|
The Argotist Online |
|
SCOTT THURSTON Scott Thurston began writing in the poetry scene situated around Gilbert Adair’s Sub-Voicive Poetry reading series and Bob Cobbing’s New River Project workshops in London in the late eighties. His books include Poems Nov 89 - Jun 91 (Writers Forum, 1991), State(s)walk(s) (Writers Forum, 1994), Turns (with Robert Sheppard) (Ship of Fools/Radiator, 2003). His full-length collection, Hold: Poems 1994-2004 (2006) is published by Shearsman. He lectures in English and Creative Writing at The University of Salford and lives in Liverpool. He edits The Radiator, a journal of contemporary poetics.
from Separate Voices
are they all prisoners in the medium in which they live whether it be the fabric of labour or simply light sucking air a dazzling baffle of wings addresses the gradient gradual reminiscences coalesce about a refuge on a cliff solid markings of gendered territory only out of kilter with the odd sharp jabs and tussles as the air ruffles the surface again
idę za głosem przez dom – nie jest cicho czerwony jest na ścianie, serce jest na dywanie i skrzydła na krześle. Gramy tu przez całą noc nic nie mówimy nie jest cicho cały swiat jest blisko nie słysze co mówimy I follow the voice through the whole house – it is not quiet. There is red on the wall, a heart on the carpet and some wings on a chair. We play here through the whole night. We don’t say anything, it is not quiet. The whole world is close but it can’t hear what we are saying.
no put an end to it this cheap lottery of accidents turning the year back on itself to compare how many bought it on this day back then to minimize hope a lesser death count makes us safer but never questioning the square root of what is wrong why we get in the car blameless emerge nameless
your pure joy in being shines through in the old photos – you knew how to look or not to look at the camera but whatever pose there is I can sense luminous moments: the sun on snow as you feed your dog. A piece of wall looks suddenly real as if it hasn’t changed and exposes how you stay in and of history except your eyes blazing with utter presence in 1930, in Poland
in another country regaining control of one’s body is what regaining knowledge of the language is what regaining control of one’s language is what language am I hurt in what new rhythm enters here obliterates habit which then slowly tragically re-establishes itself relishes itself what regains control requires control in another country
is there a coin that spun once to fall on the side of hard lineaments expressed as a set of branches ranged around a tough centre? there are gestures which break out across this space with terrifying compass the dance of a red flag suspended from the ceiling completes the violent beauty
copyright © Scott Thurston |