MOMENTUM: DOCUMENT

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View of the Future (Tom, aged 9)

UFOs searching for parking spots. We keep a polite distance. Pylons rigged with jump leads, tannoy lurch and gurgle: earth's grim future still as a diorama, blue from holding its breath. My headband feels tighter. I chop my head and squeeze it into my own hands.

- Cameron Brady-Turner & Sunayana Bhargava

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Blinded By The Blue

Follow me. Follow me and I can show you the path to something, A place or time, perhaps, where we are one once more. Let us walk by twilight, Meeting at the place where sky kissed sea, the only place we meet. Yet every time I try and touch you, You are always, always, out of reach.

- Cameron Bray

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Opposites Attract

We have made Grey.

She was birthed in fog and under our eyes.

Yours open, mine broken.

And now, you will never let her see me.

As if I could hurt,

as if I could do anything but hold.

She would be warm in my arms.

And I miss you.

No one knows me without you. 

We have made Grey.

She was birthed in fog and under our eyes.

Mine open, yours broken.

And now, I will never leave her side.

I will lead her way

and hold her hand

and beam my pride to the world.

  But I miss you.

No one knows me without you.

- Greer Dewdney

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Keeping Balance

I am fighting to comprehend.

  I know logic can win

and it is this I put my faith in.

Except

            “There is no need for faith”

my addled brain is urging.

It is working in overdrive to prove

it can put together a picture

from partial negatives,

building a reference collection of stills

I’ve never actually seen.

  History

and physics

and common sense

dictate;

-          that there will be a light at the end of this tunnel

-          that I will not be marooned in an ocean of absence for any longer than I would normally take to bathe

-          that when this has ended I will look back with a clarity I will pretend I felt.

  Knowing this is almost the same

as seeing,

as keeping balance,

as understanding this world.

And yet,

under the energy

of assertions

that allow me to put one foot in front of another

a child’s voice insists

I must never look up

because I cannot prove

            there is nothing there.

- Greer Dewdney

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Poet Responses: Greer Dewdney

My experience of the We Create Weekender was thoroughly immersive. From Saturday morning till Sunday evening I was performing, facilitating, writing, giving poetic help, editing, helping with directions and learning Mac technology tricks on the fly. Though it was undoubtedly hard work, I'm incredibly pleased I had the chance to see the whole weekend through. I feel the level of satisfaction I enjoyed was directly proportional to my understanding of the event as a whole. 

With regard to the personal side, the performances within the Curve Gallery were sublime. I will almost certainly never experience any performance space like it again, and that knowledge gave the occasion an extra level of importance for me. The adrenaline rush that came with breaking the silence of such a sacredly hushed space was more than enough to compensate for any nervous jitters, and the fact that we had agreed not to applaud in advance led an extra level of surreal to be added to the mix, as if the darkness, background noise and fog weren't doing it already. Given I feel every unusual opportunity should be ceased and cherished, this was a great chance to do something different. By all counts not a normal poetry gig. 

The facilitation element was a different story altogether. While I was at first pessimistic about members of the public being receptive to accostings by strangers (no matter how wonderfully official our 'poet' lanyards were), I quickly realised that people were not only interested in the project, but willing to get involved. The blog projection and neon posters did a great job of attracting people's attention as they exited the gallery, and most people were more than happy to stop for a chat about what we were doing with so many computers all set to the same page. Even from that subset, I felt a surprisingly large portion of these people were then willing to start thinking about their responses to the exhibition in a poetic way. Among the responses were some phenomenally beautiful lines and images, from a 10 year old's vision of ghost children to one gentleman's diagrammatic representation of the evolution of the disco ball. It was hugely gratifying to have it proved that people like poetry. The only slightly disappointing aspect of this part of the day was how few people were willing to record their thoughts in the sound booth. Perhaps it required some friendlier branding to make it seem less intimidating?

The final element of the weekender, the foyer performances, were very interesting. On the Saturday I found it quite difficult to connect with the performance on an emotional level, and it wasn't until I got some delineated writing time in the salon on the Sunday that I realised this was probably because my brain had been on organisation mode all day, and while the overwhelmingly different atmosphere of Momentum could shake me back into the creative mode, the foyer alone could not. Whilst I was in the salon writing on Sunday, my brain began pulling together all the exciting fragments I'd heard people come out with over the weekend, and push them into a brand new poem I ended up very happy with. This taught me a valuable lesson in the need for space to create, especially in a setting where I've been expecting myself to be logical. 

