The following work has inhabited many forms. These words have existed in a sort of between place of lyrics and poetry, scattered ephemera, written on loose sheets and stored in my laptop case. They have been accumulated over the years as I have prepared and written for music performances, usually the more freeform sort of work between noise and ambient and whatnot.
sample of writing
I have had a sort of reticence about the following - casting them in forms when in fact may want them to remain murky and amorphous - in my notes they exist as something for me to channel - I sometimes view them as a type of improvisatory score. A score itself isn’t music but guides a performer into making music. These words usually come to a person through performances I give - I’ve also taken recordings of them which have ended up scattered across productions, resampled and chopped - I couldn’t possibly tell you which ones though. Even on the pages they already exist I spot re-used phrases, sometimes exactly the same but surrounded in a different context, sometimes with slight variation.
I’ve come to the thought that even if I solidify them in a form right now for this newsletter that doesn’t mean I have to accept that this will be their final state. These things are malleable and can continue living in variable states. I will certainly continue using them in my sound work and I may write with them again.
I have edited these into poems so they take better form written down - that said I have left quite a lot as is. Some are rearrangements of how I first wrote them down, some have been refined and expanded. Some are simply constructions from scattered lines. I have added punctuation in places and haven’t bothered in other places.
Finally, I’ve called them cantos to reflect their connection to song, or music and sound more broadly.
Canto 1
Blood encircles me,
pulled up pale.
Sun dilates the air,
scorches the day.
Six figures along the perimeter,
the passages marked off,
the structures picked bare
to build walls clearing the land.
The tomb dominates place,
visible from all sides.
In the ancient tradition
we crawl into burial
and await excavation.
The braid turning endlessly
from your hand and disappearing out of frame,
into infinite night.
Baptize me in the quarry.
Go ever upward and melt into the horizon.
The cool damp air
coalesces into joy.
The spirit marked for removal.
Erased places,
erased words.
The carvings on the cave wall grow dull,
until they melt back into untouched stone.
The path unfurls,
gives way to dead branches.
Can you hear the buzz of the honey bee?
We’re searching.
Rings form in water
as the lake embraces the rock.
Grasp my hair in both hands.
Canto 2
Watch as my arm bends back.
Watch as my skin folds over.
Caterpillar tracks across the land,
forming chevron pockets to hold rain,
reflecting the gold dark sky.
Watch as my ribs
heave under animal skin.
On the northwest side are caves.
Looming dark mouths,
ever open with a hunger unsatisfied.
Field upon field upon field.
Man’s imprint on the land.
Who is that staring at me from the window?
Reach back and grasp the past.
Fossilized remains.
We have the weight of time on our necks.
First death on the island,
scattered coral across the beach.
The swishshrup as they run through your fingers.
Watch as my arm bends back.
Watch as my skin folds over.
Canto 3
Rip the poster from the wall
and watch a terrain unfold,
as the glue peels back layer under layer
in a crooked fashion.
Stratified moments in time,
a history of events long gone by,
covered by events long gone by.
A topography of time measured in gigs, plays, poetry readings,
and such and such.
All that is heard in place
is the sound of prayer
echoing along your heartbeat.
The essential elements are all here
and erased one by one.
I would be remiss right now not to point out that I’ve just released an album with my friend Joe on Shadow World Archive. Find that on CD and digital here.
It seems apt for this post since the title song is centered around a poem of mine made for the album called Lattice of Memory.
All the best
Eamon