written and posted by members of Lancashire Dead Good Poets' Society

Showing posts with label Jeremy Deller. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Jeremy Deller. Show all posts

Wednesday, 30 August 2017

ESP - gift or a curse?

It doesn't matter whether you were raised under the eye of organised religion, were nurtured by a hippy earth mother or have a sound scientific background, at some time in your life you will have come to question your own belief in ESP (Extra Sensory Perception).  Psychologists have devised scientific experiments to try to prove or disprove the fabled ability to predict future events. 

From biblical prophets advised to prepare for impending doom by an unseen God, to Nostradamus who predicted virtually every natural and man made disaster that has ever or will ever happen, right through to Derek Akorah who claims to commune with the dead while visiting Britain's spookiest residences, we are all curious. We are all eager to know what lies ahead.

People, (especially women),  are drawn to have their fortune foretold by a gypsy for a small fee. Some venture into the realms of the supernatural seeking advice from Tarot cards or spiritual mediums. The death of a loved one can be devastating and it is perhaps understandable that vulnerable people often seek answers from those who might exploit them. Perhaps I am too cynical but if someone offers to speak to your dead relative when holding out their hand for payment, I would smell a rat.

Sir Arthur Conan-Doyle actually popularised spiritual medium-ship, publicising his own adventures and experiments with table-tapping and glass moving. During WW1, so many young men were killed that many bereft people turned to spirtualism to bring comfort. Tales were rife of the spirits of dead soldiers coming to sit among the living as the nation tried to cope with the enormity of the loss: Almost every family had lost someone to war by Armistace Day in 1918. Jeremy Deller tried to capture the effect with 'We are Here' , his 2016, living memorial to those killed on the first day of the Battle of the Somme a hundred years earlier. It was a wonderful piece of street theatre in which I was honoured to participate.

Well then - do 21st Century Britons believe in ESP? We watch a heck of a lot of sci-fi. We read loads of dodgy information on the internet and we are entertained by movies like The Sixth Sense by M Night Shyalaman and The Others (starring Ms Kidman) in which people who don't know their post-mortem status, walk among the living. We have all seen Derren Brown, controlling people's minds on TV or perhaps on stage. He is a very intelligent man who has perfected manipulative techniques that could convince almost anyone that he has the power of second sight, that he can read minds, predict future events. 

I like to tell people that I recently discovered that I am psychic - because it says medium on the label in my panties. That one always gets a laugh but I use it as a deflection. If I ever told you the truth...





Extra Special People

I believe we all have power to see
when travelling transcendentally.
I often venture – it sounds absurd
to witness events that have not occurred
I have, in the past, witnessed a crime
as if watching through holes in space and time
and journeyed to places unknown to me
to help right a wrong and give testimony.
I can’t intercede in my dreaming state
but my statements usually resonate.
I once approached, over someone’s shoulder
watching him observing a murder,
he shuddered, looked into my face afraid,
as if I had walked on top of his grave.

I once levitated, roused from sleep
by a child in white standing at my feet,
she beckoned to me but I wouldn’t go,
I was only nineteen and I didn’t know
what reason she had to visit me -
her attention,  a frightening novelty.
An angel, a spirit,  hallucination,
a figment of my imagination?
From that day, others appeared
and gradually I conquered my fears.
Sometimes I hear them but I am aware,
and when I see them, they like to share.
Often they ask me to clear up a mess,
bring others to justice and help them to rest.
 
Once or twice in lucid dreams
I’ve known exactly where I’ve been,
I note the signposts I am shown,
guided to places I’ve never known.
I dreamed I won twice on the lottery -
the very next week it happened to me.
On a sunbed, I had a flash premonition
showing a three vehicle collision,
Sadly the car in the middle was mine,
I couldn’t avoid it, I didn’t have time,
at the moment of impact I derived, 
that I was certain to survive.
I think I went back to a safer place,
my spirit set free by a moment of grace,
released from the wreckage without a scratch
amazing fire-fighters who saw the crash.
 
I once saw things, told people straight,
but now I wait, I cogitate,
if you knew what lay in store you, 
you might rearrange the things you do,
and cause a time anomaly,
impacting on others easily.   
I wouldn’t profit from ‘propheteering’,
I don’t do spiritual engineering,
but maybe if I saw a friend,
who could avoid a sticky end,
I might be moved to help them out,
I might just tell them to 'look out'.
But be careful – if I call on you,
it might be with the boys in blue.
I see dead people too.

Thanks for reading.  Adele

Thursday, 7 July 2016

Blues - I have one connotation and need the other.

Blues noun
plural noun: the blues
  1. 1.
    melancholic music of black American folk origin, typically in a twelve-bar sequence. It developed in the rural southern US towards the end of the 19th century, finding a wider audience in the 1940s, as blacks migrated to the cities. This urban blues gave rise to rhythm and blues and rock and roll.
  2. 2.
    Formal
    feelings of melancholy, sadness, or depression, .
    "she's got the blues"
    synonyms:depression, sadness, unhappiness, melancholy, misery, sorrow, gloominess, gloom, dejection, downheartedness, despondency, dispiritedness, low spirits, heavy-heartedness, glumness, moroseness, dismalness, despair;

Here comes the rain again.  This week I promised myself some sunshine but I had forgotten that Wimbledon is in its final week, hence intermittent showers will persist until at least Sunday. I ran around yesterday, like a headless chicken, tidying my garden in anticipation of the Thursday green bin collection. I have paid Wyre Council an extra £30 for this service and am so determined to put out a full load every two weeks, that I was still trimming privet as the light turned to rose. Despite a sky overloaded with black, tower-blocks of cloud, the twilight sky was awash with soft, delicate shades of pink.

