Uroborus is most commonly seen as a serpent locked in a constant cycle of eating its own tail. The image is used to represent the eternity of nature, creation being consumed by destruction only to bloom once more into the infinite.
Art is equally cyclical and as the greats of our time rise, they are destined to fall and be replaced by others.
I intend to produce an A5 journal under the guise of Oroborus showcasing new creative talents and in order to help each one rise, all contributors will be asked for a brief bio and some form of contact details (whether it be a website, email address or twitter).
This journal will not only be for people to get more of their work out there, but to also have the opportunity for interested parties to contact them about it.
So, if you want to take part then I will gratefully accept submissions on any subject to the e-mail address erranttentacles [AT] googlemail.com in the following formats:
Poems
Short Stories
Commentary
Artwork
Photography
Comics
Please keep in mind that everything needs to be able to fit on A5 pages, maximum submission lengths for written work is 2 pages, for comics 4 pages and artwork 2 but bear in mind only the cover and its inside will be printed in colour so once those 4 have been taken up only black and white submissions can be taken for the inside.
The aim is to have the first edition out by June and a website will be created to coincide with the release. From then on it will be quarterly.
Disclaimer time>
I'm afraid I cannot guarantee that all submissions will be included in the publication but you will be informed whether your work is included or not.
Unfortunately I cannot promise feedback either due to time constraints.
Copyright of all work remains with the creator.
Saturday, 22 January 2011
Tuesday, 30 November 2010
George Eadon Deakin - Monuments For Hollow Souls
So there is much rejoicing in the Northern Oak camp as our new album, Monuments has been released and is available to buy from music.northernoak.co.uk
One of the influences for the album has been the Victorian scholar, George Eadon Deakin and a brief biography can be found on the inside of the CD case should you chose to buy a physical copy of the album. In his honour there is a secret twelfth track, a recording of one of Deakin's most famous works; 'Monuments for Hollow Souls'.
The poem is dedicated to his wife Arabelle who died of Scarlet Fever at a relatively young age and captures just how dramatically the event changed his character. The misery of her loss rotting his soul completely and giving birth to a pure loathing of humanity.
His choice of literature to reference, Milton's Paradise Lost and Darwin's Origin of the Species, would have been popular at the time but I wonder if the fact both question the nature of God (whether intentionally or not) were intentional. Mirroring his own questions about his faith in the power or indeed the existence of a deity. It is rumoured, based on those final lines, that Deakin committed suicide after completing this but we have no way of knowing whether he took his own life.
Its a stark, misanthropic piece. Right up my street really...
Monuments For Hollow Souls - George Eadon Deakin
As Eve sustained on rib of man,
So shall my wife subsist on blood.
My fingers writing endless praise
To that angelic countenance
Of high virtue and scarlet heart.
When fever took you from my side
My Heaven split asunder. A
Foul caesura of my will,
Allowing rot to set within.
Diseasing my vision so I
See Pandamonium’s vile truth.
The loathsome nature of mankind
Before your purity of voice.
How dare they keep on breeding twist-
-ed progeny for work houses
And other faecal pits of flesh?
For those that understand as I
These works will serve as stern allies
My monuments for hollow souls.
My gift to a world putrid without
Her light. I am prepared now, bear-
-ing poisoned words with which to greet
My maker such a scene that I
Wonder if Darwin would permit
One of the influences for the album has been the Victorian scholar, George Eadon Deakin and a brief biography can be found on the inside of the CD case should you chose to buy a physical copy of the album. In his honour there is a secret twelfth track, a recording of one of Deakin's most famous works; 'Monuments for Hollow Souls'.
The poem is dedicated to his wife Arabelle who died of Scarlet Fever at a relatively young age and captures just how dramatically the event changed his character. The misery of her loss rotting his soul completely and giving birth to a pure loathing of humanity.
