Remix circle: Re: A poem
16. jan 2010 17:41, CecilieThe following (after my explanation of the concept (: ) is a remix circle made by 5 people over e-mail.
What is a remix?
The rules for remixes are practically non-existant; Sometimes all the words of the poem are rearranged to form new meaning; Sometimes only some central word(s) or image(s) is/are reused. The idea is for the poem to go through a kind of metamorphosis, reappearing in a different form, but with some recognizable features making a certain reincarnation visible to the reader.
A remix circle is when one person writes a poem and sends it to another person; Then the second person remixes that poem and sends their remix to the third person; The third person remixes the remix and sends it to a fourth person, etc. The last person on the list sends their remix to the first person, and the cycle can then continue however long the participants want it to.
I believe the concept of the remix was either invented or made popular by the people behind the Danish poetry site digte.dk. I (as far as I know) invented the concept of the remix circle as shown in the one below. There are undoubtedly similar concepts stretching back much further into history. Unfortunately, I don't know anything about them. :)
I find remix circles to be a beautiful image of the nature of life itself, both the well-known circle of life and our more spiritual endeavours... but before I get too philosophical, here it is without further ado. :)
***
Re: A poem
Participants: Frederik, Kristine, Roger, András, and Cecilie.
***
---
Frederik
---
draped in net
there holds a place
in empty air drenched,
in dust and birds' yawn.
a group of walls, in
red, in wood in webs of
spider sleeps every corner.
i find a lost bird's scream;
wind's whistle. autumn sun
has touched my face.
---
Kristine
---
little spider spin your web
drape your dusty nets
cover the corner of my memory
where I don't want to return
I close my eyes to
a low autumn sun
within its last sparkling glow before winter
I can clearly see the red on the inside of my eyelids
---
Roger
---
for long we waited, in the mist of dawn.
our frozen breaths perfectly drawn,
desperate decoys guiding the rise
of our last hope in golden disguise.
it's rays across the snowy trees
like spider webs about to freeze,
reaching us with a shy grace
like faint memories of a lost embrace
---
András
---
Lenora called me yesterday
To ask about ingredients.
Then she sighed and said she may
Not invite her other friends.
Why did I feel struck by that?
We used to spend whole weeks alone!
But as she went on with her chat
I saw how different winds had blown.
For she has changed and I have altered
- Our social cobwebs did the same -
And I felt it, as I faltered,
That it's over: autumn came.
---
Cecilie
---
Lenora's wrinkles grow on her slowly, like a spiderweb, a weeping veil spun ever denser, erasing her face, erasing her gaze with each of the joys that mar her eyes. Near invisible in summer, the veil appears as shadows across her features in the low autumn sun, like a landscape made apparent only through the holes it makes in the light. I used to call her beautiful; Now confusing is the only word that comes to mind when I look at her faceless, pointless face.
---
Frederik
---
an invisible confidence draws
landscapes of light and glow in
the speed sifting the mind free
from time.
a landscape in pause brushing
the edge of summer, the breath
of autumn, into air dissolved it
stays behind.
in stillness of speed, a constant
stream of passing streaking the
translucent barrier; the carrier
of rain.
---
Kristine
---
streams of glowing silver reach her eyes
the full moon sends its beams into a room with no curtains
she turns her head
away from the moonlight
closes her eyes to these
carriers of cold beauty
a pause is all she wants
a dreamless night
---
Roger
---
Bitter raindrops from silver leaves
as soft poison to virgin lips
crafted carefully by sunray thieves
slide down her fingertips
Lately past dreams strike her back
with piercing pleasure and shivering pain.
Bits of innocence split under the rain
Abandonned unicorns being attacked
---
András
---
She was attacked by demons of guilt and mourning.
He could not be consoled by mint tea in the morning.
They did not know what happened to their children.
By the time they arrived, she was completely smitten.
The doctor said it was a cry for help from her part.
This did not prevent her brother's sudden depart.
It never became clear what happened in those days.
The parents kept looking for any kind of hope-rays.
She recovered, but could not bear bodily contact anymore.
He might have fled, but remained what he always was: a bore.
---
Cecilie
---
He attacked her with mint tea in the morning
and bodily contact. She remained what she always was:
bored, always suddenly departing,
looking for any kind of arrival. The doctor said
it was a cry for help on her part, but she always came back
eventually.
That did not prevent him from being
what he always was: Her brother,
beaming hope-rays at her, completely smitten.
He attacked her with mint tea in the morning
and bodily contact.
---
Frederik
---
in leaving, in departing;
bodily contact, looking for
always, and always, for
completeness in those
sudden bursts of white.
without saying, being,
without seeing, arriving;
together, remaining and
partly a cry, believing.
in mint mornings, arrival.
---
Kristine
---
just
because of the sun
the sudden bursts of white
flashing light on melting snow
the merry dripping from the roof
naked trees dancing in the wild winds of early spring
just because of this
the tears of yesterday melt away
drip from blushing cheeks
evaporate into a warm promise of new arrivals
---
Roger
---
New arrivals come and go.
And eternal hopes of sweet soundscapes
evaporate into meshes of whispers.
Flying thoughts with flying things
aim for the head of our loved beings;
some hit and change,
some miss...
and ask for revenge.
Wounds renew,
woes, instead,
review.
---
András
---
Landing and departure.
A whirlwind of mixed emotions
disappears into the constant buzz of important announcements.
Carry-on items, a suitcase, a bag
fall out from the compartment over the head
some hit and change,
some miss...
you ask for orange.
A light dream,
the clouds outside
-- whipped cream.
---
Cecilie
---
Departure is the wind
carrying a machine upwards,
into the sky.
Arrival is a suitcase
landing on my forehead in perfect harmony
with the upward motion of the plane,
as if the object refuses
to let go of its position in space.
You ask for orange
as if trying to hold on
to color and flavor,
the well-known things,
in this moment of disappearance into strange
whipped cream, cotton ball shapes.
