The Self-Unseeing

PM00000090000001030 15: 2012 § 3 Comments

The Self-Unseeing

By Thomas Hardy

Here is the ancient floor,
Footworn and hollowed and thin,
Here was the former door
Where the dead feet walked in.


She sat here in her chair,
Smiling into the fire;
He who played stood there,
Bowing it higher and higher.


Childlike, I danced in a dream;
Blessings emblazoned that day;
Everything glowed with a gleam;
Yet we were looking away!

Response to John’s ‘At Home’

AM00000090000001430 15: 2012 § Leave a comment

Some images of Louise Bourgeoise’s cells:





Soft Keys

PM00000080000003230 15: 2012 § 2 Comments

For the poet’s image is a spoken image – Gaston Bachelard.

Building on notions of home, heimat, the uncanny, Maya’s ‘Meshes…’, doppelgängers, here are two poems of mine from earlier this year: the first from walking back to a present home (UK) and the second written on returning to a former home (Barcelona). Perhaps they can offer an path….

for Helix Pomatia

Wet, bearing softly home up
glitter-crossed path unlit
I close my eyes:
guardian of small things,
guide my way clear
of the silent lovers
of moonlight’s cool
and autumn’s breath.
Keep them safe
those mute, melting gods
carrying whole worlds on their backs.


Left Behind
to a City

So I went back. Just to see the place one more time.
Remind myself of what I had and who I was and used to be.
Went back down those same old streets and alleys,
Past those same shops and crossings,
Watched the same buses and bikes sweep by, saw the same dogs.
All in order on my nostalgic wander
Until I ducked down a familiar short cut
Only to find someone already there, head bowed, scribbling into some notebook.
He turned as I called.
‘What are you still doing here?’ I said.
He regarded me with a pitying stare.
‘You can’t be here. I’ve left.’
Silently, he held my gaze.
And there we stood, together alone in the side street
Until finally he spoke and said
‘Have you?’
‘Yes,’ I answered.
‘You have,’ he said
‘But I haven’t.’
Then I walked away –
Left myself alone in that side street and walked out into the city.



Meshes of the Afternoon

PM00000080000003831 15: 2012 § 1 Comment

Following on from John’s recent steer toward Freud’s essay on the uncanny/unhomely, I’d like to suggest that anyone who hasn’t yet seen Maya Deren’s short film Meshes of the Afternoon do so immediately! It’s 13 mins long and comprises a riddle, wrapped in a mystery, inside an enigma; but perhaps there is a key… or perhaps not.

Those who have seen it, perhaps try watching it again with ideas of the homely and the unhomely, the strange and the uncanny, all sloshing around together with the below image from Maurice Tabard and Roger Parry.