The Poetry Round

Haiku for Iraq

Jeremy — Mon, 28 Jul 2008 00:53:00 +02:00

By Thomas Carthaigh

Haiku for Iraq

Once reigned beauty
Then a king and then despot
Today fear rules

Naughty Naughty Nantes

Jeremy — Mon, 28 Jul 2008 00:47:00 +02:00

By Thomas Carthaigh

Naughty Naughty Nantes

Im on holiday in the supposedy sedate Breton end of France... you know... old Catholic and all that. Yes, there are churches... and a lot more besides...

Naughty naughty Nantes
You sure up the ante!
I ask for a hotel,
And the information man said "well
Here... is a selection"
And I picked and asked for direction
Of the cheper one, maybe far
He said - "its right where you are,
Just across ze street"
And down "a leetle beeet"

So to the Hotel Burgogne
Im pleased how well Ive got on
Luxurios within
For 45€ I check in
To the basement far below
That its there I doubt few know
And so I settle down
For a kip before I explore town.

On arising I am amazed
I think I must be a little dazed
Theres a culture shop all right
But many more of the culture of the night
Sex shops and strip clubs abound
In the sleaziest area Ive found
How can a poor catholic boy win...
So much temptation to sin...

Naughty naughty nantes
You've really upped the ante!

The Swastika on the Stone

Jeremy — Mon, 28 Jul 2008 00:30:00 +02:00

By Thomas Carthaigh

The Swastika on the Stone

They were cleaning the cemetry

In which they had their camp,

Working to better where they lived,

On life to leave their stamp.

One boy was observed drawing

Who was working alone

All were aghast at the marks he made:

The Swastika on the Stone!

On being asked why the mark he made

On the gravestone of a Jew

Did he not know his people

Had suffered like and with them too?

He said that know this not he did

As a distaining look he cast

On those who him did chastise

And told him of the past.

It was just graffitti

“Harmless“ it he did call

Just a scratching done for fun

Saw Skins write it on a wall.

The tragedy this scene displays

Is that the history of a nation

Is being forgotton and destroyed

Through lack of education.

Lack of education from the state

And from parents too, I fear

A fate forgotton by those who most should remember

Those for whom the world forgets to shed a tear.

A testement to a people broken:

Apart their world is blown,

Even still, after all theis time:

The swastika on the stone.

Back to business, with Matt

Jeremy — Mon, 21 Jul 2008 00:11:00 +02:00

Matt just wants to earn some cash. But he’s prepared to spread some good vibes in the process. Two videos and, like any visionary scheme worth its salt, a wonderfully simple concept, and it all works something like this: Matt dances his way round the world... and takes the party with him. Poetry is the art of suggestion, the art of bringing emotions to the boil. Of singling out emotions and reconnecting them again. It is concerned with Man, exclusively, without exception, from start to finish. Its language has to be kalaidoscopic and fresh, as if it has just stepped out of the shower. So I have a suggestion for you. I suggest that you take a few minutes to watch these two videos, videos that have already travelled round the world and that are probably earning their creator a small fortune. But look beyond the money-making, because despite their commercial purpose, these videos show us how a simple, communal action can stimulate a powerful emotional response in the viewer. The inner euphoria released by these images is no less than a manifesto calling for renewed faith in Man. Another shot of informal poetry. Loud and clear, maestro!

Glósóli: an optimism fix for Europe

Jeremy — Mon, 11 Jun 2007 01:47:00 +02:00

With epic aesthetics and minimalist sounds, Glósóli (“Glowing Sun”) comes from Iceland; a treat for the senses whose basis is a poem which, combined with video, adopts almost messianic overtones. It carries the signature of the group Sigur Rós (“Rose of Victory”) and despite its minor scales and apocalyptic setting, it is not outlandish to treat it as a call for optimism, an invitation to take risks in life. The figures in the video call for rejuvenation through absolute risk, it connects us with the energy of those who have everything in front of them: the young.

In a period of European depression, even one where the end of the tunnel seems to be in sight (in the form of the mini-treaty) it is tempting to see parallels in this verbal, musical and visual poem by the Icelanders of Sigur Rós. And the sore point here is that this melancholic optimism comes from artists from a European country that is not even a member of the EU. Do the fifteen or so young people (boys and girls) personify the varied cultures of Europe; calling to each other, awaiting each other and uniting in a common adventure in search of unknown horizons? To what extent is the final leap into the void an invitation to proceed with a less conservative European project that takes risks; risks which always pay off?

