section from ongoing long manchester poem
This may well be the
opening of the long poem I'm stitching together from fragments written across
the last five years.
The poem consists of
three vicious and angry poems that are more or less narrative and build to
apocalyptic climaxes; a series of shorter, less intense poems; and another
series of pieces where structure and language break down into non-words.
There are currently
two major problems. The first is that the three narrative sections are too
self-contained. That may be solved by breaking them up and switching from one
narrative thread to another, while also alternating with other elements.
The second, less
easily resolved problem is that the sections where language collapses, or has
already collapsed, are proving hard to integrate. They almost certainly need to
be longer, with longer lead-ins, and some of them need to be replaced altogether.
It's also hoped that
the section below, and similar sections in the same format and dealing with the
same subject - dropped throughout the poem, will help create some unity and
also help in linking the collapsed language with the rest of the poem.
The subject of the
section below, and the similar sections to follow, is a fictional drug called
Icarus. Icarus is like ecstasy, but instead of a high it's all comedown. The
comedown is the attraction, and why people take the drug in the first place.
In my head at least
this also makes thematic sense with what I'm trying to accomplish. But I'm not
going into that.
I should note that
this long poem, once complete, is intended to be the rough template for two
distinct, separate works. They are the film and the soundwork drawn from my
walk around the M60. I still need to record more images and sounds, but I've
been concentrating first on this text.
it
is
icarus
sat
six
in
the
morning
bench
between
uni
buildings
listening
loud
bird
song
missing
a
friend
not
tired
yet
after
party
buzz
summer
morning
everything
intensifying
yellow
light
getting
more
silver
brighter
air
chiller
birds
shrinking
other
sounds.
it
is
you
here
icarus
weighted
thin
paper
lighted
through
pale
missing.
it
is
reflection
careful
walk
home
pause
here
wait
here
not
tired
yet
light
fringed
silver
rings
shivering
thinks
stark
thinks
self
dreamt
icarus
thinks
eyes
tight
from
wet
reflection
thinks.
the
smell
of
bins
the
smell
of
bushes
from
an
earlier
shower
clouds
cleared
the
smell
of
you
or
other
people
you
the
smell
of
nose
running
trickling
backwards
back
of
the
tongue
sniff
still
taste
it
back
of
mouth
ecstasy
bitterness
nearly
icarus
waiting
gathering
ideas
in
thin
lines
singing
quietly
open.
open?
open
perhaps
open
to
a
sadness
not
quite
here
not
defined
not
hiding
either
yet
pressure
inside
eyes
all
incipient
flickering
fringes
time
to
move.
fragile
icarus
comedown
thin
thread
spiderline
stretched
between
shared
sadness
earlier
even
wrenching
crying
jags
yr
full
communal
icarus
dream
and
numb
hopelessness
to
come
later
breakfast
untouched
muted
youtube
playlist
still
playing
another
tab
putlocker
movie
paused
phone
out
browser
ignored
stare
at
clouds
think
about
going
to
bed
tired
don't
care
for
sleep
want
to
do
something
nothing
interests
too
loud
outside
maybe
you'll
lie
in
the
rain
silver
trace
yr
face
wind
dried.
that
isn't
here
yet
still
icarus
suspended
indulgent
sadness
slowly
turning
in
but
still
the
comedown
paid
for.
there
is
a
hissing
leaves
tyres
tinnitus
synaesthesia
yr
own
breath
or
something
light
periphery
waiting.
stir.
dazed
sitting
to
dazed
standing
wait
ringing
boiling
darkness
peripheral
can't
remember
yr
name
temporarily
not
panicked
not
here
unreal
here
frail
and
a
sickness
passes
passes
smile
at
drifts
of
speak
people
pass
early
risers.
go
home
and
try
to
sleep.
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