All in all, the weekender was a fabulous experience. I learnt a lot about poetry, its public impact, performance techniques, creative processes and Apple computers, all of which I'm sure I will carry with me in to the next new and different idea that comes along to challenge me. 

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Poet Responses: Cameron Brady-Turner

This weekender has been an absolute joy on so many levels. The original task of responding to the exhibition, to something so visceral and abstract, whilst retaining a voice (and trying to not say anything too fluffy) was a real challenge. Honestly, I didn't enjoy this side of the project as much as I felt I should have, but as I heard more and more poetry over the course of the weekend I began to appreciate the ingenuity that, not only the other poets, but the general public were bringing uninhibited to the task. Everyone exhausting this common stimulus through writing, rewriting, responding and re-responding seemed to me to be a real testament to the value of the creative process itself, and I feel I can take a new optimism away from this to my own writing process (to counter my chronic writer's block and procrastinating), a new mantra of just 'doing'. In the end, after so much fretting over my first poem, the piece Sunayana and I cobbled together from the blog in our hour's break was a pretty effortless exercise, and I was really pleased with it (I would never normally share something written so quickly).

Apart from that, the facilitation side of things was also fabulous. I feel I've learned a lot about what really gives me a buzz in this whole arts game; collaborating and helping other people is absolutely up there. How completely validating and invigorating it is to see people get excited about your own (often) lonely and insular passion! I will take away memories of the couple who sat down to diligently pen a whole Shakespearean sonnet of their own accord, and the countless precocious child-poets of the weekend (Tawana Gandiyah, ohmagoshh).

I can't quite believe how much we've collectively achieved over this weekend. It's been a long few days, but a pleasure, and I won't soon forget what it was like to read and be read to in the Curve.

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Interstellar Dance Floor

I remember the first time I turned lights off, on, and off and invented my own kaleidoscope. Light is always carving definition. Angular nostrils, points on shoelace and subtle fingernail damage; flooding cavities with camera lens flash, Light gas seeps into our sponge flesh Here, the smoke helps us weigh less. But in dark rooms, we switch our eyes off. Reading braille love letters on ribbed scar, protruding bones- Your lungs exhaling hymns in the church of your rib cage. The darkness holding you in like a tide waiting for the moon's blessing. Your prayer balanced on my echoes. Together, we slow dance in satellite ballrooms, wearing comet tails for dress and Saturn's rings forming the brim on your hat. But we are slowly falling back on to gravity's lap. Now dawn yawns like a shop just opened, the flicker of a filament bulb waking over the horizon. Darkness stows away and daylight has arrived to interrogate us. Sunayana Bhargava 

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Poet Responses: Cameron Bray

I felt really at home, the first time I saw the exhibit. The randomness and the darkness was very calming. My poem tried to convey that this was how I felt, that this was a place I wanted to share with people.

Performing at the Barbican was an incredibly daunting prospect. I usually have a lot of nerves about performing but in the space, in the dark, I felt at peace. None could see me and as soon as I finished, I became part of the scenery once more.

It felt fantastic to disturb the silence of the space. I was the stone through a stained glass window, the first drop on a lake before a storm. To feel my voice echo around me and to see people be pulled in as my words became the anchor in the room.

What I have really enjoyed seeing were the different reactions that people had, the contrasts and tensions that were present there. i explored these tensions in a small workshop, the results of which can be seen here. For some the exhibit was about light, others focused on the dark. Where some saw the space stretched, others felt claustrophobic and were afraid to explore the space. I learned a lot from this experience and I have a lot to take away, particularly ideas for new poetry. 

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Poet Responses: Rena Minegishi

I was so excited to write a poem for Momentum-- until I actually had to write it. It's hard! An exhibition in motion, very abstract and disorientating-- completely different from writing on an object or an incident. I think there's something about Momentum that strips people of complex thought-- the two elements we are so familiar with, light and darkness, leaves us with the most basic and honest thoughts. 

Reading my poem in the exhibition itself was an exhilarating experience, nothing like I've ever done before. I and the rest of Barbican Young Poets were a little intimidated as we felt like we would be crashing "a sacred space". But Jacob encouraged us, saying we became a part of the installation. It was incredible to see people walk up to us to listen as we recited.

