I have a new website for my photography and poetry.
www.barnabytydeman.com
:-)
www.barnabytydeman.com
:-)
10/28/2016
5/11/2016
Tidbits from my Sicilian residency; 3
For the winter of 2015-2016, I was the caretaker of an organic farming project in the centre of Sicily, in the forest-valleys by the ancient hill-town of Morgantina (modern Aidone). I arrived in September 2015, and left at the end of March, 2016; in-between lending a hand in orchards, rivers, and workshops, and maintaining the vegetable beds of the farm itself, I wrote an epic poem about an earlier period in my life: my time in Greece, 2010-2013, during the crisis. In December, Etna erupted; I took this panorama from the public 'balcony' of Aidone.
4/27/2016
—in a midi skirt, a stiff one/
—in a midi skirt, a stiff one/
jutting out/ with ripped tights on/
I’d scored some work, and spent the afternoon
in Notting Hill, looking at the faces
of undercover policemen/ in speeding unmarked cars/
I rode around, making eyes with women;
jutting out/ with ripped tights on/
I’d scored some work, and spent the afternoon
in Notting Hill, looking at the faces
of undercover policemen/ in speeding unmarked cars/
I rode around, making eyes with women;
did I tell you about my childhood?
A pint of beer, and a packet of salt and vinegar.
The crisps were for me, and the beer ...
You know what I’m saying.
A pint of beer, and a packet of salt and vinegar.
The crisps were for me, and the beer ...
You know what I’m saying.
It was 44 miles, round trip:
I thought of dweebs I’d known,
& how I rarely had to see them;
I cycled with no hands, to the Serpentine,
past the really really rich people
who were pretending to be interesting,
the really really rich people,
who were perversely some kind of tourist magnet
I thought of dweebs I’d known,
& how I rarely had to see them;
I cycled with no hands, to the Serpentine,
past the really really rich people
who were pretending to be interesting,
the really really rich people,
who were perversely some kind of tourist magnet
& I rode the slipstream of a bus, through Fulham,
there was a paparazzo in Chelsea,
but the *famous* rich people? They were just a decoy;
there was a paparazzo in Chelsea,
but the *famous* rich people? They were just a decoy;
someone in lycra overtook me,
I was riding a heavy bicycle, in corduroys,
and I pulled that trick, where I suddenly caned it behind him/
I took his wheel, & rode his slipstream through Putney,
I was riding a heavy bicycle, in corduroys,
and I pulled that trick, where I suddenly caned it behind him/
I took his wheel, & rode his slipstream through Putney,
“We plebs know our place,” I’d joked,
“Oh, and where’s that?” she’d asked, looking at me,
“Oh, and where’s that?” she’d asked, looking at me,
I dropped the peloton behind, wearing a shirt, and with luggage;
although soon enough, in turn, a beefy guy in lycra would drop me;
although soon enough, in turn, a beefy guy in lycra would drop me;
“At the barricade,” I said,
“with a knife in the boot,
no turning back,
holding a fucking rifle.”
“with a knife in the boot,
no turning back,
holding a fucking rifle.”
4/08/2016
On Worthing Pier
It was the nightclub
on Worthing Pier, she was inside
some windows/ in 1996/ I walked around
the decking, of the pier/ black lipstick/
the graffiti in the toilets, by the pier,
the condom machine,
she was sailing on the pier/ she was in a special,
unlit room/ over the ruins of swept-away villages
dusk-runs to Ferring and Littlehampton
I wanted to be in that room/ blonde hair black clothes/
glinting glass and mirrors/ they rode a chariot
pulled by dolphins, in the Brighton basements/
my brother wanted to ride it/ she was half sea
and half air/ all sun set/ eye contact, through the window/
I wanted to be in that room,
appreciating the darkness
on Worthing Pier, she was inside
some windows/ in 1996/ I walked around
the decking, of the pier/ black lipstick/
the graffiti in the toilets, by the pier,
the condom machine,
she was sailing on the pier/ she was in a special,
unlit room/ over the ruins of swept-away villages
dusk-runs to Ferring and Littlehampton
I wanted to be in that room/ blonde hair black clothes/
glinting glass and mirrors/ they rode a chariot
pulled by dolphins, in the Brighton basements/
my brother wanted to ride it/ she was half sea
and half air/ all sun set/ eye contact, through the window/
I wanted to be in that room,
appreciating the darkness
4/02/2016
Tidbit from my Sicilian residency; 2
A silly film about Bronze Age bull-head rituals in the Near East. I made this during a break from writing my epic poem, while in residence in Sicily for the winter of 2015-16.
