Poems
by Stephen Wey
|
THE UNWELCOME RETURN OF THE PRODIGAL SON
|
RED ON CRIMSON (for Mark Rothko) |
1)
am
still
on
the periphery
the
grip
is
still
weak
2)
To
frac
ture
sound
from
stone
tone
the bell
and
down the day
go
3)
and
falling
we
are
rising
and
falling
two
spent
sock
eye
Salmon
we
are
waiting
and
fighting
4)
...between
lust and terror I cling to the bed sheets
wet with the night's sweat staring up goggle eyed at the
eyecrashing ceiling loving your
complexion so early this morning...
5)
an
orange rime
a
crusty border
'round
dirty
grey
6)
Will
the shadow follow me from sleep
to
wake
will
it ride
will
it hide
will
it come
will
it spring
It
will be in each and every object
It will
7)
underwear
and
next door scratching up
to
the walls
Archie
Shepp bounces
from free daylight
*
*
slept
my mind
wanders
freely
though
at low
ebb
lapping at
the
beach eroding
nothing
depositing
silt
black
oil
condoms
money
make
it
in
all sorts
of
angles
down
and out
wards
but
nothing
takes
hold
but
floating
in
the wind
Dandelion
parachutes
some
fall
on
stony
ground
some
fall
on
plastic
some
fall
over
the
edge
is
near
the
edge
is
near
the
edge
is
in
some
in
some ways
insane
in
some ways in
sane
the
black
oil
on the edge
of the sand
sticky
smelly
shitty
sand
and
almost
but
not
quite
here
I want
to
right
at
this point
in
time
I
want
to
write
things
I
want
to wash away the nausea of the hours
to
go out into the hushed morning
air
to breath cool emptiness after
the
nightlong
grind
(is
cynicism the
only
response left
to
me,
the
tired
tarnished
wit
of
a
post
punk
post
life
poet?)
jar
my hair un
kempt
I try to
get
a grip on
myself
to
straighten
loose
ends to
tuck
them
in
to
face
a
day's
work
to
make
money
milk
and sugar
on
a
host of golden
Corn
Flakes.
curled
like
a new leaf
Fern
tight
as night
light-shiny
stone
shade
skin
stretched
knuckle-white
a
shell
a
half cone
note
1)
1 step
2 step
3 step
4
no more
or pass
out
2)
ring a ring
ring a ring
ring a ring
fall over
3)
I am there
I am there
the
in
side
4)
lined
the
path an anchor
for memories
Scot's
Pine
bark
resinous
wine
red searching for
the North Star
5)
to the border
6)
I couldn't say
I couldn't say
any thing
my tongue
my tongue thick
with death
with death
with beauty
with beauty
with power
with power
with words
7)
talk quick
don't catch
your breath
catch....
don't
catch words
catch whispers
don't catch whispers
catch...
don't catch
breath
8)
touch nothing
nothing to touch
but past
which isn't
touch the table
touch thigh
touch belly
touch nothing but
distance
look across it
breath it
smell it
cross it
nothing
will
fill it
I
have no arms to hold you with
no
tongue to speak
no
eyes to see
My
life
is
cut in two
by
Railway lines
one
half
held
in
a handful of photo's
one
half
uprooted
My
feet touch the earth
but
do not take hold
I
am going nowhere
I
am
simply going
Truncated
in
motion
wrenched
from
rich brown soil
with
both hands
Playing blind man's buff
Here in no man's land
congeals
like
drying
blood
sinking
in
to
the starved
swollen
mass
of
myself
the
Black
hole
throttling
light
from
the
sin
less
sky.
with
Famine
my
bones
bend
and snap
as
my belly
pregnant
with
nothing
heaves,
my
mouth
opening
to retch
bitter
senseless
words
that
fall back
on
themselves
flopping
fish
in
a shrinking
pool.
thing
sucked
in
stays.
seduced
by
the stench
of
decaying hope
dance
and buzz
'round
my eyes.
if
I wake
tomorrow
if
I can open
punchblind
eyes
and
stretch twisted
limbs
bent back
like
fingers
(if I could stretch and
not touch concrete)
if
I wake tomorrow
if
I wake tomorrow
I will
not
worry
about
whiptorn
shoulder
I will not
worry
about
cigarette burns
on
my balls
about
the present
I want to be open to myself.
To open myself up
like an Aztec sacrifice
on a Man made mountain top
when I cut
I will cut deep
enough to
expose
the
wound already within
to
the smoking mirror.
I shouldn't have seen you again
I
shouldn't have seen you
again
I
shouldn't have
seen
you again
and
though I kept my tongue pressed
to
the roof of my mouth
you
heard me clearly
You
just
smiled
and
talked
(as
my eyes burned into you)
like
a friend
(as
I paraded in your clothes)
Couldn't
you see that I wanted to be with you
forever
to
become you
to
be
you
but
you said goodbye
and
I never saw you again
don't
touch
I'll
explode
I'm
fragile as the glass inside a thermos
don't
stand too close
you
don't know
where
I've been
or
what I've done
but
don't keep me there
Don't
look at me
in
your radiance.
