Wednesday, 21 October 2020

A Spooky Coronelle

 


https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=z_ZpWDbYvKo&ab_channel=dskina


Saturday, 17 October 2020

Sonnet - After Ben Sira

 Been a while since I posted here. The Coronelles from the last few posts are forthcoming in a new book from Veer called 'Coronelles - Set 1'. The second set is on the way. Here is a poem from set 2. I have decuided for now to allow myself to call these poems sonnets, because they are. 


x




Monday, 14 September 2020

In Absence of Live Readings - Remembering the Bangers

 It's hurting a lot of us, not being able to go into spaces as we usually would. The oncoming cold making outdoor spaces more difficult. Who knows where we're going... Deep underground. 

In absence of these happenings I wanted to post some short memories, images and videos of events that might otherwise get swallowed in mind haze and social medias. 

Here are some pictures from the Launch of Rosy Carrick's new bilingual edition of the Vladimir Mayakovsky poem Vlladimir Ilych Lenin

The event took place in the Regency Townhouse, 13 Brunswick Square on the 7th November 2017 and featured readings from myself (I read We Will Bury You with Keston Sutherland), Lucy Beynon, Keston Sutherland and Rosy Carrick who read from the Mayakovsky book. It was a pretty electric occasion. Photo credits - Lucy Cage and Rosy Carrick. 















Thursday, 25 June 2020

More Coronelles

Another little clutch of Coronelles. Again, not all of them. There are over a hundred now, and I'm picking through them trying to see what sticks. These are some from the last seven days. Picture form this time to avoid format slippage. No order particular.







Monday, 15 June 2020

Poems and Miscellany. June be upon us.

The shops are open! People are being forced to go back to work. Beijing is entering a second lockdown. Hello. Hello friends. Here are some more of the new poems that I am tentatively calling Coronelles. The poems included so far have mostly taken place 'at the break of the day' (see below). So, some new poems and below that a series of links. I've spent a lot of time listening to online poetry lectures, talks and readings. I thought I'd share some of them here because for all the horrors of this particular stage of the Internet it is still pretty wonderful that we can get to a lot of amazing educational resources for free. So yes, poems first, then links. Enjoy.


//

Throw the yo-yo down; it comes back up. 
Nothing is ulterior. Paradox is dead. 
I believed in pure Justice: The difference
as striking as the common. I cannot read Our Death:
That the pain realised themself
to struggle, the stammer of packaging. I have never cried. 
My whole life,  eyes sewn shut. They beg
to leak. The world rejects. Strength, head wound, the virus. 
This thing inside, it killed us: Fuck balconies. Fuck the world
reject. Reject. Reject.
You pushed away the malstrom.
You made us believe. Resistance 5 resistance 7 
resistance 6, that the eyes be allowed to spill themselves outside in 

                                                                                       deleting air...

//

We must go on. Through the sloping rain
and the new builds. Staring over my head
my eyes turn  up through aching bone. 
We climbed the lighthouse. 
A voice echoed blank, no face
in slate ahead
be careful as you go
oh, please take care. There is horror deep ahead
and nowhere else to step, 
it waits like a pit who circles you, take care where you will go. 
Amante è la musica che con noi non finisce.
Strapperò le ciglia con le mani, lascerò per sempre
il luogo dei miei maniaci pensieri. Yesterday once more whisper
please take care, my love, be careful where you tread.

//

It stops. Knock. Call out. No more aversion
therapy, to jump start new death 
rippling through the trees. Ladies at court
riven and chaste I will lie at your feet. 
Mocked in traction
bonded to air I am still breathing. Lucky
to be, hir ribbons at the wrist.
Knock. Stammer for reason, the chest heaves up we march again
voiceless young say their names, saints, purchased in blood
the destroyer went blind dusted off against the spoiling line. 
Bonum est confidere in Domino,
bonum sperare in Domino spite and malice knock three times
pushed away digging out the eyes.

//

Now’s our chance. I signalled with my lamp across the gap. 
Knock. A flicker of red in a torn up corner. How can it be
so long away I wrapped myself in the curtain to signal
over the air, you are not there. 
Knock, that now I am sleeping, the window is open. 
the ladder is propped against the scaffolding, you so far gone not across 
to air or sky gone so much,
silent of light no light in silence creaks away the forty four windows
stare. Way far back even then. Knock. It will not pass it simply doesn’t 
go, far enough to hear this light who shrieks across the firmament
plunged beneath that flood lose all 
their guilty stains hewed in the brand skin and atmosphere
to a little dimming tint, be careful where your light treads soft ahead.