/~-/~-/~-/~-
I used your love letter for directions
the one where you wrote you were going to Salerno
on the bus, and stopping at Rimini
for the antiques market
I bought an embossed photo album
made in Venice. Sleeping on the Po Delta dunes
the sleep freezed and infused
and the bubbly prostitute at the industrial port
opposite Venice
making eye contact/ her cola bottle/
in Venice the staircase
above the canal, to the room,
the canal and the windows
were stained glass creeks/
the canals replicate the beauty
of creeks, mixed with alleys
of a palace/ of gardens/
and the students from the design school
on the piazza, the campo, with glasses of wine
for eighty cents, the students were good looking
& it was like the Poets' Cafe
in Cocteau's Orphée,
where the poets start to brawl
and death comes by on motorbikes
and I sat in the steps to the water
taking discreet photographs
of the students,
the crab was walking on the steps in algae
and the students were like sea creatures
the rock pool of the campo
and everything had one or two pieces
of very special jewellery,
like the crab's claw/ its luminous shell/ everything
was subtly hung
with precious stones or metal
or draped to the floor in a long coat.
Crawling out of algae.
Libraries in the creeks.
the one where you wrote you were going to Salerno
on the bus, and stopping at Rimini
for the antiques market
I bought an embossed photo album
made in Venice. Sleeping on the Po Delta dunes
the sleep freezed and infused
and the bubbly prostitute at the industrial port
opposite Venice
making eye contact/ her cola bottle/
in Venice the staircase
above the canal, to the room,
the canal and the windows
were stained glass creeks/
the canals replicate the beauty
of creeks, mixed with alleys
of a palace/ of gardens/
and the students from the design school
on the piazza, the campo, with glasses of wine
for eighty cents, the students were good looking
& it was like the Poets' Cafe
in Cocteau's Orphée,
where the poets start to brawl
and death comes by on motorbikes
and I sat in the steps to the water
taking discreet photographs
of the students,
the crab was walking on the steps in algae
and the students were like sea creatures
the rock pool of the campo
and everything had one or two pieces
of very special jewellery,
like the crab's claw/ its luminous shell/ everything
was subtly hung
with precious stones or metal
or draped to the floor in a long coat.
Crawling out of algae.
Libraries in the creeks.
3/23/2016
Tidbit from my Sicilian residency; 1
Temple of the Dioskouroi (?), Agrigento, Sicily, January 2016.
From a sequence of epic poems I'm writing, concerning European history and environmental change.
