Poetry Suite: Brian S. Ellis
“I speak and the snow comes.
Here we spread the voice.”
Poetry by Brian S. Ellis
"Seer" live at the Lab (7/21/12) - by Shane Myrbeck + Emily Shisko.
"Seer" addresses the universal desire to know the future -- something for which society is always developing intricate methods, but which, throughout time, we've been incredibly bad at doing accurately. The sound art piece is in 5 movements, each using a different historical example of this phenomenon. Movements 2 and 4 involve an instrument built specifically for this piece -- an Arduino-based light table controlling computer synthesis parameters. This table involves pieces of translucent acrylic lit from below with LEDs. Amongst these acrylic pieces are light sensors hidden in wire trees. The instrument is played by blocking the amount of light to a given sensor, which sends a dynamic resistance value to a unique sonic component.
Poems written in response to “Seer”
Movement 1 (Bones): The Process of Consulting Oracle Bones
In the cave I can see inside my skull outside the body
The Angels speak like melting glass
I am beneath the rain, the arms of vision wrap
around this dark trunk, my body
these miles and miles
all in the cave.
In the cave all the colors are my skull
I see you so I sing the drinking water. I sing the fragile
elements. Take the frozen from the water I told you
beyond the bright. I tell you this more than sun say the other side
of blindness.
Look, my mouth has fallen into the well.
I know you can breathe water. Radio than ice in the dark.
Fresh knife glitter in the stone are glisten then
solid, backward, moving, deeper. Cave the top of the wind.
Bottom of the chalice. Sharp as the inside,
here, beyond the deep.
+ + +
Movement 2 (Seeking): Instrumental, for Light Table and Organ Chimes
open: then, begin:
smell the heavy rank of neck fur
on the tips of cold during the march
march the movement speak hollow
door confusion when earthen
drowning terrible poison hallway
let surprise tell me sober mountain
autumn grievance backwards hunter
burning impossible rust dream:
swallow open nest-tooth
under air gutter
secret plummet broken sound
for compass over torn the map and
my doctor how the dead jewelry takes the music.
I speak and the snow comes.
Here we spread the voice.
+ + +
Movement 3 (Stars): Horoscopes of People on the Day That Something Historically Important Happened to Them
Said the letter here a name to
wear it in the mirror at the
coat check slide this on see
how it feels it only costs said
thank you right on the letter
as perfect as a stamp, yes
sir you’ve made a fine decision!
+ + +
Movement 4 (Seeking): Instrumental, for Light Table and Organ Chimes
Now we are open;
The lines of snow to traces the outline
the fingers of the air
hollow makes the waking volume
huge like a question, faster, okay,
Faster. Yawning molten tower choir
mountain chisel more the sea
total math the coin forest milk drum
sow the fire gem strong
with clasp gorge full tablet
vision chain the sightless, with cave
breathe past in fire, more fire
more drum than stars choke
more through the metal you like skin?
then you’ll love the size of the earth
eyes swallow in rings grow or
machine with future gold all alien the answer
history all atlas
still empty left with hunger
thus we see continue, doctor.
+ + +
Movement 5 (Vapors): The Final Words of the Oracle at Delphi
One day when you live above the stars we will look down and use the cities to navigate by. You will be unrecognizable then, as dream as all the dreams the dead have had. The cities will burn with lamps that no one tends and the lamps will never close their eyes and they will speak no language. You will see the ships of glass and gold pass between the lamps and think that this means some ancient thing and will try to read our fate in this emptiness, the emptiness that will howl all the names until the end of time.
+ + +
Brian Stephen Ellis was born in Manchester, NH and currently lives in Portland, OR. He is the author of three collections of poetry; Uncontrolled Experiments In Freedom, Yesterday Won’t Goodbye, and American Dust Revisited.