THE UNWELCOME RETURN OF THE PRODIGAL SON
so
I became dead
for
them
they
thought I fell
into
the sea
but
no,
it
was a leprosy
Oh,
how I rotted for them.
My
flesh grew numb at first
no
feeling
no
thirst
smelling
putrid
obscene
pale
for
want of blood.
Dis
coloured
sickly
green
they
dug a grave
and
placed a heavy stone
on
top.
To
keep me safe.
Built
high walls around.
To
keep me
Safe.
Dogs
sniffing and howling
around
the grounds
It
took me years to dig my way out,
fingernails
chipped and dirty
my
flesh falling from my bones
I
came home
to
be told
"you
are something rotten and disgusting!"
and
chased back to my grave
with
the dogs at my heels.
The point is not to describe the world
but
change it
A
poem does not reflect the world
but
shapes it
becoming
more real
than
a mirror
image
but
forged
in
the struggle
to
make bread
from
earth
houses
from
silence
words
fail.
To
re-forge meaning
means
to
re-create
the
world
is
to take a position
to
take the word as given
is
to take sides against us
All
that makes
sense
is
revolution
1)
is
a small child
I
take
to
my bed
to
hold
2)
tummy
is
a
not
3)
is
the friend
I
can’t
push
away
you
made
me
pregnant.
Occupying
my womb
with this tight
knot
of flesh,
tight
as a knife
twisting and turning
squirming
in my belly
pit.
and I'm empty
and I'm full
and I'm empty.
Empty of me
full of you.
she
she
swells
stronger.
Nourished
by black blood
and semen,
each breath
torn
from my
poor pink
lungs
screaming
no room
no room
in this house.
down
my ribwalls
to claw
your way
out
or will
a volcano
of bruised flesh
erupt
between
my legs
my meat locker
my larder
*
here you come
my Cannibal kid.
head first
mouth first
open wide
I won't bite
the cord
we'll never
part
but
you've your own life
it's mine
and I hold
and I hold
you
you have my eyes
my mother's
eyes.
The
trees are silhouettes
There
is no shade other than constant grey.
Something
is coming down from the sky.
There
is something menacing up there.
Up
there
I
look out of my window,
then
I'm out in the open,
out
on the ground.
I'm
staring up at the sky, trying to look away
but
drawn to the dark shapes.
Dark
shapes.
I'm
trapped by what I see.
I
feel caught up in hands, panicky,
unable
to fight back.
WHY
WON'T SOMEBODY HELP ME?
I
try to run but I just break things.
Just
destroy.
RED ON CRIMSON (for Mark Rothko)
at
the
in
your room
in
the centre.
Face
to face.
With
your birth
the
gateway
the
rythmn
pulsating
in
one
red scream
pulled
through and
slapped
out
of
the dream.
with
your life
your
struggle
to
paint the
counterpoint
of
colour the
jagged
edges
of
existence
the
raw torn
red
eyed Am
erican
sublime
with
your lust
the
blood heat of
fucking
the
burst
of
orgasm
the
head
long
forever
finding
selfhood
in
self lost.
Face
to face.
Depression
set
in the
death
of friends
loss
of hope
and
the horror
of
containment
the
stubbed out
aspirations
the
bludgeoning
crimson.
with
your death.
Suicide
the
day these
paintings
arrived
your
blood
staining
sheets
of
uncut canvas
that
intensity of red
your
life's work
darkening
in
rough edged
rectangles.
spill
over
the
front
Slicing into creamy cotton fluff
A
cushion with
a
gash in it
draped
over
paint
splashes
on
to
a leg
in
a rush of wood
*
...in
angles
the
stout sweep of back
pressing
against
the
flat plateau of seat
breaking
momentum
while
it
rallies
mass
and
continues
with
renewed force
to
insist upon it’s necessity
as
legs concentrate weight
into
four thin pressure points
digging
into the rug.
SONG OF THE MINERS TO THE LABOUR LEADERS (1983)
When our villages were occupied by Police
and we were held under
curfew
you said we must obey
the law
while our doors were
smashed
down with crow bars
and our families
terrorised
you said we must obey
the law while our
pickets were held
in scorn by Scabs
herded
through the pit gates
you said we must
"obey the
majority"
as they demolished our
houses.
you accused US of
violence
while our friends were
murdered
by Police
and Scabs
you said we should
"use peaceful
persuasion"
while our livelihoods
were
destroyed to save the
bosses profits
YOU STOOD WITH THEM - NOT WITH US
By THIS you will be
remembered.
1)
they
were
our
friends.
only
with
our enemies.
2)
when
you were in crisis.
They
asked for your help
when
they should have asked us.
they
ran to your side - not to ours.
When
you tried to crush us
they
accused US of violence.
In
life you always lay together.
Rest
in peace
together
2005