The Canberra moon festival 2018

Hi my name is Johnny brown and we had just seen a great performance on stage with a lady who does great things with a hoop and I can tell you watching it from here was absolutely amazing and I can tell you, dudes it was fantastic
And now Lucy sugerman is about to perform for us and mate, it is going to be so radical dudes, and there is going to be a great parade at 3-00 and yes it is going to be cool, and you can make lanterns as well, well that is going to be cool for everyone and now here’s Lucy with her music
Johnny’. Wasn’t Lucy fantastic
I really liked the songs she sang
And some songs that really struck our hearts, she is a fantastically talented girl and I especially liked when she sang candle in the wind, in which she sang when she was doing her live shows and it sounded really beautiful, she will be judging the talent show here at the moon festival tomorrow and rob jarrah is coming out to sing his great single called fire in me and I can guarantee he will blow everyone away with his great voice
And yes, he did blow the crowd away and now we have the ANU
K-pop club doing their dance moves for us, and boy are they the fittest individuals you have ever seen and yes, well they are displaying all the right moves
Getting into the party spirit here at the Canberra moon festival this is really cool, dudes and dudettes don’t you think and as they swing their hips and thighs
You just sit back and enjoy the music they dance to, this is really cool, hey
Yeah the ANU k pop club was really good to watch and mate
I really was tapping my foot to some of the best dance music around and they make dancing to it, so easy and well we have only 1 hour and 10 minutes from the great parade, and I think it will be cool and coming on the stage now looks like a variety of different instruments and I wonder what music they’ll play
Well, we just have to wait and see, I will try to catch the groups name, I am sure they will blow us away I just found out that the next act is the ANU Chinese classical music ensemble and I think they will be showing some great sounds for us
Yes, I thought the ANU Chinese classical music ensemble was excellent and very very cool and now as they leave the stage and the next group is the belly dancing group called bellyup
And we will see them wriggle their bellies to great Chinese music and they are cool, let’s get apart of it, well it is easy just tap your foot
Those were great belly dancers weren’t they and mate I will wanna join them on stage and yes they will blow us away and now here is a song from two students from mulwaree high school in Goulburn and mate the harmonies which are coming out of their mouths are really cool dudes
They were great and now it is the kids turn with the Australiasian school of contemplirary Chinese and these kids have a great deal of talent, they are letting their little voices become the better of all of them, and their music are radical dude and as they leave the stage, the next group are playing the beautiful sound of the flute and yes it sounds really cool, yes let’s get ready for a party dude
The flute sounded so great and the kids were very cool, even if I must say so myself and the parade starts soon starting with the dragon dance
And wasn’t that a fantastic dragon dance, they used a lot of force to shake it up, and I liked that a lot and there is a fantastic jiving dancing bunny dancing around and he surely was showing off the right dance moves, and VIP is over and we aren’t very long away the big party, the music is going to so radical dude and mate, if any of you have seen my Facebook page you will see the jiving bunny as well as the dancing dragon, it was really cool
And now we are sitting here listening to this great band rehearse and get the sound right for their performance tonight, this is going to be a great evening at epic and as the venue is the true part of the atmosphere (epic) and they have moved the VIP seating so people who feel like it could come in and party this evening and this is going to be a cool evening dudes right through to 10-00 pm tonight LET’S PARTY
As we are waiting for more performances here is a Canberra moon festival poem
We are a cheering
For the people on the stage
As well as the dragon dance
That is pretty cool
And the people on the rides
Yes they are having fun
And smooth ops rehearsing all
Their music oh yeah that is cool
Yes we are getting with it
Every single day
Party from start party from finish yeah that makes me radical dude
There are also talks on stage
From different but interesting people
Oh yeah and let’s not forget
The jiving bunny yeah he is pretty cool
And the pony and horse rides
Yes the kids love that lots
They go for a ride through the
Amusements yeah that is pretty ace
Ace ace we’re from space
And we party from the start
Till we do a ****
To prove this will be the best

