Emily, thank you very much for this transformation of my
poem.
There is a list of things that you have done in this film,
that I’m really pleased with and impressed by, that really do make the poem
work in a new way, and make a new piece of collaborative work ... (a kind of
work which nowadays is being called ‘film-poetry’).
Here is the list: opening on green fields and an earth path
whilst I’m talking about tarmac and a housing estate – the viewer-listener sees
one thing and hears another, the viewer-listener has to imagine that other
place whilst watching somewhere elsewhere but related. This technique of
deepening the poem’s images, and expanding the poem’s landscape, through
comparison, contrast and juxtaposition works very well throughout the film. To
help anchor the viewer every now and again you give them a direct illustration,
as with the ‘nettles’, sometimes a slightly off-at-an-angle illustration, as
with the galvanised railing fence when I mention a wooden fence ... and the
snail glimpsed to coincide with the word ‘slick’ is brilliant – witty and yet
serious.
Using a passing train, a mobile shelter, if you will, to
coincide with my saying ‘dwellings’ is extraordinary ... especially as the
train reflects the notion and experience of ‘passing’, of time passing, but
also of physical appearance and disappearance, which is exactly what this part
of the poem is about ... you have really made an extra poetic dimension here,
you have added the phenomenon of train and expanded it to confront the phenomenon
of ‘dwelling’, and carry ‘dwelling’ in a new direction ... and of course
‘dwelling’ is to ‘stay in one place’ and to live from one’s surroundings, and a
‘train’ does not ‘stay in one place’ ... the irony and critique relating to how
modern people ‘dwell’ or do not ‘dwell’ is rather powerful, and raises a number
of questions. This is really ‘film’ working as ‘poem’ ...
Your sensitivity to rhythm through matching you film images
to my syllable-music is most rewarding and exciting – it so good for a poet when
someone ‘gets’ how important rhythm is, and ‘get’s how the poet has deployed
each word to work through sound and beat. There are various places where you
deploy your images very carefully, to follow the words, or echo the words. A
fine example: the transitions through the phrase ‘a swift / whiff of it /
knifes’, and how ‘knife’ coincides with the sharp railing-tops ... and this all
enhanced further by preceding these swift cuts from image to image, by a single
slow, steady shot of the gate. Another favourite of mine: the transitions
through: ‘place / slick / wet / condom’. I’ve mentioned the snail already ...
brilliant how ‘wet’ is represented by the snail going out of focus, and then
‘condom’ is suddenly offset against the rubbish of plastic/glass bottles, as if
perhaps the condom is lost in that rubbish, but also suddenly we see how
bottles are actually similar to condoms ... this is very disconcerting, and
very affective/effective!
I’m also very struck by how you have made use of written
word, that you have filmed. The word ‘BAD’ is positioned brilliantly in a
number of ways. And the word is also revealed slowly. We first see the first
two letters of the word BAD appear suddenly as I speak the word ‘doomed’
(‘doomed’ being a ‘bad’ thing), and then you hear me say the word ‘board’ which
begins with the letter ‘B’, and so the sound of ‘buh’ is visually hardened by
the graffiti-ed ‘B’, and then I go on to say the word ‘bark’ (dog-barks), but
this word appears just after we’ve seen the letters ‘B’ and ‘A’ which are the
first two letters of the word ‘bark’, and what’s more you make the transition
to the next image right at the moment between my saying ‘distant’, and ‘dog-barks’,
and so the visual memory of the ‘BA’(rk) is distanced (behind the fence) to the
previous frame but still held in memory through sound. Even if your
viewer-listener-reader doesn’t see/hear/read or notice this with their
front-brain, there is no doubt that this is all impacting on the subconscious
... later we get to see the word ‘BAD’ revealed fully, which then harks back to
the ‘doomed’ ... and wonderfully, when you reveal the three letter word BAD
(which is in capitals) I get to say the three capital letters of BMX at exactly
the same time – more splendid layering ... so, you not only play with the
positioning of film-image and spoken word, but you are actually ‘writing’ with
printed word in this film ...
The decision to only include my voice as sound-track, and not
to add in any ambient sound background is a very good one. I think I would’ve
made the mistake of trying to add in the background sound – but the tension
between ‘the silent movie’ feel and the voice-over (or rather
voice-to-the-side) which is obviously spoken indoors, really highlights the
notion of someone observing and wandering through somewhere that they don’t
actually belong to. The voice is very close and confined, and indoors, and the
images are outdoors – another tension-enhancing disjuncture.
You’ve added an extra layer of images and rhythm, which, as
I’ve said is very exciting ... so, regarding the rhythm: In the printed-text
version of the poem ‘whiff of it knifes’ is a single line, and in the sound-track
I read it as a single line, and quickly, so that the ‘whiff’ and ‘knife’ almost
merge into each other, so that the line is like a single swift stab of speech
... and so, the listener gets to hear that single unit of line as I speak it,
whilst at the same time your images, for the viewer, break the line into three
units – this disjuncture between the single sound unit and the divided visual
units adds a rhythmical layer, and creates a tension, which really fits well
with the tense content of the poem – a poem much to do with layers of detail
and how we perceive and imagine through that detail – so your extra layering,
really is a re-imagining of the poem’s landscape, and your layering directly
reflects the layered word ‘rurban’, which of course has been made by sliding
the words ‘rural’ and ‘urban’ over each other.
I know that the poem has been ‘cut’ in half ... and I think
another film-maker might’ve been tempted to find more footage or loop the
footage to fill-out the film to ‘complete’ the poem. But I think ending on the word
‘petrol’ is very powerful. The way you’ve paced the film-poem would’ve been
spoilt by taking it further to a false ‘completion’. You have not been
‘governed’ by the poem, instead you have engaged with the poem to make what you
needed to ... this is most impressive! (Some poets might not feel that, if you
picked up and used there work like this (so take care!) ... but that’s a common
problem with poets, and indeed artists, who perhaps focus too much on their
egos and possession rather than what art in a given moment demands.) I’m strongly
aware of the very striking visual image for ‘petrol’ that you made in the
‘book’ that you showed me (the shimmering colours of which seemed to be
volatile and acrid), and so, it is of course inevitable that this re-versioning
of my poem, into your film-poem should end on that heavily laden word ‘petrol’.
This style of film-poem is demanding ... there is a lot
going on, images (heard and imagined and seen-on-film) sometimes collide sometimes
harmonise ... it requires the listener-viewer-reader to pay a lot of attention
to a confusing world, and re-visit the film, or metaphorically the landscape
... I really really like it because of that ... going poetically into edgland
landscape (which is difficult and laden with contradictions on many levels)
does demand effort and attention ...
Some of the things I’ve pointed out you will be aware of
consciously, and some of them I’m guessing you might not be ... but I’m certain
that all I’ve pointed out relates to a very strong poetic, visual, and musical
instinct, as well as a range of skills ... you should really go on playing with
word and poetics and visuals and sound ... you have a flare for it!
I hope you are pleased with the film ... you’ve certainly
pleased me, thank you!
a happy poet, Mark