I needed to do some gardening. I was getting the blues. Correction - I have been feeling more than a little blue for some time. I am in a low mood, although life is busy and that usually keeps the blues away, something has triggered bad feeling in me that I don't usually have when things are going reasonably well. So why do I feel so low;
  • I have over 90% responsibility for my Mum's care. 
  • I have been working behind the scenes on the #wearehere project - most Sundays and Wednesday evenings for the four weeks prior to 1st July - and although this has been an incredible experience - I haven't really had a 'day of rest' in a while.
  • My family have all visited from all over the country, Spain and Canada. They all have wonderful lives and sun-tans. I haven't had any sunshine since last September.
  • I have become a compulsive cleaner - really I can't go anywhere without cleaning. However, should you invite me round, out of the blue now that I have imparted this knowledge, I will know that you have an ulterior motive. I will not come round unless you promise to lock away all your cloths and cleaning products. 
  • I need a Jazz fix.  It is a very long time since I went to any kind of Jazz scene event. This is terrible. Kula Shaker were great but I am a Jazz lady. Courtney Pine at Lancaster Jazz Festival was great - but eons ago. I need Jazz and I need it now.  
  • My own baby girl is about to become a mother for the first (and she says, last) time.  Unfortunately I think that I have been so in love with her bump and so busy looking at Gran-Baby things that I may have been errant in my duties as her mother. You see she thinks that being pregnant is the difficult bit...
  • My son and his girlfriend have been in Lanzarote this week. I seem to have been force-fed football, beer and pretzels. I do like a bit of footie - but four internationals in one week? I haven't had to watch so many matches since Egypt 2002, when England beat Germany and Argentina in the World Cup. Oh how I miss the heady days when we could actually kick a ball into the back of a net. I am writing this on Wednesday and will have to watch Wales annihilate Portugal this evening. (I had to come back and edit this - Portugal won 2-0). 
So there it is, in a rather protracted nutshell. The reason I am feeling, blue, depressed, melancholic, low, despondent and heavy-hearted is "all of the above."

Thinking about the tragic loss of twenty-thousand young men on the first day of the Battle of the Somme put my own woes perfectly into perspective. Last Friday I took a little time to encounter local lads, all volunteers, who paraded silently through Blackpool and Wyre streets in WW1 uniform.  They have spent eight weeks, sweating, rehearsing their tableaux every Wednesday night and all day most Sunday's, to help realise the vision of Turner prize winner Jeremy Deller's incredibly moving tribute to the soldiers who died that day, one hundred years ago.

We have all shared WW1 stories as part of the assimilation. Mum had photo's of her Uncle Bob who served in the Army Air Corps, (the fore-runner to the RAF), I shared them with the lads, to help them get their moustaches right for the period. I accompanied them to a mass rehearsal at the old Granada TV studios in Manchester. That day, I was lucky enough to meet Jeremy Deller and the very lovely Emily from The National Theatre . It has given me some insight into the choreography and the intended impact of the small,white cards, given to the public by the young actors, each bearing the name of a soldier who died on 1st July 1916.

This was to be a WW1 centenary that would connect with people during their morning commute, sitting having a coffee or walking in our nation's city centres.  People who were busy thinking about anything but the sacrifice made by our fore-fathers 100 years ago.  The effect of the piece, for anyone who encountered it on Friday, may have been immediate or perhaps they shared their feelings later, with friends or colleagues. Twitter went over the top that day.

I wasn't allowed to talk about the project, known as Octagon, under threat of excommunication and for a communicator and press officer that is a very big ask. During the away-day at Manchester, I did have a little time to sit in a corner of the floor and write. I emailed the poem to Jeremy last Thursday: my way of getting in early to thank him for his wonderful gift to our great nation. "Bless 'em all... the long and the short and the tall."
 
 
 
Passing On

Khaki and canvas kitted lads,
Caked in grease,
Bathed in terracotta clay,
Earth-worn knees and elbows
Kitted, booted, belted,
Tin hats at the ready
For another trench filled day.

This is not war,
This is loss.
Loss revisited on a bustling street.
Organic: Seamlessly spontaneous,
Mindfully rehearsed,
In studios,
In secret.

This is loss,
Encountered by a new generation.
A high gloss generation,
Eye-glued to technology,
Nails, hair, clothes,
Styled to perfection,
For another carefree day

On this first day of July,
Spirits of our war-dead
With the living intertwine.
Not in prescriptive poem,
Nor in a staged and scripted play,
Each of twenty thousand men
Are resurrected and remembered,
In an extraordinary way.

On this anniversary,
The soldiers of the Somme
Sit beside us, stand among us
As a century of barriers
To sharing unimaginable loss
Crumble into wind-blown dust.
A living, breathing,
Monument to Peace,
Engages us in voiceless volumes
And passes on.  

Adele V Robinson (for Jeremy Deller - 1st July 2016) 
 
Thank you for reading folks. Be kind to each other. Adele