Brenda Clews, poetry, voice, mix; background music, zero-project, 'Forest of the unicorns,' from their album on Jamendo, Fairytale.
My very first 'found' poem ever! However, the lines are all mine. A poem I composed from lines found in three of my tightly written, packed journals from 1980. I may or may not make a video poem, but if I do, having made a recording will help.
La Luna
Razors of lightning press my eyelids.
Your white love, the pearl shell seas.
The sky peels back like a scroll.
You are mine, unsplitted, fleshless.
Cornucopias, hot-bed undersea growths of things
joined to other things in sections, in shell lines.
Mad shadows. My blood is full of alcohol.
Memory is internally roused, without evasion.
I open the door to your shadowed face, dark hair, beard-
those fluid sea-algae, jade-green eyes.
Do they absorb or reflect light?
Light is a tumbling ball.
The moon is a lunatic.
There is a lady on the telegraph pole.
Each man or woman who enters has to leave
their personality behind like tossed clothes.
Pastel lightning crosses the sky.
The moon is a fetish.
A fat, marshmallow moon.
The moon contemplates itself,
a blood moon.
Words are a wash of waves;
waves of a ceaseless alphabet.
My throat is a silent, howling hyena;
the illness of passion.
I've been caught.
Where is the land; where is the vessel?
Lapped wind and frothed cloud;
mutant moon
- a glowing field of electrical fabric -
Vision is dangerous.
This fragile moon letter of white light.
The white imagination that you have to travel
through the prism to get to.
When I'm in love I'm outside of what
I'm inside of the rest of the time.
I follow the moon
am nothing but motion
...............following
streets marked by lights
as round as moons
am nothing
but shadows of light
as the moonlight
careens drunkenly in the sky
shrouds hide me
while the moon dances
a hallucinated ball
of white wind
shorn of darkness
dance naked night
my eyes flutter
in the tops of trees
spirits gather and flee
you have gone
Gloriously dreamlike and sensual. There something of a flavour of the French surrealists about this.
ReplyDeleteDelighted, thank you. I record over and over and over until I hear something that I couldn't possibly have done. Then I actually layered three different readings on top of each other, giving precedence to one, of course, so no mechanical echoes though it may sound like it.
ReplyDeleteYou're right on with the French surrealists. I have been very influenced by French philosophers for years, the post-structuralists, Barthes, Kristeva, Deleuze, but am drifting into surrealism, and can see a resonance with Jean Arp here. As I consider his work, it's not just his poetry, but what I'm loving in art these days resonates with his sculptures that are like huge morphing bronze seed pods.