And now we are watching a video on the Asian language
And yes they are telling you about how important it is to learn
Yes, this is going to be one hell of a party, don’t ya think
It was a really cool martial arts display and I thought it was pretty cool, kids and teenagers kicking each other around
And yes, it is pretty radical
The way they break the piece of wood, yeah that is really radical dude and they are going to have more belly dancing soon and yes mate I am looking forward to seeing what that is about
The belly dancing had started and some of the younger folk are coming up to try their hands on a bit of belly dancing and we are seeing everyone even the organisers or volunteers doing a bit of belly dancing it looks like people are going back to the 70s with their belly dancing skills how cool is this and some kids are learning the different styles of belly dancing and one kid made a frog lantern, pretty cool, the music is sounding great and his voice is starting to say I am a lovely lively singer
And I am cool too, yes rob jarrah
is cool and his voice is too die for and mate everyone is gathering in the area for the big party later on, mate rob has a great voice entertaining us till the main concert begins
Rob was great, his voice really expresses himself and now ANU Korean pop comes into the stage to perform some very interesting dance moves and mate they will get this party started for us tonight and they probably have been rehearsing for months to get this dance routine right, let’s get this party started
ANU k pop were ever so cool, as they move all parts of their bodies and they look ever so fit and now here is the Australian school of contempary Chinese again with some kids dancing for us and they look very fit as they are throwing their arms and how they are showing good movement yes, they are cool
And then a guitar solo and a vocalist come out to display their talents and I am sure they will be cool
I thought he sang nicely and now Micah absalum and Bryn wood and they sing for us a beautiful ballad and there is a lot of meaning in this song
And they sounded so radical as they sang it with so much meaning in it and now a ballet number which in her movement she is expressing herself as a positive and compassionate person
We have been seeing more dancers who were really cool and now there is a great young pianist named grace gee and her voice is to die for, ballads are the sound for today but dance has been coming up a close second and grace gee is good on the guitar as well, pretty awesome stuff as she sings one of her own songs which sounds great
The lights went out when Wednesday moon was juggling to lit up rings and it looked really awesome and it lasted for 2 minutes, then they had some great dance routines as well as
Some belly dancers who really shaked their bellies right and then after that they had a belly dance dance off and the winner won $30 gift voucher and she had an absolute ball it was awesome and now it is smooth ops to keep the party rolling awesome dudes
And the party is great
Smooth ops are rolling hits from John Farnham Aretha Franklin
Rip and ac/dc and abba and a bit of uptown funk you up and keeping the party rolling with a bit of the Jackson five and Tina turner’s nut bush city limits and mate this band smooth ops a fucken awesome and they are radical as well and I am well into the party spirit dancing away to these great songs, I hope the second half is just as awesome dudes and a few other oldies as well and then smooth ops came back on the stage and blew the crowd away with great music like it’s raining men and madonna’s cherish and like a prayer and a few of the hip songs that are hitting the charts now and then they played Kylie’s spinning around and thendomino and I will survive and living on a prayer which was the finish of it, it all was pretty radical dude and I can just say
With all this music and fun we had tonight, everybody was in a party mood, there were a man dancing as well as his son yeah that was so cool and now we will say party party party
Till the very end bit

Ar ben y bryn,
There sits a paint-brush-thin monument,
A crooked rocky record built by many unwilling hands.
This cockeyed testimony announces a difficult man,
A man befriended by nature
Whose oakish form turned in opposition to his kin,
Took root on stony ground,
Prospered on infertile soil
And sheltered under nature's canopy.

Y bryn oedd ei gartref
And he lived and thrived there
To the annoyance of the conformists:
The chapel-goers, the gossipers, the rate-payers
Those who could not abide his ragged clothing,
Sweat-stewed, blood-patched remnants of cloth,
Hanging rags of garments and barely-there shoes.
Loneliness he embraced and so peace was his.

Ar y bryn fu farw.
A few feigned to mourn to satisfy their curiousity,
Wanting to view the corpse of the man on the hill,
A man who was and wasn't one of them.
And so a dissonance struck the town:
He was one of them but also one of wild nature.
He was miserably poor but enviably free.
And out of such confusion was his half-hearted monument raised.