Outside the exhibition, I was so happy to see many people enthusiastically leave their poetic responses. The kids, especially, are wonderful-- coming up with ingenious lines like "Motor engine is now invented, made in England (Haruki, age 5)", it reminds me that this exhibition and event is really anything you want it to be. Our poems too ranged from marine imagery to emotional darkness; I loved the organic nature of it, a single exhibition inciting the emergence of people's individuality, forming an alive, eclectic thing.

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Poet Responses: Katie Byford

The Momentum installation has been an absolutely amazing artwork to interact with and respond to poetically. There was something sacred about the space, especially yesterday, which lent our performance of the poems a dramatic weight. It was incredible to see the dynamic of the room changing as we read, although there were specific challenges such as the interruptions of children and low-level conversation which meant that for our voices to carry we had to project much more than many of us are used to. 

The responses of the visitors that we gained were an incredible insight into the exhibition; though not all treated the opportunity as a poetic challenge, there were equally valuable thoughts expressed both in poetry and in prose, and it seemed as though people appreciated the freedom of the project. This weekend has also been a chance for me personally to improve how I engage the general public with poetic exercises, which I've found particularly challenging in the past. In all, the best experience for me was seeing in action the sense of community within the Barbican Young Poets team; I've always loved the dually supportive and proactive nature of the programme, and I think the fruits of that kind of a positive environment have definitely been seen this weekend. 

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The City and the Shame

Welcome to my mind. Burning brilliant, it shines with thoughts -- I am alive -- and with this light I strike against the darkness.

Memories fade, pain lingers, lies around. Faint fingerprints found upon a knife that's pitched in shadows, sat beside some Victorian corpse. I feel the loss, lit by gaslight cast from cast iron, flickering through my night.

You are just a wanderer. I'm your guide. I know every street, each crack and cobble. Corners need no signposts, I follow behind ghosts, spectres that haunt the man who left them here.If you live here for some time Your feet adjust or your feet remember.

This place, luminous for the first time, sees murderers and thieves run off and hide and cling to their shadows. Lingering in the periphery of your eyes. Waiting in the dark with baited breath. Waiting for that flame to falter. Waiting for the snuff that snuffs you out.

Good people tend to live like moths.

Cameron Bray

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In this deep we float fall, our fingers unfurl, as if the sea is not cold. In this synchronised chaos the dolphin sounds do not translate above the surface, and the deep echoes of singing whales reverberate through us, ancient and at the same time present, as if the sea were not old. Amoebas twinkle past our eyes, beeping and humming while the submarine sonar echoes with the whales, and dances through the seaweed. Nerve endings tingle through every scale, tickle down every spine, and everything signals, communicating momentum.

Indea Barbe-Wilson

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Digital-Pastoral

The tethered moonmurmurs in code, washing ashore twelve signals drenched in blinks and circuits. Blood clouds the electrical workings, there under the skin in darkness, where a lanternfish swallows echoes as they glitch inside its gilled architecture. The remnants, sharp stars, wound: clasp the smallest limbs and shake: pendulums lovely, breathing. The moon drips from its vein: first under your eyes, then hardening in your lungs.

Rena Minegishi

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Barbican Young Poets perform their poetic responses in UVA's Momentum exhibition.

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Momentum Write-Up: Saturday

Today the Barbican Young Poets have been on stand-by at the exit to the Momentum exhibition in the Barbican’s Curve Gallery, and it’s been a thoroughly challenging and fulfilling day. We were overjoyed at the level of interest from the general public, and with the variety and quality of the work that’s come out of it. From 6 year old Misha comparing the swinging lights to flying flower-pots to 75 year old John who was reminded of the air raids of World War Two, the immersive nature of the installation has prompted people to document their thoughts through poetry and prose alike.

Those who recorded lines or phrases from their work were heard throughout the day as part of a soundscape, continually shaped as recordings were gathered. The poetry salon, run by Will Tyas and Antosh Wojcik, produced a fantastic group piece. This was performed in conjunction with responses which the poets wrote to people’s thoughts on the exhibition.

For the poets, the highlight of the day was performing our own responses to the exhibition in the Curve Gallery. Performing in the gallery was an empowering, liberating experience; it gave us a chance to adapt to the challenges of the space and to learn how poetry can actively affect the experience for viewers of the installation.

In all, it’s been a great start to the weekend, and we are excited to see what other responses people generate tomorrow.