Reading in Chester

Belonging

Here's the redraft of the poem written at Manchester Museum

Belonging

We came from somewhere and now we are not there - 

we journeyed across the miles, the centuries

and over the strange lands of our own lives,

sometimes with nothing more than our names, our faces - 

the death mask, the label and the few things

we  fastened to ourselves with buckles we crafted

from iron or gold. We pinned ourselves 

to the world around us by our naming of it. 

We remembered ourselves in the stories

we shared, in wolves and forests. 

Like tea or cotton we belonged not to the land,

the trader, the user, but to ourselves, though collected

and dispersed. Alongside dodos, tree-frogs, moths,

we belonged to places and the place changed. 

We carried the few coins it seemed we owned

until they left our hands for the hands of others. 

We made ourselves in things, in the guard for a sword,

in paper, in gold. We watered crops, collected butterflies,

heard ourselves in bird song, and caged the birds.

We became the coin, the buckle, the dagger. 

We made sanctuary for small pulsing amphibians

in tanks. We try, somehow, to hold the world

together, with small buckles and bandages as we bind

our dispersing bodies with cloth. We buried our coins

and our dead to keep them close. We named the place. 

But we are always leaving, like exhibits in crates,

cases lying empty, waiting for work to be done –

until it seems that where was never the thing at all. 

Belonging... at Manchester Museum

Today I've visited Manchester Museum to write a poem with the help of Dmitri, filmed by Mollie. I used a methodology that Claire Collinson shared from her work at Kettle's Yard.

Dmitri and I had previously discussed both the themes - Migration and Water - at quite some length, so I took the notes from those discussions and came up with two lists of 10 words.

Water: Pollution, Transport, Flood, Power, Sewage, Life, Clouds, Pond, Boundary, Thawing.

Migration: House, Money, Community, Belonging, Banishment, Symbols, Home, Smuggling, Settling, Survival.

I picked one randomly as a starting point - Belonging and then we went on a tour of several galleries, through archaeology, ancient worlds, the Manchester Gallery, natural history and up to the vivarium. As we went I looked for objects which related to the theme and to the object before, creating a chain of words on post it notes. Mollie filmed me at each other objections, chatting about my choice.

We took the post-its back and Mollie filmed Dmitri and I discussing them and then I went off for coffee and bruschetta and to make a first draft. Mollie then filmed me reading it (from many different directions!).

It'll be a little while before Mollie has the film finished - and I still need to work on my draft. But here it is for now.

Belonging

We all came from somewhere and now we are not there - 

we have journeyed across the miles, the centuries

and over the strange lands of our own lives. 

We brought nothing more than our names, our faces - 

the death mask, the label. We gathered our few things

round and fastened them to us with buckles 

we craftedfrom iron or gold. We pinned ourselves 

to the world around us by our naming of it. 

We carried a few coins, it seemed  we owned 

them until they left our hands for the hands of others. 

We remembered ourselves in our stories

in the wolves and forests of our origins. 

We found ourselves in others, we shared

our names with them, and our faces.

We were gathered and we were dispersed, 

collected and cast out. Like tea or cotton

we belonged not to the land, the trader, the user, 

but to ourselves. Like a dodo, tree-frog, moth

we belonged to a place and the place changed. 

We made ourselves in things, in the guard

for a sword, in paper, in coin. We watered crops

and collected butterflies. We heard ourselves

in bird song and caged birds to hold them to us. 

We became the coin, the buckle, the dagger. 

We longed for sanctuary. Sometimes we built it

for small pulsing amphibians in tanks. We are trying

somehow to hold the world together with small buckles

and bandages as we bind our dispersing bodies

with cloth. We buried our coins and our dead

to keep them close. We named the place. 

But we are always leaving, like exhibits

in packaging crates, cases lying empty, waiting

for work to do done - until it seems that where

was never the thing at all. 

Review - Under the Radar

Delighted to read this wonderful review by Alison Brackenbury in Under the Radar