His choice of literature to reference, Milton's Paradise Lost and Darwin's Origin of the Species, would have been popular at the time but I wonder if the fact both question the nature of God (whether intentionally or not) were intentional. Mirroring his own questions about his faith in the power or indeed the existence of a deity. It is rumoured, based on those final lines, that Deakin committed suicide after completing this but we have no way of knowing whether he took his own life.
Its a stark, misanthropic piece. Right up my street really...
Monuments For Hollow Souls - George Eadon Deakin
As Eve sustained on rib of man,
So shall my wife subsist on blood.
My fingers writing endless praise
To that angelic countenance
Of high virtue and scarlet heart.
When fever took you from my side
My Heaven split asunder. A
Foul caesura of my will,
Allowing rot to set within.
Diseasing my vision so I
See Pandamonium’s vile truth.
The loathsome nature of mankind
Before your purity of voice.
How dare they keep on breeding twist-
-ed progeny for work houses
And other faecal pits of flesh?
For those that understand as I
These works will serve as stern allies
My monuments for hollow souls.
My gift to a world putrid without
Her light. I am prepared now, bear-
-ing poisoned words with which to greet
My maker such a scene that I
Wonder if Darwin would permit
Writing comics...
So in my time in the land of Sheffield I have encountered many a person and among them is the ever curious Owen Watts, who bloggers may already follow as the Crazy Fox Machine http://crazyfoxmachine.blogspot.com/ an exemplary artist whose work you can see here http://crazyfoxmachine.deviantart.com/.
Now when you meet someone who is that completely into their art, talented and looking to produce more I’m generally left thinking how I could work alongside them. The mighty O is oblivious to this as I have never taken my comic ideas to him as they are all far too overblown for the amount of time I can commit (I had visions of a 24 parts series, each one entitled and themed after a major arcana of Tarot detailing the overthrow of a Pedro Paramo type figure in a forgotten human outpost in space. I still have all the plans somewhere...) or are interesting ideas which never truly gained form.
So when Owen announced that he would be creating the comic, Doctor WTF – a series of comics by a mixture of different artists and writers – and asked if I would be interested I jumped at the chance. When confined to a story loosely themed by the Doctor Who mythos, an idea for a horror story came relatively quickly for me but the major learning experience was actually typing it up.
Everyone has their moment where they say they could write a better script than that etc but you really can’t appreciate how deceptively hard it can be. The main content of what would be said and the visual pieces was never altered but the exact wording and the number of panels was constantly changing, ranging from 2 to 3 pages in length and the text getting progressively smaller until I could make the content take up the least space without raping the English Language or damaging the character.
Its certainly given me a lot more respect for the medium, a better understanding of how to write it and a sense of anticipation for what the artist will make of my script and for potentially working on more of them.
So if there is anything that you’ve thought you’d want to try, something you could do better then go for it! It will be a unique experience and you never know what you might learn...
Now when you meet someone who is that completely into their art, talented and looking to produce more I’m generally left thinking how I could work alongside them. The mighty O is oblivious to this as I have never taken my comic ideas to him as they are all far too overblown for the amount of time I can commit (I had visions of a 24 parts series, each one entitled and themed after a major arcana of Tarot detailing the overthrow of a Pedro Paramo type figure in a forgotten human outpost in space. I still have all the plans somewhere...) or are interesting ideas which never truly gained form.
So when Owen announced that he would be creating the comic, Doctor WTF – a series of comics by a mixture of different artists and writers – and asked if I would be interested I jumped at the chance. When confined to a story loosely themed by the Doctor Who mythos, an idea for a horror story came relatively quickly for me but the major learning experience was actually typing it up.
Everyone has their moment where they say they could write a better script than that etc but you really can’t appreciate how deceptively hard it can be. The main content of what would be said and the visual pieces was never altered but the exact wording and the number of panels was constantly changing, ranging from 2 to 3 pages in length and the text getting progressively smaller until I could make the content take up the least space without raping the English Language or damaging the character.
Its certainly given me a lot more respect for the medium, a better understanding of how to write it and a sense of anticipation for what the artist will make of my script and for potentially working on more of them.
So if there is anything that you’ve thought you’d want to try, something you could do better then go for it! It will be a unique experience and you never know what you might learn...
Tuesday, 12 October 2010
Abby Brown - Backbiting
Route 57 is an online publication featuring the works of Sheffield University students and in the most recent edition there is this piece by the lovely Abby Brown.
Backbiting
She was already his as you dwelled
staring in one hand-mirror – gloomy blue.
With a dusty frame and a blueberry sheen
it reflected your filth, bedeviled your face,
making you just as blue as the glass it encased.
There were tinges of green locked
in your fleshy seams when
she bit her bottom lip and
he half-smiled. You saw and exhaled
jade sneezes from your emulous glare
your fingers curling, revolted
as the mirror gloated, bearing
your chubby eyes and bulky reflection.
Not her pastel lips, perfect for his
oaky eyes and coaly 80's hair
smelling of burnt sage and honey.
An issue of the poem that may divide opinion is the character referred to throughout. Personally I like the fact that I don't know who it is and that they are steadily revealed in descriptions through out the poem, it adds an air of mystery which draws you on (made me think of the evil queen in Snow White). However, from previous experience, it can stop some people from identifying with the poem. I would like to see more of this character though, who they are and how they proceed now those two are together.
Sound wise, it is extremely enjoyable to read with words like 'emulous' and 'fleshy seams' being very satisfying to read (The psychology graduate in me wonders if its shapes it makes your mouth form. Supposedly if you force someone to smile they will feel happier after time, whether that's down to chemical releases or cognitive disonance who can say..) and there are rhymes embedded in text which give a pleasant sound without the sledgehammer approach that most rhyme uses. There's also very good use of senses with the physical sneezing, the clear visual descriptions ('oaky eyes' is quite a unique and evocative one) and the smells such as his hair which give a lot of depth.
I confess though, I have no clue what the title is about! Something I will have to ask Miss Brown...
Backbiting
She was already his as you dwelled
staring in one hand-mirror – gloomy blue.
With a dusty frame and a blueberry sheen
it reflected your filth, bedeviled your face,
making you just as blue as the glass it encased.
There were tinges of green locked
in your fleshy seams when
she bit her bottom lip and
he half-smiled. You saw and exhaled
jade sneezes from your emulous glare
your fingers curling, revolted
as the mirror gloated, bearing
your chubby eyes and bulky reflection.
Not her pastel lips, perfect for his
oaky eyes and coaly 80's hair
smelling of burnt sage and honey.
An issue of the poem that may divide opinion is the character referred to throughout. Personally I like the fact that I don't know who it is and that they are steadily revealed in descriptions through out the poem, it adds an air of mystery which draws you on (made me think of the evil queen in Snow White). However, from previous experience, it can stop some people from identifying with the poem. I would like to see more of this character though, who they are and how they proceed now those two are together.
Sound wise, it is extremely enjoyable to read with words like 'emulous' and 'fleshy seams' being very satisfying to read (The psychology graduate in me wonders if its shapes it makes your mouth form. Supposedly if you force someone to smile they will feel happier after time, whether that's down to chemical releases or cognitive disonance who can say..) and there are rhymes embedded in text which give a pleasant sound without the sledgehammer approach that most rhyme uses. There's also very good use of senses with the physical sneezing, the clear visual descriptions ('oaky eyes' is quite a unique and evocative one) and the smells such as his hair which give a lot of depth.
I confess though, I have no clue what the title is about! Something I will have to ask Miss Brown...
Tuesday, 28 September 2010
Speak Easy @ Sheffield Hallam Hubs 28/9/10
SO I tonight I 'performed' at Speak Easy at the Hallam Hubs. A spoken word night for which the full details can be found on their Facebook page
http://www.facebook.com/group.php?gid=109264991400&ref=ts
It always strikes me as a bit strange that I can happily go and scream my head off as part of Northern Oak and yet the half hour wait for my turn had me wanting to vomit. I have a good idea why, the fact its just me on the stage without 5 outstanding individuals by my side, that it's blindingly obvious what I'm saying and I don't know the crowd so have no idea how I will be received.