3/11/2016
/\ /\ * \/ \/ * /\ /\ * \/ \/
when you were wearing a fluffy jumper
and I shouldered my jacket, the maroon one/ like a cloak
like a draping/ your hair fell to your shoulder and split there/
on the staircase when I turned
and I would go wherever there was work,
wherever there was a harbour/ or a station/
or windows to look in, with eyes like yours/ in the dark
and I shouldered my jacket, the maroon one/ like a cloak
like a draping/ your hair fell to your shoulder and split there/
on the staircase when I turned
and I would go wherever there was work,
wherever there was a harbour/ or a station/
or windows to look in, with eyes like yours/ in the dark
2/12/2016
stealing on the Saturday shift (Men's Casuals) at Bentall's
not realising my grandfather had worked the Furniture Department
to help my dad through Kingston Polytechnic,
not realising my grandfather had worked the Furniture Department
to help my dad through Kingston Polytechnic,
/she lent me the pound for Hampton Ferry,
I pretended I'd had one but dropped it,
I pretended I'd had one but dropped it,
/Firenze was an angled word,
made of rosewood or exotic tree secretion
turkish-delight like
spicy carmine smelling, carved and fractal,
made of rosewood or exotic tree secretion
turkish-delight like
spicy carmine smelling, carved and fractal,
/October 3rd or something, it all started
looking at each other across the Sociology classroom,
Hannah offered to pay my fine
at Hampton Court station after college,
in the morning I had seen my father
in a suit there, I was smoking,
it was a laugh for us both, to see each other,
and me being snookered like that,
he was probably standing on the platform
where it crosses the river Mole
in the mist there
looking for kingfishers
looking at each other across the Sociology classroom,
Hannah offered to pay my fine
at Hampton Court station after college,
in the morning I had seen my father
in a suit there, I was smoking,
it was a laugh for us both, to see each other,
and me being snookered like that,
he was probably standing on the platform
where it crosses the river Mole
in the mist there
looking for kingfishers
there’s this motel by a snake-nest
there’s this motel by a snake-nest
in mounds of earth, where nothing grows,
and the snakes creep in, influencing your dreaming,
there was a suitcase under the window; it had murder in it;
I dreamt this in my deepest sleep for ages, in Sicily,
in mounds of earth, where nothing grows,
and the snakes creep in, influencing your dreaming,
there was a suitcase under the window; it had murder in it;
I dreamt this in my deepest sleep for ages, in Sicily,
/he’s just this really
/and wheeled the carnival ships
along the main street of Megara
like the ancient Athenian flower festival,
the city Dionysia, opening bottles
of ancient memory of death/ and maiden sacrifice
(the mistaken murder of the peasant in Attika
who’d brought down Dionysos’ secret of viniculture;
the other peasants, they thought it was poison, & killed him,
& his daughter found him in a fountain, & hanged herself;)
the men of Megara in carnival drag, mock-shagging,
on tractors dragging ruins of trees/
opening up the seasons/
and praising what survived the winter,
including infants,
along the main street of Megara
like the ancient Athenian flower festival,
the city Dionysia, opening bottles
of ancient memory of death/ and maiden sacrifice
(the mistaken murder of the peasant in Attika
who’d brought down Dionysos’ secret of viniculture;
the other peasants, they thought it was poison, & killed him,
& his daughter found him in a fountain, & hanged herself;)
the men of Megara in carnival drag, mock-shagging,
on tractors dragging ruins of trees/
opening up the seasons/
and praising what survived the winter,
including infants,
the girl who walked around Megara in a daze, smiling
with cigarettes/ and something cold someone’d bought her:
she got pregnant at this point, when she gave birth later
her head was shaved, smiling to herself, defiant,
with cigarettes/ and something cold someone’d bought her:
she got pregnant at this point, when she gave birth later
her head was shaved, smiling to herself, defiant,
/there’s this valley nestled in London’s thickness
of boaters sleeping, and onto the canal
where the wharfs of the city glistened
with seagull movement/ their voices
of boaters sleeping, and onto the canal
where the wharfs of the city glistened
with seagull movement/ their voices
/going fishing early with my father
in the parks of Hampton Court Palace, the longwater
with its reedy banks, far-shore bushes, giant ancient
artwork/ I imagined connected to the Thames,
I held the back ropes, when we cruised up to Oxford
the great dusk-shadow
carving the Thames Valley at Runnymede
like a glacier/
in the parks of Hampton Court Palace, the longwater
with its reedy banks, far-shore bushes, giant ancient
artwork/ I imagined connected to the Thames,
I held the back ropes, when we cruised up to Oxford
the great dusk-shadow
carving the Thames Valley at Runnymede
like a glacier/