Valentino has its red, Versace its Medusa logo, Chanel the tweed that lines dresses and jackets and handbags each season. In the fashion world, these nuances of texture and color, in conjunction with shape, are what help define a brand's identity, what ultimately makes them feel familiar to consumers; they are fashion's version of DNA. Designers carving out their place within the industry will often land on their own set of signatures that are built upon with each new collection—but Patric DiCaprio, the 26-year-old designer of Vaquera, isn't interested in "buy-ability" or recognizable traits. "We are obsessed with keeping people guessing" he says. "We want that to be our thing."

In the three seasons since launching the New York-based brand, DiCaprio has infused Fashion Week with the sort of Dionysian energy once felt at early John Galliano shows. For his Summer/Spring 2016 show, staged at the Church of the Ascension in Greenwich Village, models walked the aisle to the Smashing Pumpkins in baptismal baby-doll dresses and ruffled bloomers, with DiCaprio's boyfriend closing the show in a wedding gown. In February, with new partners David Moses and Bryn Taubensee on board, a debaucherous cast of models dressed in Victorian-meets-club looks danced, lifted their skirts and put their cigarettes out in audience member's drinks at the China Chalet venue in the Financial District.

"Vaquera is about constant reinvention," DiCaprio says of his no-guts-no-glory ethos. "It's about the future; the future of style and clothes, but not in the cliche of futuristic spandex and metallics."

Much like his collections, the designer's path in fashion has been far from linear. Born and raised in Alabama, DiCaprio attended a private Christian school before studying photography at a public university in the South. An internship with DIS Magazine offered him a crash course in art direction and styling, and the opportunity to draw creative fuel from New York—a city that has very much proven to be his creative elixir.

"I felt like I had been underwhelmed for my whole life," says DiCaprio, who moved to the city five years ago and taught himself to sew through YouTube tutorials. "When I first came to New York it felt like I had finally gotten my head above the water and had oxygen for the first time. This place was overwhelming in the best way." DiCaprio spoke with PAPER about his creative approach, his unconventional path to fashion and his idolization of David Bowie.

What sparked your interest in fashion?

I think it's always been about clothes for me. When I was in middle school and high school I was always in bands. I was obsessed with Screamo and David Bowie—the groups that had such strong visual aspects to their work. But I think part of me always felt like I was doing that so I could assume the look. Screamo bands would let me wear the size zero, ultra-stretch white jean. With David Bowie, I wanted to wear the gold eyeshadow; it was always about the look.

How did studying photography lead you to fashion design?

My school was very focused on the craft—the dark room and perfect exposure—but I think I was on the opposite end, I was interested in what was happening in the photo. I left college to do an internship with DIS Magazine and because they're involved in so many creative avenues like photography and styling and art and video, I was able to get a realistic vision of things. The experience [with DIS] made me realize I was less interested in photography and more interested in creating these characters.

When school ended, I moved to New York and and worked with DIS again and then with VFiles in [the archives department]. I'd go through old issues of ID and Paper and Dazed and it taught me a lot about fashion history. I had been removed from all of that when I was growing up, there was no Chanel store in Alabama, there was no Dazed And Confused at the Barnes and Noble in Alabama. Coming to New York I was able to get my hands on the clothes and study these old magazines.

How did you get that initial internship though?

I'm obsessed with Tumblr. I got on it more than eight years ago, and it was a huge part of helping me reach out to people. People that I'm still friends with now—Hari Nef and Juliana Huxtable—I met through Tumblr; they moved to New York before me and motivated me to do the same. So I emailed the team at DIS, and asked if I could show them my photography portfolio—which sounds so funny to say now—and they offered to show me the ropes. They hooked me up with Avena Gallagher, who is an inspiration and has taught me everything I know about styling.

About two years ago I started working for her and became obsessed with styling. I styled Charli XCX for a year—and it was exciting, definitely closer to what I wanted to do but it wasn't exactly it. I wanted to pull specific things—1980's Issey Miyake, but there was no way a no-name stylist like me would be able to get my hands on it. So I bought a sewing machine and started sewing the things I wanted for photo shoots. Vaquera started as an art project that wasn't about wearing the clothes or making something for Opening Ceremony—it was about making clothes that I could then shoot. The final product was the look book.

