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..day 102..
..day 102..
if it is all about numbers as some suspect
you have success
whatever that is
why is that thing so important
surely it is made up and differing
for all the peoples
and creatures too
why james did they make those rules
before us
and even then ask why do we adhere
mostly
we may think we don’t
yet i feel we do mostly
sometimes glad to do so instead of
having our own
way to go
your cut and paste i understand
have been working that way some
time
i like the random nature of these
things
and do you remember did i tell
you about the walnut tress in lampeter
that failed last year and we stood and
wondered if this was an omen
of things to come
maybe it was
and maybe just maybe those clouds
yesterday were a thing too
james
i cut the…
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Three Poems by Marisa Silva-Dunbar
It’s not how she expected
I think she lost it after seeing junkies on the streets of Paris, her Paris.
The hollow eyes of strangers sucking her in. She wrote angry letters home
ranting about how she bought the lie when purchasing her plane ticket.
It was not like the movies, there were no whimsical accordions
accompanying her down the street, and she would not find Hemingway
and Fitzgerald in the charming bistros while she sipped on merlot.
Where were the women in polka-dotted scarves tied at the neck?
She’d seen them in silvery films, and pastel pictorials.
Oh, how they’d slink down the Champs-Élysées in trench coats.
She wanted to sip those women with coffee and hot milk,
swallow them in a buttery pastry and hope the communion
would transform her, that she would be elegant and eye-catching,
like the sapphire brooch pinned on a cream cashmere sweater.
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.day 101.
..day 101..
i cannot see the thread as it is on the other page
saying that i was short on red so ordered more
via the internet
two spools so
there is plenty now
now i remember that you saw the night
properly
while here we wondered, got lost in our
head
looked up and found the morning had
come pink again
scattered light in particular places
the other in shade
he says us older ones are no longer mentioned
and maybe are now back in the general population
unlike those shielded
joan of arc
springs in mind again
as does lampeter
maybe it was an omen
the nut tree last fall
that failed
had one have predicted the happenings
at that time i would not have credited it
science fiction
survivors

“Our Dad’s Soul” for Father’s Day from my collaboration with amazing artist Marcel Herms called “Port Of Souls”