Either way practice will make perfect and I'll be a King of Carnival Creation before long...
The first poem was written in the lunchtime of a Poetry Business writing day and the second is an idea I had on a trip to Chester in March, which I finally finished today.
Waiting for the ambulance
Everything is grainy and monochrome
like silent films from closed picture houses
so it’s fitting her begging tongue
can’t be heard over the crash of blood
hurtling toward erratic bellow lungs
forcing a birdcage of ribs to rise
shattered arm winds toward her
she grabs the barely raised hand
a tight knit of white knuckles
the connection that serves as axiom:
there is truth in everything
hold on...
Drive through Snake Pass
I gaze out the passenger window
into the plunging valley.
Wondering if I could
dispel those forces
that hold me together.
Skin would be lost to the winds
only to be caught in a tree,
fluttering in vain attempts to escape.
Blood would drain into the soil
returning as vibrant flora.
Organs falling and splattering
like unfortunate creatures
embedded in the road
‘til only my bones remain.
Bones covered in tiny chips and fractures
that reveal my past with rugged honesty.
Untainted by the distortions of memory.
I imagine my soul,
the vortex within them,
forcing to their surface
in flowing emerald script
the facts of my nature I try to deny.
What this body is truly capable of.
Guiding strands of promising futures.
Answers I yearn to witness...
but even if this were possible;
my eyes would have been lost as well.
So this whole exercise
would be futile.
http://www.facebook.com/group.php?gid=109264991400&ref=ts
It always strikes me as a bit strange that I can happily go and scream my head off as part of Northern Oak and yet the half hour wait for my turn had me wanting to vomit. I have a good idea why, the fact its just me on the stage without 5 outstanding individuals by my side, that it's blindingly obvious what I'm saying and I don't know the crowd so have no idea how I will be received.
Either way practice will make perfect and I'll be a King of Carnival Creation before long...
The first poem was written in the lunchtime of a Poetry Business writing day and the second is an idea I had on a trip to Chester in March, which I finally finished today.
Waiting for the ambulance
Everything is grainy and monochrome
like silent films from closed picture houses
so it’s fitting her begging tongue
can’t be heard over the crash of blood
hurtling toward erratic bellow lungs
forcing a birdcage of ribs to rise
shattered arm winds toward her
she grabs the barely raised hand
a tight knit of white knuckles
the connection that serves as axiom:
there is truth in everything
hold on...
Drive through Snake Pass
I gaze out the passenger window
into the plunging valley.
Wondering if I could
dispel those forces
that hold me together.
Skin would be lost to the winds
only to be caught in a tree,
fluttering in vain attempts to escape.
Blood would drain into the soil
returning as vibrant flora.
Organs falling and splattering
like unfortunate creatures
embedded in the road
‘til only my bones remain.
Bones covered in tiny chips and fractures
that reveal my past with rugged honesty.
Untainted by the distortions of memory.
I imagine my soul,
the vortex within them,
forcing to their surface
in flowing emerald script
the facts of my nature I try to deny.
What this body is truly capable of.
Guiding strands of promising futures.
Answers I yearn to witness...
but even if this were possible;
my eyes would have been lost as well.
So this whole exercise
would be futile.
Sunday, 12 September 2010
The Wearer by Colette Bryce
The Wearer by Colette Bryce
Here is my necklace, blister
pearls, a single garnet
for the eye, diamond sparks,
but where am I?
This loop contained a laugh,
a pulse, a throat
that arched perhaps
in love, perhaps
disdain, that warmed
this chain and knew
itself as beautiful.
Whoosh… life! A peacock tail
can stop a clock, can shock
a room to silence.
Oh I played that game,
observed the trembling
hands of men pause
above my breasts. Exquisite,
they would murmur then.
Feast your eyes, look
for me. You'll find
my books, my silverware,
my gowns, the flute
that held my wine, the fork
that carried food
to my full lips.