What made you decide on the name Vaquera?

A few different reasons. I was reading a book by Tom Robbins called Even Cowgirls Get The Blues and it was really informative for me at the time. I was also working in a kitchen as an expediter with a bunch of Mexican line cooks and they had a lot of pet names for me, like "el pato" which is gay slang for f—got, and "little baby doll." They knew I was from the South so they'd call me "La Vaquera" because that's Spanish for cowgirl—even though cowgirls aren't Alabama, it's more of a Texas thing. So I just called the project Vaquera. It seems so arbitrary now, I'm stuck with it for better or worse.

What's been one of the challenges of keeping things future-focused?

I've had criticism from people that it's such a bad business model to reinvent yourself each season, that no one's going to know what to expect from you. Buyers are going to be confused, you're never going to make any money. And I've just been like, "Well, I think we don't have any interest in that." We are obsessed with keeping people guessing—we want that to be our thing. I try my best to keep it a secret until the day of the show and then just let loose.

So we're going to assume you won't be giving any clues about next season's show.

Oh my god, i don't want to give it away! I think people want to see billowy-sleeves but that's out the door. We're doing something completely different. Romantic but a whole different definition of romance.

How has working with David and Bryne changed things for you and the brand?

Last season it was like a whole new brand. We came together through Avena and it feels like we're progressing, which is exciting. I got sick of doing everything alone. For the Spring show I sewed everything, produced it myself, got the location, cast it myself.

And did you collapse after the show ended?

It was a serious problem, it became impossible. I realized I was either going to have to plateau so I could get my life together or I was going to have to find a way to expand the vision. I trust Bryne and David with my life and they understand my vision but have their own ideas. It was a necessary change.

So many designers have expressed concern about the relentless pace of the industry recently.

All these different seasons—pre-fall, couture, designers showing things that are going to be available for purchase the day after the show. That's so scary for people like us who are on our hands and knees in the living room cutting the clothes and can barely get them made in time for the show.

Do you want to stay independent? What are the benefits and detriments, in your opinion?

I think we want to stay independent. I want to make money but I don't want to feel pressure to do certain things. I'm already so sick of that show we just did—already on to the next one. It's like with Demna Gvasalia getting the Balenciaga job: I was so disappointed to see him doing the same thing he did at Vetements at Balenciaga, but then I realized, with all the money that's involved and when you're working with these huge offers, there's contracts. Money complicates things in a way that I think can hurt people's creativity. Maybe you'll make a lot of money for a few years, but you might forget how to make exciting things because you're stuck with the designs that worked well one time. I want to make money, but we want to find different ways of doing it.Read more at:http://www.marieaustralia.com/formal-dresses-melbourne | www.marieaustralia.com/formal-dresses-adelaide

Grandiose and lofty it may seem
Nevertheless it’s a thought that captures
A dream I consider supreme
It triggers a spontaneous feeling of rapture
Whenever it crosses my mind.
It’s that a lawless society is an empowered society
The premise being that life is kind
Lending credence to society imposed piety.
As succinct as it is,
It sums up my simple idiosyncrasy as me
It’ll be a paradigm shift that’ll put my mind at ease
And fill my heart with glee.

The existing realities are grim        
         Stupefying for lack of a better word.

Andy Bryn.

The thing is Boy,
Yes, YES! I did need a shower this morning, and ****** lovely it was.
Aye cracking........
Let me tell you three things I got just right with my shower this morning.
First of it was HOT.
Not warm, definitely not lukers, as you said when you where a lad, but ****** lovely and hot.
Like the shower after a shift in The Pit.
Now, notice the capitals there, on The Pit.
Not to make it a loud word, I am simply showing due respect to The Pit.
I spent enough years down that colliery to show it that due respect.
The Pit indeed.

