Wednesday, 24 September 2008

Response to Locator, Ty Canol Woods (2008)

13 of us gathered for the woods and walking to be bound the indoors and  
our bodies and the witness, the bones and our breath.
The trees are waiting for me…
I came for the trees
I find you
You bright coloured standings, watchings
Following views of the man in his underwear marking
A highway or by the way
So very clean he leans too
so nearly
suspension unlined
the moment before
the impulse,
you are his animation, his almost
and we his gestation, all hesitation
we await a hidden purpose
a thing to discover, uncover unravel
we devour
a man strung and hung,
drip dripping,
from the hip to open lips a stillness witness
in around and of the corner of the ear
a large layer of naked skin jumps
we hear he throws his arms in the sky and turns tail (a brush for a blush)
his cheeks run in a clock wise direction.

I came for the trees
Instead I find bottles and bodies and bones holding air pockets waiting to pop pop pop
Slipping and dipping welly brigade and fast footed
we jossle along
on our bums
bellies both
heads tucked together
tucking into small things
Head in the nook of my arch
My cheek on the arc of her spine and
She is moving with an unseen rhythm falling into the whale,
Joan of arc
She arches and
he is laying his body along the fallen trunk
to sense through the skin, breath it all in
a symphony solo vibrating somewhere still strings.
I came for the trees
I did
I do (knot) for hours before
I do not want to build a shelter.
I wish I was
I want to be Alice
but I cannot reach the bottle nestled to wrestle it from the tree
the view from here is immense and I cannot touch the edges, the sky
I cannot reach you
you have fled me and my arms
you are unfettered
laughing over bodies struggling underneath, leaping
you are the sea
you are the sea and the sea is you
the rain falls to meet you watching me
I believe I am spinning alone under the naked sky
drops fall like chinks
links of daylight brought down through the clouds,
enraptured small floods.

I came for the trees
and I find Wellingtons illuminated illustrations to
follow for hours in darkness
I am led to lostness, a lastness
moving footprints slow upon Rocks, the Rocks are upon me
roving ground moves up to meet
and we are molten watchers
the branches dance, drowning in waves over our heads,
on a bed of bones, longing to lie the full
the length of my spine upon the sodden ground
Fish spine, trine spine
Spines of string and pegs and eggs and tinsel bind me
Paper rolls, rolling and strolling around the ribs to roll you over
turn the tides
To eclipse the lip of the white light moon
to flood the momentary
to force the hand that homes the unexpected
To Re-home the place.

I came for the trees
Where you Witness, I Watch, we Wander
in tides, faces fall open from the heart and lay waste to all that is not generous and rough and raw and brimming over backwards and forwards
rock rocking, climbing steep steps rock rocking her to sleep
He remembers her and never finds her
She is just beneath his surface
Following her nose (the shape of an angel, of
Mynydd Carningli)
She sleeps and leaps backwards into eighteen horses flying free at long last
Longing, climb long trees, eat them up up up
and bear witness to no time no place
to un-covering discoverings that find themselves lost when we have gone
Returning to what is remembered
To each others

Returning and Turning.

The trees are waiting for me…   


No comments: