Fafernie is a rounded top
astray amid other places.
Southeast a shank to the Knapps,
slow strewn stone rumpled ancient beds.
Northwest Callater glens a way
to distant Cairngorm stories,
if these are unobscured by clouds
looming grey with rain lofted into snow
as ambiguous as now.
At the small cairn a throw from the top
I meet ptarmigan partners.
Sighting me they take stations:
he stands porcelain on the topstone,
eyeing me with red khol caution.
A step past, she sits well grounded,
dissolving spring speckle into
lichen and wind rounded stones
as still as earlier ice.
Bending slowly, I rediscover
her against the uncertain sky.
Firmly static, from above she flickers
lost and found and lost again.
Stalking an unready camera,
I exist too much, and they burst
in flurry croaked alarms of flight,
just far enough to horizon me
as vanished as myth.
boundary lines surrendered
sculpture on the way
This piece (words, sound, image) was made in response to a New Scientist article by Jessica Hamselou about studies by researchers at the University of St Andrews, and the University of Western Ontario into the phenomenon of déjá vu.
You read more about the science in Jessica’s fascinating article online at New Scientist.
My reading and the poem are below, click on the wee tiny thumbnail for a larger version of the image.
It’s been quite a long time since I first read a poem to a ‘live’ audience. A few years in fact. Last week I got around to standing up in front of a small group of people in a (fairly) public space again. The occasion was an ‘echo’ event at DCA where people were responding to an exhibition of the unusual slow animations of the artists IC-98. My poem tries to do it’s own explaining, so, I think I’ll just let it…
In response to an exhibition of work by IC-98. Dundee, January 2016. Continue reading
A short poem at Visual Verse…
“Pose set, yet as yet not unbalanced,
A mill swung pivot hinting coy.”
…you can read the whole poem (and others from the same prompt) here…
Just a bit finger tap twitchy,
Itchy while waiting to start,
Like sweat dried on skin.
The bags are packed,
The gear’s all ready set, but
It’s still too early yet, to go.
I’ve seen you this morning,
And will again as we, eat
Something and drink our tea.
But for now I’ve filed myself here,
To look at this and pick up that,
And wonder – should I take this too?
Knowing if I do, I’ll not look at it.
An hour or less, and then it will be time,
Hesitancy waved away in motion.
Competence will recocoon these
Flittery butterflies with recollections:
Really I can, usually I do.
But for now, I’ll worry the clock
To stutter one more turn around.
And I’ll sit, and stand, and sit again.