Secondly, there was enough water.
In my shower, not the mine now, pay attention!
It can be hard for folk to hang on to my words, I digress so much, hanging on to my words is like trying to grab a slimy mackerel on a sunny day at Porthcawl Pier.
Now that is a ditry pier, due to littering.
And fishing.
Speaking as a fisherman, with you will notice, a  SMALL f, as I do not profess a great degree of skill in that area, but speaking as a fisherman, I will admit that there is an occasional tendency towards the dropping of litter.
On the pier, that is.
Quite likely elsewhere as well, but then I only fish the pier, see.

Anyway, yes, water.
Enough of it.
Not a ****** half-hearted trickle, an apologetic drip, but a deluge!
Fair flooded me out, it did.
****** marvellous.
Smashing.

Now, there was a third good thing.....
Ahh. THAT was it..
Someone to scrub my back.
Very important indeed.
You see, in The Pit, or at least, in the colliery shower, after a shift, we had good showers.
Hot, they were. Hot and wet, and we would stand there, warming ourselves under the water.
By Christ, my arms were sore after a day on my side with a pick.
And the soap was hard too, like a ruddy brick.
But the water helped see, took the pain away, it did.
Aye, and all the Boys, we would wash each others backs.
That was the way then.
In the showers.
Aye.
I new my mate's backs better than my missus'
Thirty years scrubbing them.
"Whiter than white" I would say.
When they asked me.
"How is my back Bryn?"
"Whiter than white".
Aye
Good days.

Now this shower.
A ****** good one too, It was today.
The Girl who comes in got it just right.
Halfway between five and five and a quarter.
Bang on.
And she washed my back.
Not as hard as the boys would have done,
but good enough for a youngster.
Not bad at all.

All in all, a good shower.
And that means a good day.
I can wheel my chair to look out the front later.

You'll pardon me for going now,
but I have to go to the bathroom see.
A big ****** task for me now.
Still, no-one in till teatime, and I can manage,
if I take it slow.

And thursday I get another shower.
And I will tell you about the days in The Pit again.

i remember the first time bryn brought a boy for christmas
his name was chris
and we had to distinguish between him and my cousin chris
so we called him gay chris
because he had lots of pockets
and he always looked better than my cousins
who hardly ever tried to look presentable.
i remember last christmas
how damon gave elise
sweaters from a thrift shop and fleetwood mac records
and how happy she was.
i never wanted to be allie from the notebook,
and i never wanted you to be noah.
in the 8th grade,
hidden between shelves of a torn-down library where i'd sit for hours,
was a short, thick book with pages of romanticized post-it notes
and the smell of sawdust.
dash and lily's book of dares
was all the things i'd been dreaming about.
the first-glance feelings in the middle of new york,
the warm feeling melting through your bones with an even warmer drink.
i've always wanted a chris
or a shaina
or a natasha.
i've always imagined thanksgiving day going differently for once in my life.
when my uncle asks me if i'm texting my boyfriend,
i want to say "yes, actually" and i wanted to find a boy
to take to my grandmother's house.
i wanted to show him
how tristan would pay me to go sneak him cookies,
and the way we fought over couches.
but now we took all the couches out of the basement,
and i think someone else is living in that house.
but there's still thanksgiving,
there's still an extra seat at the table,
and i'm not sure but i think justin is bringing maya this year.
so when it is my turn to go around the house and say hello to everyone,
and my uncle asks, "how many boyfriends do you have?" teasingly,
i can smile and say "just one"
and it can be you.

This morning I watched a girl’s heart
sink a few inches.
Through the bottom of her stomach,
past the only thing I’m keeping her around for -
It clawed through the crooks in her ankles,
and spilled out onto the sidewalk,
into pools of red,
before sinking into the earth.

My love for you,
engulfing her
suffocating her breath,
smothering out moans of my name.
Suffocating her until “oh gods” turned to
“oh...god.”

My name,
on her lips,
“while I dream about your lips,
on my hips”
like in the poems i wrote you when i was sixteen.

You killed her with memories of your tongue
.

Spitting “I’m so sorry” at me
for the hundredth time.

She died in the echoes of my shouting,
asking you if
“lonely” was worth it.
Was it a good enough excuse?

I’d  take you back in a heartbeat.
And now i’m left with a stack of apology letters
unstamped,
headed for the shredder.

