Commonword Blogs

At the end of my last post I mentioned an Apples & Snakes project I'd recently got involved with, which has resulted in the first finished piece of writing I've accomplished in months, so it's probably worth a mention. 

The idea behind Be There in a Jiffy... is that you register, submitting your address, and are sent a creative 'spark', an object to inspire a piece of writing. Also included is a stamped envelope addressed to another participant, to whom you send your writing, and in return receive a piece of work from someone else. You respond to this with music, performance or more writing, and send the results to Ann from A&S NW. Then there will be various workshops around the region, followed by a final performance showcase of all the work in a couple of weeks time. 

With monotonous predictability I have completely overshot the deadlines for writing and sending my work, but I'm hoping I can blame this on the vagaries of Royal Mail's delivery systems. Unless I've just spoiled that alibi by writing about it in my blog. Damn. Let's hope no-one reads this...

I was sent a compact mirror, which at first made me think 'what the...?!' and then made me wonder if Ann was trying to make a not so subtle comment about my vanity. Not really, but the spark ignited a memory of the story of Echo and Narcissus, of which I wondered if I might try and write a modern day version. On doing a bit of research to remind myself of the story, I learned that Pausanias, a Greek geographer from the 2nd Century, had a different interpretation of the story to Ovid's. In what was possibly an over-literal reading of the myth, he maintained that a youth old enough to know love wouldn't have been foolish enough to fall for his own reflection, and postulated that Narcissus had a twin sister who looked identical to him. She was killed, and he was so stricken with grief that he used to gaze at his own reflection, imagining that he could see her in his own face. I was quite taken with this idea as, although it negates the mythical/symbolic nature of Ovid's version, it makes Narcissus a more sympathetic character to write for. As Narcissus would have been an adolescent I deliberately tried to keep the language simple, as he pens a letter to Echo, explaining his rejection of her. It's still a first draft, as usual, and might be a touch mawkish, sentimental or just plain cheesy, but have a read and let me know what you think:

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Hey.

I’m sorry about the
other day.

I didn’t mean to be
rude to you,

I just didn’t know
what to say.

So I ran away.

But I heard you were
pretty upset

So I thought I
should try and explain.

 

I know that people
say I’m vain,

That I think I’m so
stush

That no girl’s good
enough,

But when shove comes
to push

People chat a lot of
shit

Without knowing
their stuff.

 

See, it’s not that I
don’t like you,

I think you’re…
nice.

But I got bit by
life once

And now I’m shy
twice.

And neither is it
cos

I don’t like girls,

Right?

 

But like

Everything in this
world,

People pass away

So what’s the point
in

Projecting your
affections

Onto something you
can’t retain?

 

It just ends up
causing pain,

And some say it’s
worth it

For the joy you get
from the connection

Before it breaks
apart.

I used to think that
too

But reflection

Brought about

A change of heart.

 

I had a sister,

My twin,

We were so similar

Sometimes it seemed

Like we lived inside

The same skin.

 

Except she was a
victim

Of believing in

Romance and Glitter,

Dreamt she’d get
swept

Off her feet some
day

By some big hitter

With the smile of a
winner,

Who’d buy her fancy
dinners

Drive her around in
his bimma,

 

Always checking
herself

In that mirror,

The one I keep now,

Smoothing her
eyebrows and,

Even when we were
only going

Down the chip shop,

Pouting on lip gloss

For the imaginary

Man of her dreams,

Afraid he might not
be interested

If she didn’t look

Absolutely Pristine.

Imagine the scene

Whenever she got a
spot.

 

But I was like ‘if
Mr Star-crossed

Can’t see past the
odd imperfection,

Or even love you
more for it,

Then he’s not worthy

Of your affection

And if he tries to
show you any

You should ignore it!’

Besides, she always
looked beautiful,

There was no need to
force it.  

 

She died

This time

Last year.

Wasted away

By mutated cells

Till the only way

You could tell

It was still her

Was the light

That shone

From her voice

Like sky blue.

And then that went
out too.

 

And though in a way

She’s still near,

Things have taken on

A paler shade

Without her here.

All I see is opaque

Where I used to see
clear.

But in that opacity

I have the capacity

To still see her.

She looks back at me

From shop windows

And in the bathroom
mirror

My calm pond’s
become

A turbulent river

But when I look in
that compact

I see her face in
mine

And it’s like we
almost

Make contact.

 

So you see, vanity’s
not the reason

I look at myself so
much

That when other
people come along

I don’t see them

And it’s not true
I’ve not noticed

Your glances -  

Chances are

If I wasn’t so numb

I couldn’t feel them

I’d return those eyes.

But under different
circumstances.

In a different time.

 

Because while I
still pine

For the loss of a
light

I couldn’t rage
bright

Enough against to
stop it dying

I can’t be yours.

You can’t be mine.

So there’s no point
in trying.

I’m sorry. I can’t
get no

Release so please
just let go,

I don’t want you to

Waste your time

On an echo.