The most striking feature of the powerful fantasy expressed by these Icelanders is the language chosen for their poems: Vonleska, a phonetic language based on Icelandic which was improvised by Jón Þór Birgisson, a member of the group. Vonleska comes from the synthesis of two terms: “Von”, which means “hope” in Icelandic, and “Islenska” -“Icelandic” -. This “Icelandic hope” is a language that cannot even be directly translated into Icelandic, and the theory behind its development is that it should enable the sounds of the poem to be freely interpreted by any person that listens, whatever their origin. A creative claim indeed, and above all a vote for poetic empathy that goes far beyond the lyric oeuvre of this lost corner of the continent.

The group, fresh from their collaboration with Radiohead (in 2003, when they composed the accompaniment for the piece Split Sides for the dancer Merce Cunningham), has announced the release of a new album for the end of 2007.

It is refreshing to come across these Icelanders concerned with showcasing musical agility whilst bringing together radically new forms of sound. Faced with a distant vision an able European will always step up to the challenge, instigating change from the shadows.

Here is the poem Glósóli in Vonleska and in English:

Glósóli
Nú vaknar þú
Allt virðist vera breytt
Eg gægist út
En er svo ekki neitt
Ur-skóna finn svo
A náttfötum hún
I draumi fann svo
Eg hékk á koðnun?
Með sólinni er hún
Og er hún, inni hér
En hvar ert þú....
Legg upp í göngu
Og tölti götuna
Sé ekk(ert) út
Og nota stjörnurnar
Sit(ur) endalaust hún
Og klifrar svo út.
Glósóli-leg hún
Komdu út
Mig vaknar draum-haf
Mitt hjartað, slá
Ufið hár.
Sturlun við fjar-óð
Sem skyldu-skrá.
Og hér ert þú...
Fannst mér.....
Og hér ert þú
Glósóli.....
Og hér ert þú
Glósóli.....
Og hér ert þú
Glósóli.....
Og hér ert þú

Glowing Sun
Now that you are awake
Everything seems different
I look around me
And find nothing
When I put on my shoes I realise
That she is still in her pijamas
Found in a dream
I hang by (an) anticlimax
She is with the sun
And there it is
But where are you...
Take to the road
And stroll along the streets
If you do not find a way out
Guide yourself by the stars
She is there for eternity
And soon she will come out
She is the glowing sun
So let us emerge
I awoke from a nightmare
My heart is beating
Out of control
I have become so used to this madness
That now it is inescapable
Here you are...
I’m feeling...
Here you are,
Glowing sun...
Here you are,
Glowing sun...
Here you are,
Glowing sun...
Here you are

Ignition

Jeremy — Thu, 31 May 2007 10:40:00 +02:00

“Poetry is system of shining signals…” asserted the globe-trotter León Felipe. “The verse that came before mine is a torch which was carried in the hand of the previous poet as he searched for me, and the verse that follows me is a light that another is igniting in the dense shadows of the night, observing my signals.”

Thinkers, dramatists and narrators bring together unconnected ideas, unexpected actions, and characters with apparently conflicting destinies. Yet in our imagination Europe is overflowing with theories (this one for example), actions (some not only unexpected but dramatic in their desperation) and conflicting characters. We lack emotion. Well, it’s not that we lack it – it exists -, but that it is decaffeinated, diluted in the tide of the local interests of each corner of the continent. Someone needs to rescue it and return it to the shore of humanity, and this someone, the one who is able to uncover the unsuspected relationships between stray emotions, is the poet.

“What do today’s Andalusian poets feel?” exclaimed Rafael Alberti (close friend of Louis Aragon and Picasso) in the dark night of European dictatorships. What do today’s European poets feel in this solicitor’s Europe? Do they exist? Yes. And they are ready to reveal to us the mosaic of emotions that distinguishes the Europeans from the Chinese, the Africans, the settlers of the New World, and of course the Indians - not in their nature, as the pieces of the mosaic of poetry are universal, but in their projection and scale. They have not disappeared, “because the poem is never-ending and becomes one with the sum of creation and will never reach the final line and varies from one person to the next”, as Jorge Luís Borges, the Argentinean writer of Anglo-Spanish origin wrote.

“Poetry is system of shining signals…” asserted the globe-trotter León Felipe. “The verse that came before mine is a torch which was carried in the hand of the previous poet as he sought me out, and the verse that follows me is a light that another is igniting in the dense shadows of the night, observing my signals.”

With this blog, Cafebabel.com and its contributors are setting out to design a bed of torches that will allow us to access our poets, make contact with them and inhabit their inner worlds, so that we can continue to sketch out the map of the inner worlds of each and every one of us. They seek to put a particular emphasis on the work of young poets, those who have grown up with Europe as a constant presence, those who want to project their work across the continent. They aim to become a key point of reference in the meeting of the cutting-edge and the old, the immediate and the unattainable, in a radical aesthetic journey which will lead us to the “loss of discovery” that constitutes the emotional concert of the heart.

All are invited to this banquet of emotion! Let hearts beat - let the feast begin.