Alyssa,
I’m sorry for not calling you back.
I was just writing to ask what gave me away;
Was it my inability to look you in the eye,
or did you hear me whisper her name?

Hannah,
You’re one of the sweetest girls I’ve ever met.
Our time just wasn’t right.

Bryn,
Thank you for coming to see me that night,
after your late shift,
during dinner with your mom,
I owe you one.
You came clear across town to watch me cry,
all because she sent me a letter.

Emily,
God Em,
I wish I could mop your heart back up.
Suction it right back through the arches of your feet,
Guide it through your stomach,
weave through your rib cage,
and land right her within you chest -
where it belongs.

“lonely”
is a good excuse.

Jeg er ******* furious
På renden til døden
En pine i skallen
Vores samfund er af pacifisme
Du bliver smidt ud hvis du krummer hår
Du bliver smidt i spjældet hvis du ******* slår
Jeg lover dig min kære
Du er ikke alene
Vi skal lige have noget på det rene
Mit alu-bat rammer dit klamme fjæs
Og jeg råber til jeg bliver ******* hæs?
Du er så ******* imbecil
At jeg får lyst til at skyde dig med en pil
Dine grimme bryn og snottede tryne
Ja fandme om du skal gemme dig under din dyne
For du har gjort mig farlig
Og bare roligt det er ikke arveligt
Men jeg smadrer dit kranie
For det eneste du snakker om
Er dit ******* terrarie
Din stemme piver i mit hoved
Jeg brænder dig sort af sod
Min kære lille mide
Hold kæft jeg får dig til at lide
Bare vent og se
Jeg kommer til at le

Løftede fingre, sænkede bryn, små suk og lange sug af sju i smug og altid brug af dug på bordet og bordkort til kernefamilien, og kerner i brødet til børnene og bøn ved bordet af brødrene, og smil til hinanden og for andre og ikke for sjov, aldrig for sjov. Samtaler om skole og skolehjemsamtaler for hjemmets ejere, høje forventniger i fryseren og mælk i køleskabet, og smørret står ude så et barn går i seng med en varm kind og får kold aftensmad af kolde ansigter. Skråt op med hjertet er i hjemmet for hjemmet er hos hjertet, men nogle gange sidder hjertet bare fast i fryseren, så det er svært at komme væk derfra med hjertet i takt.

Men hvis man en dag får løsrevet hjertet fra fryseren
så selvom det højst sandsynligvis er iskoldt
så kan det heldigvis i rette temperatur
tø op, varmes og banke igen

She left in the morning with just a burlap sack
She sat upon the bus with the sack upon her lap
She marvelled at the travellers who all looked very sad
And in the service-stop the salesmen, they all seemed very sad
And the teller and the feller selling coffee, they seemed sad
And she prayed that the city was exempt from all this sad

But when she arrived in the city not far after five
All the faces seemed blurred
And only half-way alive
So she sat by a statue, tried to pin down the picture
But her eyes weren’t adjusted, and her brain wouldn’t let her
And a man shouted at her
And another tried to tempt her
And she slept in a doorway till a cop came and kicked her

So she walked by the river where a man tried to trick her…
And as the drunks staggered homeward and the jackals closed their eyes
She began to see the city as the sun began to rise
And in the shadows of the shards and the black brick buildings
The steeples and the courtyards had their moment of revealing:

Amidst the sky-scape of Hawksmoor and the mind-scape of Blake
A landscape of Albion was summoned in its wake
And the God within the River raised his head to shake his hair
And the ancient stone of London sent a signal to her there
And the head of Bryn ascended from a mound near Tower Hill
Whilst the Southwark geese all danced to a mighty jig and reel
She heard the echoes of the anarchy of ancient London fayre’s
Where the rich never lingered, and the power never dared
She glimpsed the ghost of Jack Sheppard upon the rooftops of the Squares
And Leno’s crazy clog-dance whipped a whirlwind in the air

All the heroes of the city filled her aching soul with light
As she pulled her knees to her chest and curled her aching body tight
Cocooned now in sleep, the revelries all ended
And she dreamt the city back to life, as the worker-ants descended
And each and every day thereon she would dream as they descended

