Week 2: 20 April

 

 

Alice Tarbuck

 

1)

It is the small way you change

on the phone, your voice

a way of holding me

and asking to be held.

We have decided we cannot live without

one another, in the ordinary, life changing way

neither of us have ever decided anything else.

 

2)

Archways, doorways

those beaded curtains that slither,

I want to walk out, in my dreams

all i do is leave, leave, leave.

 

3)

Look at the good new things.

Look at the good new, brand new

I never lacked for want before and now

No objects charm me. Take my old

Worn, soft, sweet things.

 

 

 

 

 

Jane Goldman responds to Alice Tarbuck

 

some objects will charm

 

objects in this moment of

incoming and disappearing

meanings make for us a now

of intelligibility that anchors

our historicity the cat plays

 

toss and chase

with the cat-nip

laden sky-blue

impossibly feathery toy

mouse skidding the whole length of the hall

becoming an habitual

image suffusing

one possible

 

future anterior

when we will

have hooked this

tatty eviscerated

chimera out

out from the dusty

underbed

when we will

have said this

this is what she played with

in the time of the covid quarantine

and the lying faces of shameless politicians

nightly pledging their phantom protection

 

 

 

 

 

JL Williams responds to Alice Tarbuck 24.04.20 11.35

What made me leave the group in the end was her posting photos of a recent purchase… the ‘twerking llama’, whose brash orange and bopping bum made her laugh as she called her baby a ‘wee shite’ one more time for keeping her up all night.

What bothered me more?

The Amazon driver working shit hours for shit pay and with no mask or gloves and her kids alone at home and with every bit of a clue as to the llama in the box?

Or the way this new mum called her newborn a wee shite once, and then again and then another time… free now to blow off steam unjudged, or so she thought.

But there was me judging, baby asleep in my arms who I call darling, and sweet love, and trying so hard to keep my eBay addiction at bay because I buy second-hand and who needs new clothes or new old clothes or anything much nowadays other than food, and nappies (though we invested in reusables), and headbands to cover the bald patch because all my hair is falling out and a printer because of those tax forms and that Ty Dangler Sloth Beanie Boo 15cm delivered via Amazon Prime by tomorrow night. Hypocrite.

Poor delivery woman. Poor women. Poor humans. Poor me.

How poor of me.

I am thinking now about the goats in Llandudno, about finding ways amidst tragedy to manage a laugh.

See, when we’re honest we can admit the mirror is in fact a reclamation of who we dreamed we’d be someday.

The bathroom with the mirror in front and the mirror behind, that world of mirrors in which my 11 year old face said one day you will be able to choose whether to stay here or step outside.

 

 

Tessa Berring responds to Alice Tarbuck

1) – Left Blank

Sure, I’ll write a poem –

did you hear about it
this world we live in?

But I’d rather say ‘ping!’
like the long dead poet

Who ran out of language
on the train

2) – Love is Plenty Hostile

The old things
are the loved things

Filthy with love

Foul with desire and
sticky with keeping

Don’t touch us!
Scream the loved things

Hose us down
We are mad! Mad!

Caress us if you dare
but we will bite you

Bite you, poison you
adore you

 

3) – Shine

The baby came! Wow!
Such a mess! Wipe it up!
It is bright
On the surface
Quite dazzling

 

 

Georgi Gill responds to Alice Tarbuck and JL Williams 10.5.20 14:03

Day 39

Tired of the same old same old,
we shuffle our same old belongings,
trying to trick ourselves
that something is new;
trying to trick ourselves
to keep paying attention.

We hang the same old portrait
of a dark-haired girl,
bright pink dress,
jade background,
beneath the sconce
in the hall.

We still gaze past
the painting but now
we watch how a new
parallelogram of shadow
is thrown back
against the wall.

Day 42

Flowers are not an essential purchase
but today I ordered some anyway.
Purple frangipani, antique carnations,
lilac roses, shy thistles,
and sugar flair hypericum berries
for my 74 year old mother
who has gone 64 days
without a hug, without
a touch of any kind
from another human being.
I ordered although I know
purple frangipani, antique carnations,
lilac roses, shy thistles
and sugar flair hypericum berries
are no substitute for touch.

 

 

Rachel McCrum responds to Georgi Gill (written May 9, 2020, recalling April 20, 2020)

Yellow tulips in the green jug,
and they’re generous, lasting for us.
Cut flowers are an essential here
waiting for the turn of the season
that comes around late, too late.

Off the island, this place is drenched
in cedar and sage
fernheads
the lightness of maple

but here we’re just
propelled up and round the Mountain
daily after daily
to see red leaves
and white buds
and blue flowers (Siberian Squills!)
past a mound of freshly turned earth
in a driveway
immobile and abandoned

 

 

Marjorie Lotfi Gill responds to Alice Tarbuck

I don’t want a thing
(I have always said)
– no candle or goblet or linen –
not even a suitcase
to bundle them away.

Lose everything once
(I have since thought)
– each photo and book and teacup –
and you’ll never
want again.

I take only objects
(I now plan ahead)
– quartz and limpet and apple blossom –
I am certain
to safely return.

Lord, give me less to carry.
Lord, give me nothing new.
Lord, let the nothing be new



Lynn Davidson responds to Alice Tarbuck 23 April 13:26

3

There’s something known and complete
About coming together in threes. 

The three-act play.
The trilogy.
The triptych.

The flour, the yeast, the honeywater.
The maiden. The mother. The crone.

Macbeth’s three witches.
Their three predictions. 

Zoom and Skype and Messenger –
the three chapels where we look up and see each other.
Our three hearts:

One on its way
One breaking up

One waiting