The set, the props, and this,
this… my vanity, that loved
the gaze that looked
at me, that bloomed
like any peacock tail
at the soft words
of a lover, who whispered
that my teeth were pearls,
my ear a shell, mother-
of-pearl, that sapphires
were my eyes
but where am I?
This is an absolute whirlwind of a poem I love it. The constant line breaks and punctuation forces you to read it quickly and its that speed which makes that final line seem so much more shocking a stop. Like a train derailing.
My one complaint though is that I don't think the line 'but where am I' should have been in the first stanza, I think it would have been better for it to appear as a surprise at the end.
With regard to the content itself I doubt you really need me to explain the fact that it is a comment on the materialistic world in which the wearer inhabits and that the person is second to the necklace, the only way the lovers can describe her is by likening parts of her to the jewellery. Her actual physical nature is lost beneath the pearls the plaintive question of where am I? borders on rhetorical as she knows, nowhere to be found...
Here is my necklace, blister
pearls, a single garnet
for the eye, diamond sparks,
but where am I?
This loop contained a laugh,
a pulse, a throat
that arched perhaps
in love, perhaps
disdain, that warmed
this chain and knew
itself as beautiful.
Whoosh… life! A peacock tail
can stop a clock, can shock
a room to silence.
Oh I played that game,
observed the trembling
hands of men pause
above my breasts. Exquisite,
they would murmur then.
Feast your eyes, look
for me. You'll find
my books, my silverware,
my gowns, the flute
that held my wine, the fork
that carried food
to my full lips.
The set, the props, and this,
this… my vanity, that loved
the gaze that looked
at me, that bloomed
like any peacock tail
at the soft words
of a lover, who whispered
that my teeth were pearls,
my ear a shell, mother-
of-pearl, that sapphires
were my eyes
but where am I?
This is an absolute whirlwind of a poem I love it. The constant line breaks and punctuation forces you to read it quickly and its that speed which makes that final line seem so much more shocking a stop. Like a train derailing.
My one complaint though is that I don't think the line 'but where am I' should have been in the first stanza, I think it would have been better for it to appear as a surprise at the end.
With regard to the content itself I doubt you really need me to explain the fact that it is a comment on the materialistic world in which the wearer inhabits and that the person is second to the necklace, the only way the lovers can describe her is by likening parts of her to the jewellery. Her actual physical nature is lost beneath the pearls the plaintive question of where am I? borders on rhetorical as she knows, nowhere to be found...
Thursday, 9 September 2010
[untitled] by Rufinus
There are days when I'm plodding along, minding my own business, when I encounter a poem which really astounds me with the ability to make me think of something in a different light. Describing it in such a beautiful way that it appears a marvel.
Here below is Exhbit N, which as a whole isn't especially good but...
[untitled] by Rufinus
How could I have known
Kythereia was in her bath,
her lovely hands letting
her hair laugh about her throat.
May she, my queen, have mercy-
my eyes saw what was not meant for me.
Her unspeakable beauty, her graces
have shamed even the Goddess.
Her hair laugh about her throat, as soon as I read this my mind was set alight. What a stunning way to describe hair? I would never have though of it laughing but now I can imagine hair moving gently around her neck as if each strand is playing with the other, it has such a positive feel and makes the mental picture of an attractive nubile lady naked in the bath come all the more alive.
It's great to find little treasures like this.
Here below is Exhbit N, which as a whole isn't especially good but...
[untitled] by Rufinus
How could I have known
Kythereia was in her bath,
her lovely hands letting
her hair laugh about her throat.
May she, my queen, have mercy-
my eyes saw what was not meant for me.
Her unspeakable beauty, her graces
have shamed even the Goddess.
Her hair laugh about her throat, as soon as I read this my mind was set alight. What a stunning way to describe hair? I would never have though of it laughing but now I can imagine hair moving gently around her neck as if each strand is playing with the other, it has such a positive feel and makes the mental picture of an attractive nubile lady naked in the bath come all the more alive.
It's great to find little treasures like this.
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