////

Lectures / Readings







Eric Mottram talks with Erik Bauersfeld 1982 (Strange one, this. Eric Mottram and Admirl Ackbar!)


Keston Sutherland - Lecture on Sonnets (Worth listening to the other lectures on his channel too)








Tuesday, 9 June 2020

Poems - 29th May - 8th June 2020

Here’s Noseybonk: We danced in the morning
for the sake of the young we went back to work
we lost all of our jobs we pled like servants
clover bloat, bone on bone. Over the hills
methane obstetrics
pair off by chance. It’s hot in the garden. The filthy
jealous wailing
prius contesting the year: I danced in the night time
trembling in bed. You wailed about your feelings
Ziyang Fan, Head of Digital Trade, World Economic Forum;
take me as you find me
all my fears and failures what are all these bands so angry about, purity
ziplines into dampers, heat in the sorrowing whip.  

//

In the first Spring we grew bold.
We asked ourselves ‘who might die?’
We have to account one day 
for our helplessness. I don’t see the death
I don’t,
more, I wanted to suffer, long and hard. 
Poisoned again
intimate you piss off shreds of stagnant beef
quick scan started here cometh the dreamer:
This city turns people into shadows 
when I stand in that place
free at last you have won the race sleeper in metropolis solitudo, 
Fiaba per un mistero sepolto tra verdi siepi, in preda ad un cuore che pulsa.

//

With one tired horse denial of work, efficiency 
line communication; dwindling spiral of control.
The process is long the poppies to seed
sweet as vinegar mit coconut milk sprawling across the sea
who fixes the levy 
staked out for the dogs
sonorous filth be upon you. 
Ardent love surrounds me like a blister pack,
I used to go to work each day eager through the dreaming coil
left my love behind me on the horse without his entrails. 
Hoof and horn, hoof and horn
all that dies shall be reborn fly by night I never met another gemini,
so with one tired horse and our packs we trudged out over the earth.

//

I Am a FREE 
I Am Not MAN 
A NUMBER. 
Precious seizure; dance, dance, 
wherever you may be. There’s ants 
in the salad. Send it back. Bullet holes in glass
but you’ll find the ants 
give a zesty crunch. We go to the cancellation
fun run: Refused are the best band in the world. Nizlopi
are the best band in the world. Avicii on bagpipes. 
Lord of all hopefulness
Lord of all joy, daughter of the sun I was raised 
to do no harm and go down quiet. The heat screamed ‘(Riot! Riot! Riot!)’

//

Daubed in off-brand kejerie, my silent eyes to you,
my love, I walked home in the cancelled rain 
and turned into a shadow. Every door was painted red.
The dead are in the grave, awaiting resurrection
and outside some children are playing
in the square. They do not turn to shadows, 
though they are parts of the city
and the clouds who do not come to sing;
the spider dangles by her hook the echoing sea calls to the shore
who waits for the wounds to fall. Even the eyes who roam
all of my deeds, everything I’ve achieved
cannot earn my way to favour or a shoulder to the wheel, particles
fall like singing stones. Tako takoti o takoti sman yamba takoti.

//

and I’m so glad I’m not in school, boss. 
Switch the machine off, boss. I tethered my horse;
when the militia arrived I hid under a heap of sacks. 
My breath was held in, tight, ever so tight, 
it will betray us all. 
Stem for survival. The hegemony
of the agonised tawse:
Endut! Hoch Hech! My Bonnie lies over the ocean
by Bonnie lies over the creepy abandoned house
in the woods. Oh, doubters! Oh, come declare your lives:
His form was of the manliest beauty, 
his heart was kind and soft transfiguration head over fist
I’m so glad I’m not in school, boss, beating away at my tedious head.

//

Playing at pilgrimage; the problems of work;
if there is in fact a life regained, switched on
tampering with the clamp eyes thrown out the skull
glanced sunlight therapy trips inside the little ear: 
How do you make curfew
force the headrest out, 
so there all he goes
pissing in his bunker rushed in by secret
demand “I do nothing for nobody”, truth inching in
liber mucous; terror in drastic actions right ahead
running out of breath
the fight beneath Your feet the humming acceptance speech 
disgust that turned its stupid ear again to cracker shame.