Now she sees beyond the blurs and the slate-grey etched-in faces
She sleeps amidst the majesty of all the hidden holy places
She lies outside the fear and lies; the ruckus; riot; and squall
Some say she’s an incarnation of the Holy Hermit in the wall.
But maybe she’s a frequency – outside of space and time
And the spirit of the City, within her now resides

And though the Peace of the city is killed by screaming cars
And the Light of the city extinguishes the stars
And the Heart of the city is banished to the edges
And the Beat of the city is traded by the hedgers  
The Soul of the city is safe within her hold
So pray tonight she’s wrapped up tight against the biting cold.

-And bless her when you see her and thank her for her dreams
For the dreams she weaves are miracles and we are products of those dreams

So bless her
If you see her
And maybe, you could feed her
For though the city is her lifeblood
It often fails to feed her
And if the city shall not feed her, and if she fails to dream
Well – can you truly visualise a world devoid of dreams?

-Can any of us visualise - a world devoid of dreams?

Ar ben y bryn
Sits a paint-brush-thin monument,
A crooked rocky record built by unwilling hands.
This cockeyed testimony announces a difficult man,
A man befriended by nature
Whose oakish form turned in opposition to his kin
To take root on stony ground,
To prosper on infertile soil
And shelter under nature's canopy.

Y bryn oedd ei gartref
And there he thrived
To the annoyance of the conformists,
The chapel-goers, the gossipers, the rate-payers,
Those who could not abide his ragged clothing,
Sweat-stewed, blood-patched remnants of cloth
Hanging rags of garments and barely-there shoes.
Loneliness was his hope and so peace was his.

Ar y bryn fu farw.
A few feigned to mourn to satisfy their curiousity
Hoping to spy the corpse of the man on the hill,
A man who was and who wasn't one of them.
And so a dissonance rang through the town:
He was them but not them,
Miserably poor but enviably free,
And so, his half-hearted monument was raised
On a foundation of contempt and begrudging admiration.

In the dead of night; a strange noise.    Is it though?



tic tic



It seems so in sleep, while on awakening feel around to find the room is home.

Remember the water pipes bang next door and he is a farmer who leaves early; he notes I have a lamp lit always; the last eleven years or so.



Works on the hill behind; would have lived there if he finished the house. The foundations stand still.

He came once looking orderly for the village funeral, and i said no one would notice the mismatch. He had not far to go.



Look to the window and recognise the light that slants across the graveyard, the neat

beech hedge, the company.



Lifting the pillows behind me  listen and wonder if the wild ones are at the door again.

All was  locked well last night, they are too small to intrude.



I guess it is the plumbing again, the thought of experience. We feel safe here in this precarious life.



Listening, another note, the beams moving, the house settling back. Rhythms of time remind us of the fragility of all things.

Moving forward always there come other notations that bring  feelings, the Agnes Dei opens wounds and fears flood with salt.

Cantata Memoria

tick tick tick tick

Night here is filled with fairy lights, the garden comes differing with otherworldy

beings

The night is not dead ever. All small things are moving creeping; even me now. Awake

I find to think, remember and write. The noise is so many words.



tack tack tack tack







clicking

sounds distant

if the window is open.

The hissing is continuous

&

I dreamed  it all in metaphors.



During the day comes the noise of industry from the old toilet block sold

now, owned privately. Making a place with a little garden, the sound of fence posts

being erected. There will be much discussion in the village, while we stay quiet here

and  listen to the noises.



Daytime, night time, tic tic









A strange noise? I don’t think so.



All is natural, easy unless our brains say otherwise with chemicals, peptides and fear. We are fortunate to live in this place where no bombs will take us.

I like to think about hot water to make everything clean. The wild ones smell better this time of year without bathing.



The  strange noise could be these four hundred words?

