The prevailing atmosphere and approach to the poems follows what I witnessed at Clydach Gorge
during 2016- 2017: mechanical denudation, fracturing, grinding away of a landscape and re-ordering that landscape.
That's what I did with the poems.
In the visual-word pieces I used long shadow forms to suggest man's lingering presence upon the land - Clydach historically being man-manipulated both industrially and as a routeway.
I tried to balance seriousness with humour.
Elsewhere I negotiated work produced by other group members, altering my ideas/their ideas by fusion: my take on collaboration as opposed to disparate solo ideas that come together in an anthological manner.
during 2016- 2017: mechanical denudation, fracturing, grinding away of a landscape and re-ordering that landscape.
That's what I did with the poems.
In the visual-word pieces I used long shadow forms to suggest man's lingering presence upon the land - Clydach historically being man-manipulated both industrially and as a routeway.
I tried to balance seriousness with humour.
Elsewhere I negotiated work produced by other group members, altering my ideas/their ideas by fusion: my take on collaboration as opposed to disparate solo ideas that come together in an anthological manner.
a time
to whisper to crows
to whisper to crows
a time
to tread forgotten seas
to tread forgotten seas
a time
of soundless dreams
of soundless dreams
a time
to roar at jackals
to roar at jackals
a time
to stand naked
to stand naked
The gorge is pecked
by a new tribe
tracking reasons
chasing day down
hunting afternoons
The ancient highway
gets new tread
as cold handed
weather plays poker
as Llanelly Hill casts
shadow upon discovery
by a new tribe
tracking reasons
chasing day down
hunting afternoons
The ancient highway
gets new tread
as cold handed
weather plays poker
as Llanelly Hill casts
shadow upon discovery
Something I did a while ago but which could be
developed with the Clydach poems by someone
who has more savvy with digital images/film.
developed with the Clydach poems by someone
who has more savvy with digital images/film.
One for the Road
Clydach Gorge Roadwork 2015/16
There are machines to pull time apart
to fracture and rip its fabric.
Yellow machines able to destroy aeons
by the second. Busy suns emptying
smashed epochs to new order.
The colours of time speak
to those who know the language
- others glimpse clues as graded moments
re-laid in fresh layers compact
under behemoth rollers.
What has kept pace with isostatic rebound
is dismantled, flicked off like a fly
by mechanisms meeting deadlines.
(Approach: The original poem attempts to capture a time in the construction of the road, probably a year after the initial clearing of trees and brush.
There is a demonstration of human power - technology in the pursuit of what will be.)
Clydach Gorge Roadwork 2015/16
There are machines to pull time apart
to fracture and rip its fabric.
Yellow machines able to destroy aeons
by the second. Busy suns emptying
smashed epochs to new order.
The colours of time speak
to those who know the language
- others glimpse clues as graded moments
re-laid in fresh layers compact
under behemoth rollers.
What has kept pace with isostatic rebound
is dismantled, flicked off like a fly
by mechanisms meeting deadlines.
(Approach: The original poem attempts to capture a time in the construction of the road, probably a year after the initial clearing of trees and brush.
There is a demonstration of human power - technology in the pursuit of what will be.)
The First Cut (One for the Road II)
Clydach Gorge Roadwork 2015/16
There are machines to pull time apart
to fracture, break, crack, rip its very fabric,
destroying aeons in each second. Yellow machines
on looping dust tracks like busy suns emptying
smashed epochs to new order,
trillions of graded moments re-laid
in fresh layers compacted under behemoth rollers.
The colours of time tick and tell
sagas for those who know the language
or glimpse the clues. Here the garbled mix
has no syntax, no clear voice, only
dismantled stories from a tongue-torn land
left in aggregate colouration.
Keeping pace with isostatic rebound,
fault-seeking post-glacial drainage took
thousands of seasons to incise a three mile cleft.
That work flicked off like a lazy fly by machines
meeting deadlines. An army of felled trees
a cursory task before peeling strata
and awakening rock-held alarms.
(Approach: A poem within a poem denoted by typographical difference in size,
exploring the fractured changes in rock strata. Perhaps read by two voices. The poem’s aesthetic surface is rough, abrasive, fractured and restless.)
Clydach Gorge Roadwork 2015/16
There are machines to pull time apart
to fracture, break, crack, rip its very fabric,
destroying aeons in each second. Yellow machines
on looping dust tracks like busy suns emptying
smashed epochs to new order,
trillions of graded moments re-laid
in fresh layers compacted under behemoth rollers.
The colours of time tick and tell
sagas for those who know the language
or glimpse the clues. Here the garbled mix
has no syntax, no clear voice, only
dismantled stories from a tongue-torn land
left in aggregate colouration.
Keeping pace with isostatic rebound,
fault-seeking post-glacial drainage took
thousands of seasons to incise a three mile cleft.
That work flicked off like a lazy fly by machines
meeting deadlines. An army of felled trees
a cursory task before peeling strata
and awakening rock-held alarms.
(Approach: A poem within a poem denoted by typographical difference in size,
exploring the fractured changes in rock strata. Perhaps read by two voices. The poem’s aesthetic surface is rough, abrasive, fractured and restless.)
The Second Cut (One for the Road III)
Clydach Gorge Roadwork 2015/16
Machines
pull
time
apart
fracture
break
crack
rip
fabric
Machines
empty
epochs
Order
re-laid
under
behemoth
rollers
Time
speaks
its
dismantled
stories
A
tongue-torn
land
A
three mile
cleft
Machines
meeting
deadlines
awaken
rock-held
alarms
(Approach: A reduction of the original with minimal syntax. The ambition is to make a poem that goes someway to replicate the sound of machines at work in the making of the Clydach road.)
Clydach Gorge Roadwork 2015/16
Machines
pull
time
apart
fracture
break
crack
rip
fabric
Machines
empty
epochs
Order
re-laid
under
behemoth
rollers
Time
speaks
its
dismantled
stories
A
tongue-torn
land
A
three mile
cleft
Machines
meeting
deadlines
awaken
rock-held
alarms
(Approach: A reduction of the original with minimal syntax. The ambition is to make a poem that goes someway to replicate the sound of machines at work in the making of the Clydach road.)
The Third Cut (One for the Road IV)
Clydach Gorge Roadwork 2015/16
There are aeons in each second
suns emptying time
Yellow machines
looping new order
Dust re-grades moments
re-lays fresh layers
Epochs fracture
colours of time
pull apart
an army of faults
Fabric-torn alarms awaken
peeled strata
as deadlines tick and tell
machines meeting machines
A fly compacted
under behemoth rollers
will be rock-held language
here! now!
(Approach: A cut up of the original. The poem opens more spaces and is less defining.)
Clydach Gorge Roadwork 2015/16
There are aeons in each second
suns emptying time
Yellow machines
looping new order
Dust re-grades moments
re-lays fresh layers
Epochs fracture
colours of time
pull apart
an army of faults
Fabric-torn alarms awaken
peeled strata
as deadlines tick and tell
machines meeting machines
A fly compacted
under behemoth rollers
will be rock-held language
here! now!
(Approach: A cut up of the original. The poem opens more spaces and is less defining.)
The Fourth Cut (One for the Road V)
Clydach Gorge Roadwork 2015/16
Teknowledgy rips
aeons each second
Yellow machines
loop tracks
Busy suns
empty epochs
A new order
Colours of time
tick & tell
tell & tick
tick & tell
A new order
the language
the landgauge
the land age
the lang age
Garbled syntax
dismantles voice
A tongue-torn
three mile cleft
peels forgetfulness
(Approach: A deconstruction of a previous poem exploring disruption.
Landscape and language are conflated; the living stories surrendered to legend and folklore as new ones inhabit the new landscape and new ‘tonguescape’.)
Clydach Gorge Roadwork 2015/16
Teknowledgy rips
aeons each second
Yellow machines
loop tracks
Busy suns
empty epochs
A new order
Colours of time
tick & tell
tell & tick
tick & tell
A new order
the language
the landgauge
the land age
the lang age
Garbled syntax
dismantles voice
A tongue-torn
three mile cleft
peels forgetfulness
(Approach: A deconstruction of a previous poem exploring disruption.
Landscape and language are conflated; the living stories surrendered to legend and folklore as new ones inhabit the new landscape and new ‘tonguescape’.)
a time of stone skulls
and petrified snails
and petrified snails
a time of gifts
and of witness
Three Clydach Haiku
The clearers leave a
wayside tree wept in mourning
Until, until… till
The magic beneath
feet is opened with rude spells
Dig Dig Dig You dig?
A jazz of stations
blow hot in crawling traffic
Funky roadmen work
The clearers leave a
wayside tree wept in mourning
Until, until… till
The magic beneath
feet is opened with rude spells
Dig Dig Dig You dig?
A jazz of stations
blow hot in crawling traffic
Funky roadmen work
Something Between an Ironic & Cynical Smile
collaborative activity
collaborative activity
No Identity Without Relationship
a walker
indivisible
from the ground
a driver
from a road
a traveller
going and returning
a seeker
and discoverer
the etching
and resketching of dreams
an undug trench
an idle digger
a walker
indivisible
from the ground
a driver
from a road
a traveller
going and returning
a seeker
and discoverer
the etching
and resketching of dreams
an undug trench
an idle digger
Frayed
collaborative activity
collaborative activity
Road Building
collaborative activity
collaborative activity
Scour
collaborative activity
collaborative activity
Welcome to the Ferdinand de Saussure Highway
2 4 6 8 Never Too Late
Tom Dooley
hung his head down
Nancy Whiskey
caught her freight
bees lit up
the cigarette trees
as a bad moon
came out late
The good the bad the ugly
rested on the bar
as land creaked
belly-up
to a mandate
from god
MOTORCAR
Those wishing
Those hoping
Those thinking
Those praying
attempted to rewrite
the song
Some gave up
their homes
some stayed
deafened by the throng
that makes a road
for thundering wheels
so progress stumbles on
Chuck parked his Thunderbird
no particular place to drive
but those that wish
can get their kicks
on route A 4 6 5
Tom Dooley
hung his head down
Nancy Whiskey
caught her freight
bees lit up
the cigarette trees
as a bad moon
came out late
The good the bad the ugly
rested on the bar
as land creaked
belly-up
to a mandate
from god
MOTORCAR
Those wishing
Those hoping
Those thinking
Those praying
attempted to rewrite
the song
Some gave up
their homes
some stayed
deafened by the throng
that makes a road
for thundering wheels
so progress stumbles on
Chuck parked his Thunderbird
no particular place to drive
but those that wish
can get their kicks
on route A 4 6 5