Jennifer Williams and James Iremonger
|We would like to thank Mikkel Bogh and the Royal Academy of Fine Arts, the Scottish Arts Council (now Creative Scotland) and especially Dagmar Glausnitzer and transitstation for allowing us to travel to Copenhagen and perform our 'melopoesie' (music and poetry) composition Pteria a month following our grounding due to the explosion and ensuing ash clouds of the Icelandic volcano.|
This bruise on my hand is a message from god, here is flesh. His words came as lightning to the girls in gold heels stumbling petulant night — FIRE, and the lemonwine stain of a face in love.
Our code will be the unembarrassed whelp of ecstasy.
(music comes in pause)
The one washed between legs in a bath of oil and holy emission, this that madness craved bled beauty over, this kiss recovered I'd press between my breasts and forever hold, risen of mist like a new-legged beast from water.
Made over, forded and forged, in the city of fallen down buildings learned BLISS, a bruise across the cheekbone, lip, the beating of a drum on a distant shore.
What we make will outlast the duty of our bodies.
sleep now boy
sleep little boy sleep
(pause — crescendo music, come in when quiet)
n I hold you now
(long pause — listen to trains and long pauses between lines)
It was one of those mornings when the light doesn't ever really come, when the sky is a grey shrug and the cows crowd together as if in fear.
A little rain coming out of the sky, just enough to make the ground suck at your feet.
They came from the river.
I could hear the horses — they were worse than the women, their screams and the sound of their hooves.
The smell of their sweaty leather belts, blood on metal, and fire, fire in the rain.
(pause for shiny sound)
It wasn't long before another army came and set up camp right in front of 'em.
And the slaughter began.
When you don't have your freedom, does it matter who your owner is?
One master or another, one god or another, not one grain of rice tastes right when your life is not your own.
There are times when I cannot
Months later a trader came over the river. He had been to Sardis, he had been with the Egyptians. His face was covered in red paint. He told of a city where hundreds and thousands of snakes swarmed the streets...
The man who took our home now a prisoner, and still I hear it every time it starts to rain; the screaming of the horses.
Creature whose battle lost ignores wounds and wound licking
In the city
Bandits in underpasses and women
All trespass, all familial bonds, all economy
And the oracle said:
if the King should cross the River, a great empire would be destroyed the King was delighted, certain now of victory
never once did he think
the cost of this presumption
What does it mean, 'always'?
'Always', as if before and after
Rue eyasses, rue silence, rue death, rue
eyasses moulting for flight,
|JL Williams 2010|
Jennifer Williams blogspot
James Iremonger @ myspace.com