I play.
I am a musical instrument.
Sometimes an orchestra out of key.
A string quartet at odds with itself.
Other times
– a pure violin making sacred notes.
You too make your music.
Play.
My hope for this blog is that it will (gradually) become a special place.
Where makers of art (defined widely) will share their stuff.
Where it won’t be an occasional guest blogpost.
Where (in addition to poetry) there will be virtual sculpture, video storytelling, cartoons, music, philosophies, manifestos – all introduced.
Big work, little work, work-in-progress, personal stuff
– all introduced.
The maker speaks – not only through the work.
As I’ve just written to Lars
“My wish is that every piece of creative work will be introduced by the maker. Any way they like – I think people are more & more interested in a behind the scenes peek into the artist’s way.”
It’s time I went back & introduced my own work. People will explore backwards.
____________
See: https://paulhomahony.wordpress.com/2015/10/14/do-you-need-a-computer-to-make-electronic-music/
– lines composed as a result of spending a Sunday afternoon in The Green Room, Chicago, in July 2014
Play with your eyes
out of your head
Strum the chords
out of your corners
Crawl all over
his melody
into ecstasy
across the tap tap
slap into the face of her heart.
Glasses pop
into stacks
wicked slick
beats bleat
complete insider
Out to play
The Green Mill pill
Even the earthworms are dancing
leaves crinkling bent smiling
heron reflecting from Glashaboy bank
– It’s my birthday
Even Tweets are landing
Periscopes popping
Facebooks refreshing
– It’s my birthday
the day to smile
love and be loved.
Diarrorhea from Asia
followed by
jetlag
and
nose
dripping
snot.
It’s my birthday
the day to smile
love and be loved.
__________________________
Note: Composed yesterday
[If you can’t see the player below, please click here ]
__________________________
Getting hammered in Malaysia
pelted on by heavy water
flared by lightening
assaulted by thunder gods
– as if I’d been cosseted in the womb and sucked outside
– so unlike the Malay.
Raindrops are not under your command
we are sent to clear your air
disrupt the haze
silence your cough.
Nothing lasts.
Nothing continues
Nothing sits on top of you
unless lightening strikes your heart
and takes your breath away.
Flying to Malaysia is like
sailing to Antartica,
Trekking to Tasmania
eloping to Ethiopia
cycling to Shanghai
potholing through Rockies
ballooning beyond Bolivia
rowing to Rumania
– It’s a confidence act.
It takes imagination to dream
and courage to fly.
I didn’t put fuel in the airplane
didn’t oil the engine
nor train the pilot
nor test the emergency exit
I didn’t chart the course
didn’t make sure the co-pilot took her medication.
I simply trusted an imagination I didn’t invent.
Unknowing the Indian Ocean
the Bay of Biscay
the gulf of Hormuz
the mouth of the Brahmaputra
and why the earth isn’t a perfect sphere.
If Malaysia didn’t exist,
Rhodes would have invented it
and I might have plonked it
out of sight
so we could amuse each other with questions like
“What would you do if
you were born in Tajikistan
and fell from an angel’s wing
over Kuala Lumpar?”
or
“Is the square root of the latitude of the Federation of Malaysia equal to the sum of the other two sides involved in the revolution?”
Because you’ll never find it
unless you can imagine a black-haired boy
in an emerald green rugby jersey
shouting “Ireland, Ireland”
as he snapchats his way from KL to Cork.
I failed my mother and father
– so they had more children.
I failed to like cod liver oil, tapioca, even semolina.
I failed to grab the offer my father made
– so the brothers got the business.
I failed as sociologist
– so I became a bus conductor.
I failed as a conductor
– so I moved on to be a manager.
I failed as a manager
– so I became a leader.
I failed as a leader
– so I became an owner of my own business.
I failed as a husband
– so I found another wife.
I failed as a father
– so I had another child.
I failed to live forever in England
– so I sailed back to Ireland.
I failed to stop the clock
– so I faded by the day.
I failed to be satisfied
– so I changed the world
I failed to find the answer
– so I learned be a poet
With that track record
– what chance do you think I have?