

                my face to the startling of light and correct
                my shoulders and abdomen

 

in the immortal words of Chogyam Trungpa Rinpoche: “the path is the goal”

 

 

^{————w}(O)rmholes_________________________________|—–

abdomen wormhole: trying to focus / on walking
attention & writing wormhole: magnetic field
emergence wormhole: the / bright yellow / world
evening wormhole: Lapping Reflections [Deep Within Waters] – I suddenly / remembered
eyes & light wormhole: languidly close the portal
history wormhole: The Boats of Vallisneria by Michael J Redford – Safe Home
identity wormhole: travel
life wormhole: 35 years ago …
lime wormhole: weight of high sash windows – poewieview #33
looking & streets & time wormhole: through the pane – poewieview #34
meaning wormhole: tiling
mist wormhole: the purple mist between
posture wormhole: a crack of lightning / in the dark of night
reading wormhole: lonely and free
sitting wormhole: even / a second