Wombwell Rainbow Book Interviews: “Bella” by R.M. Francis

1, What drew you to the story of Bella?
At first, it was the open ended nature of the mystery. There’s something irresistible about things being unsolved, being a mix of hearsay, true crime and folk tale. But more than this too, it’s a central piece of urban folklore from the Black Country, and I’m really interested in what makes up regional identity and sense of place – part of it is the stories we tell each other about our locales, the Bella story runs deep in the minds of these estates.
2, How do you think the telling of the story through various voices helps the narrative?
It seems appropriate to form a novel like Bella through a multi-voiced perspective, since it’s about marginal, fragmented and liminal people, cultures and customs. Again, the Bella myth is an amalgamation of half-truths, and that idea runs throughout the novel in different guises. I wanted to create a textual version of the pub conversation – people holding forth, digressing, being interrupted, repeating themselves and echoing each other, that slowly and strangely building a collective fiction, experience and memory.
3. Why did you use dialect, and knowing how dialect can be used from the occasional word to paragraphs where it becomes like another language the reader has to learn, where did you draw the line?
The use of dialect is connected with that vision of creating a textual pub conversation, but it’s also because the Black Country dialects are so gorgeous and rhythmic. It really is poetic, especially when it’s captured with that slick working-class wit. This novel is my love song to the Black Country, and part of that is a deep admiration for the way we spake.
There’s an element of archiving at play too. Much of the peculiar turns of phrase and grammatical choices are dying out, so I wanted in some way to keep it going in some way.
And politically too, there’s something subversive and politically playful about creating very smart characters from an overlooked place, talking in a way that most people assume makes them dumb.
I didn’t really put any limit on its use. I wanted to capture as close as possible the way people talk. There are, I suppose, some limits in the way I attempted to differentiate the voices of my characters – each having their own idiosyncrasies. The Pakistani characters are a good example, littering the regional voice with Urdu in the gorgeous way Asian communities do in this country.
4. Your description of the edgelands, the verges and bits of vegetation amongst the concrete and steel becomes a character in itself, almost becoming Bella, herself.
I’m so happy to hear that came through. Thanks. It’s a Gothic tradition, and I see Bella’s landscape as a sort of Black Country Gothic or Post-industrial sublime. The liminal, off-kilter spaces are haunted zones, literally and symbolically, but also ones separate from normal rules and codes, so they’re ripe for transgression. So, yes I think you’re right; there’s a sense that the very makeup of the land is responsible for the action that takes place in it.
5. It feels like an exploration of the outsider who becomes a victim.
It is many ways, yeah. It’s a feeling of being connected and dislocated simultaneously. And I think you could see that in all the characters. They’re all outsiders in different ways. And as you noted before, it’s the space itself that triggers it.
6. I love the way you weave in the myths and legends of other cultures, like the Qarin.
Thank you! It’s great to hear that landed too. At the heart of this novel is a ghost story. A lost soul, doomed to relive her tragedy forever. It makes sense to me that a spirit or being of this nature would manifest itself differently depending on the person witnessing the haunting. This then becomes another way of showing the disparate elements that make up a place, community, and especially in this case, the genius loci.
7. There is a lot about sleep (or lack of), dreams and nightmares.
Well spotted. I think this is probably down to my obsession with Sigmund Freud’s work. I really wanted the mood or energy in the novel to be soaked with the uncanny and with abjection – more examples of that in-between-ness – and a good route into that is exploring character’s dreams. It’s also good fun for a writer – working in the abstract and unusual into the realist. I hope this makes for fun reading too; it seems to help with pace and dynamic shifts.
8. Why does Bella say “Memory is difficult”?
Two reasons for this. I see Bella as a being stuck in a sort of psychic loop, in a ghostly limbo. She’s disembodied, outside of normal space-time. So it makes sense that she’d find the usual processes of feeling, thinking, sensing dislocated too. The other side to this is the sense that she represents a collective cultural memory, and one that is fractured, full of dead ends and red herrings.
9. What is it about in-between-ness that fascinates you?
As I mentioned in your other question, I’m really keen on Freud’s work. Especially the Uncanny. At the heart of Freud’s theories is the that life, being, experience is about two poles bearing against each other. So we experience things in ambivalences. The uncanny is an experience of something both familiar and unfamiliar, homely and unhomely. By navigating these the subject comes to understand themselves with more clarity. This is a rite of passage, a shaman’s journey, and it’s at heart of narrative.
10. The sense of touch features highly in your descriptions more than the other senses.
That’s another really astute observation. I guess there’s something about physically touching the ground, the body, the concrete floor of the myth itself. And attempting to connect with things that are beyond in different ways – through death, loss, history, repression.
11. What do you want the reader to be left with after reading Bella?
Good question!
I want them to leave with a fresh and more nuanced perspective on the Black Country, wider Post-industrial communities, and on working-class culture.
But mainly, I want them to FEEL sad, hopeful, scared, repulsed and beauty-marked in equal measure. And then buy a copy for a friend 😉
A copy of Bella can be obtained here:
wildpressedbooks.com/bella.html
There is also a free ebook available
*******
Readers may find the interview I did with R.M. Francis in 2019 interesting reading:
https://thewombwellrainbow.com/2019/01/16/wombwell-rainbow-interviews-r-m-francis/
..day 100..
..day 100..
quietly i say that i like lockdown again
not. not the reason for it, just the concept
was emotional when i feel all is changing
i shall not go back
i have learned the lesson
paid the price
pat says i am joan of arc
without the fire
so it was your birthday
how lovely
i have no gift
just the daily words
james
so yesterday we spoke of it
discussed it and got to know
each other better
found
we knew the others less
i have akhenaten on my app
today so nothing much will
be done here
while i watch
it was near you at the new york met james
did you know
did you see it
i did
live streaming
and made a good friend
so again i wish you a happy birthday
at midsummer while the flowers grow
while all around is humming
yet…
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Honoured to have my poem “Unreal Wombwell” featured in “Faith, Fiction, and Friends”. Thankyou Glynn.
..day 99..
Blood – A Poem by Tyler Pennock
Blood
bones are the hardest part of us
but have you ever scratched one?
when the skin of a bone fails
marrow comes forward to knit
reclaiming what the bone struggled to hold
blood’s purpose –
each starting place a wound
each ending a geography re-made

I guess spring comes for all of us
there’s no judgement in the thaw
revealing things
long buried in the cold
and lack of movement
like a child frozen
by the sound of their foster parents stirring
as though the air was made of broken glass
waiting for the smallest twitch
but we aren’t made for stillness
and the blood must do its work

it’s in the blood we feel most unsure
because it runs wildly outward
like birds fleeing a forest fire
we can’t control how much will be lost to us
don’t know what parts will dry
which ones will stay to…
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