//

I am a free thinking anti authoritarian, I said,
to the dialysis machine, I screamed at the cleaner,
I whispered to my mother as I spilled
into the world. That’s obviously not what’s meant, 
said the dry roasted crusty,
changing the locks. 
There is more at stake. 
You’re being glib. The games a-fucking-foot, my friend!
You’ll never get away with this. I’ll see to it
you rot in jail. I wondered where my king had gone
entered our world, your glory veiled
not to be served but to serve, he is the boy, the past is a grotesque animal.
I never went back to finish it, the dead end stuck in the neck.

//

Accomplices Not Allies: Abolishing the Ally  Industrial Complex 
(indigenousaction.org) realises the ally as temporary...
Think,  allies want something from you, in a moment. Strategy:
Accomplice: ‘A person who helps another commit a crime’. ‘You can 
now pay hundreds of dollars to go to
esoteric institutes for an allyship certificate in anti-oppression. You can
go through workshops and receive an
allyship  badge. In order to commodify struggle it must first be 
objectified. This is exhibited in how “issues” are “framed” & “branded.” 
Where struggle is commodity, allyship is currency.’
Some chosen source as was need not be 
the only pattern to build a world on. Where pathways meet, low
down the sound of law, burning Horrified one, take up your scream. 

//

Tuesday 2nd June 2020


//

Sitting at the shore with wine in perfect light
by you, never disallow regret, she said, 
and sipped in the weakness afternoon the boats singing clinks
at the marina wall. What’s the worst thing you’ve ever done?
It’s not, but once I contrived to make
this wretched rule at a party: That we only listen to music none of us 
have ever heard, just to avoid Paul Simon again. I couldn’t help it. 
Saying it would have been worse, as painful as this wretched coronelle:
'Cause You are the Lord of all I am
so won't You reign in me again all circles shutdown,
but I never did it, never spoke the order, just a horrible thought, the evening killed…

//

Let our spite rise up in love
‘the new normal’
fresh horrors, what was once called ‘austerity’, 
harder, faster, 
with attention 
to the detail
of the body,
tracking it through the world, closing its magnetically sealed
doors its airtight perimeters; let our spite
rise in love and tender revenge
the trumpet sounds
and the dead will then be raised that terrible, terrible night: Dialogue
has never been our option, closed doors, brackets. Bodies through the world.

//

Chew around your speaking lips. 
Where are you, Wendy?
Do the plants stare blank the raining sky?
At the base of the lock I used a small light;
the lamps at forty four
were out, I went to signal across the air.
Is anyone there? The little flicker
in the bottom left glass, silence. Silence in light. 
Oh death where is thy sting? Angels, 
moth dust, 
that sacred pot of red stuff
could blow me out, ribbons undone, gentle joy;
if we’d only allowed for our confiscated world...

//

Starry ribband beds about his wings
their cobbled lilies clog-danced, 
on planted earth wallow’d about he stands
so we bare the shavings, and suddenly
the light air beating easterly
at frozen plummet front;
their lives would fall to bits
by auctoritee of persones
we go out to build; 
a problem with the axle. Though
I have a sweet hope 
of glory in my cold little heart. 22 letters
to the council,  still no arrests. The scorn of the tussling bins. 

//

Amongst the herbs & electricity. The air 
rolled through the blockchain, & you were crying 
again, waiting for the knot to crumble down. 
A delivery of proper medicines. No food. 
The buildings speak, unyield 
beyond paraphrase. Dock your mouth.
The spectral  spiders screech 
and creak: False. They are silent, you cannot imagine 
the terror in wordless descent, the never screaming 
jaws, the silent armoured limbs;
it sounds an echo in my soul.
How can I keep from singing? Laid to rest & gathering herbs:
Eat well, exercise. Live to be devoured.

//

By the swell of the Brapple, new day at last. Scorn hangs in the tongue,
the assailing mandible, correctly infers with rain to PAT test the stutter:
Terrorism is the worst thing in the world. Ripe crops bolt upright
swell their chests to any scrambled data, perturbed to telling,
I am dead to you.
 For God sake, eat something, please
When have you ever worked. 
This is what not realising looks like. We should separate the hostile world.
The whole orange air migraines into your swelling eyes. You are the furies
screaming at the camera, your children in the room above, pressed into the corners.
Zealots fire that bigots warms,
Fury’s wrath that fools alarms, Hell and misery, everyday life, goodbye,
he snarled to the begging window, old uncle Tom Cobley and all.