The bar squats at the bend in the road where Mill becomes Burden,
Walls somewhat recently painted,
Roof re-shingled ostensibly within memory
A derelict stockade on a front line where cowboy and Indian alike
Have each thought better of standing their ground,
Now defended by a few solitary souls,
Veterans of the days when the place hummed with those
Who’d finished shifts at Troy-Bilt or the Freihofer bakery
(Places either long gone or in the hospice stage,
The bar itself not profitable in any sense of the word,
Opening each afternoon for no palpable reason
Save some madness of inertia)
And who had not moved in with children in Latham or Malta,
Or gone to some frowzy, weedy southern trailer park
Sweating and sweltering through ninety-degree dawns
In Sarasota or St. Pete.
One corner of the building still bears a neon sign
Which sternly announces Ladies Entrance
Though, as the resident wits are fond of noting
Ain’t been no lady on the premises ‘n a month of Sundays,
But, on this particular evening, there is one of that gender
Haphazardly arranging herself on a stool
In search of a compromise between physical comfort
And simply remaining somewhat upright.
She is there in the company of a squat, *****-handed man
Who sits beside her, leering and yakking away
As he signals the bored and ancient bartender
For a couple more Buddy long-necks
(She cannot remember his name—Clyde, Clete,
In any case she’ll assign him an identity later.)
Their acquaintance is of a recent nature,
His end of the deal a burger at the diner on First Street
And a drink or two or three here
(There is a return on his investment, implicit and fully understood,
Though she has not—in her mind, anyway—reached such a point
As it needs to spelled out in plain English.)
She clutches, tightly though surreptitiously as possible,
For she occupies a social stratum
Where placing a death grip on something
Marks it as valuable, putting a bulls-eye
On object and owner as well,
A purse, a three-hundred dollar Coach bag
Bestowed on her by some gum-chomping Russell Sage undergrad
In a random, futile, wholly absurd gesture
(This was some time ago, and the bag, once a fiery crimson
Has faded and the fine leather has creased and mottled
Until it now appears to be a miniature strawberry heifer on a strap)
Though she would note that she was a family of some substance,
Having once attended a fine all-girls school
Where she became engaged
To a professor in the Fine Arts department
(It is unclear whether it was Smith or Bryn Mawr
Or, perhaps, Sarah Lawrence, if anywhere at all,
Her suitors and specters
All but indistinguishable from one another.)
All that, however, is clearly a matter of was;
Her will be is a less fanciful thing,
A measured yet inevitable and precipitous slide
into transactions less palatable
Exchanged for comforts colder than such as she settles for now
(But perhaps not—there is a persistent, palpable pain in her side
Accompanied by a noticeable swelling; Probably benign,
The nurse practitioner had noted at the free clinic,
But she occupied that societal niche
Where further, if unheroic, measures
Were unlikely to be forthcoming.)
In any case, she and her paramour pro tempore
Will call it a night, she pinning her bag to her side
As she instinctively swivels her head to and fro
To ensure no one is seeking to relieve her of her prize possession
(Though its contents are meager—a few dollars in change,
A sweater, a change of underwear,
The whole blessedly insubstantial,
As it is likely she could shoulder any additional load.)

Convincing myself of my own importance
  —I became an audience of one

(Bryn Mawr College: Pennsylvania: January, 2014)

I vores liv sammen går vi på gløder. Lister i smerter og tanker der gør ondt. Du misforstår mig. Ofte. Gør mig misforstået og gør at vi mister tråden, vi klinger os til. Og når du misforstår mig og jeg misforstår dig og vi misforstår hinanden, får jeg røde kinder og sammenpressede bryn. Og jeg udnytter mine ord uden omhu. Vi råber og råber og ser vredt på hinanden, og når at hade hinanden i den luft vi sluger og som sluger os. Og vrede sluger mig. Hele mig på en gang af de få ting du siger til mig, eller af de ord du undgår.
Du sagde engang til mig, at du var gladere uden mig. Så mig i øjnene og fortalte mig det. Jeg smækkede med døren som et skrig der sad fast og lagde mig på gulvet. Stilheden sitrede i luften som orange gløder på et bål. Alene og misforstået på egetræsplankerne. Fanget i ilden som en heks på bålet.

Living along the ledges,
  life is about the edges

The meaning sharpens and cuts
  —the higher you go

(Bryn Mawr College: August, 2014)