Say Something 9 Draft – Izzy Bond

1 Jun

This is based on Leeds Festival which had a carnival/party atmosphere and is from the point of view of Festival Security.

Veterans of Thursday night,

Up by Friday afternoon

With their illegal glass

Swapping names and bottles

Weaving round the burger stands

They are waterproof, synthetic

Trailing crumbs of sticky aluminium

When the bands play, I see a girl

Flung high, into the spears of up stretched hands

Surges on the crest of a wave

Away, away, away

Rolls high,

The stars and the laser smoke

Smeared across her eyes

Tumbles over the barrier

I am stone

And like all the kids,

She expects me to catch her

A glance back, and she’s faceless

Waist deep in mud, and running

Into the crowd.

They are a noiseless scream

I stand, fluorescent

Invisible under the stage

Guarded from sound and their glazed eyes

That see beyond me

Diving into cameras

As though begging for food

They do not seem to sleep

But jitter by the DJ tents

And the next night, they’re ok again

But not all of them

A man turns slow circles in Blue Camp

With his hands raised like claws

And they take selfies with him

I patrol the silent disco,

Feel the crush of senseless movement

Its unsynchronised twists

Its splutters

Of lyrics that bleed together

And dancers laced together

Until I feel I might be one of them

Their luck runs out – Monday morning

And I know now, we could not be more apart

They are pale, scattered ashes

From DIY barbeques

Abandoning tents

Like fractured road kill

Discarding their possessions

The hush falls heavier than dew

Startled by the shriek of a boy

In a tie dye peace shirt

Lynx can ignited

Breathing washed bluish flames

Scented with the fragrance

That never got him laid

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4 Responses to “Say Something 9 Draft – Izzy Bond”

  1. MouthyPoets June 2, 2015 at 10:04 am #

    Hey izzy I like this but it seems like your portraying a very tame and nice bouncer most I came across at Leeds have been utter knobs .but I do like this the last few lines kill me neal

  2. MouthyPoets June 3, 2015 at 10:34 am #

    Hey Izzy,

    Really love the descriptions in this, I can see near enough everything you are describing.

    I don’t mind how tame the bouncer is, but I did feel like I wanted more character development of him especially when these lines come around –

    “Until I feel I might be one of them

    Their luck runs out – Monday morning

    And I know now, we could not be more apart”

    Because he hadn’t really addressed the audience and his relationship to everything directly before this point and I wondered why he might be one of them and why he chose this point to talk to the reader? Or is he talking to himself? Either way I want to know why he is standing back and watching everyone and how that is effecting him, and you don’t need to tell me ‘oh I feel like this’ you can show me – who is he watching, how is he watching them, is he moving towards them, with them, talking to them? I want him to interact more with what is going on, what he is describing so visually so that when he talks about himself in relation to it I have a bit more set up of context. Hopefully all this will also tell me more about him and why he is watching everything so kindly. Does that make sense?

    I also love the ending – like Neal. It feels like a more grimy end to the more floaty, drugged imagery of the beginning and I like that contrast… to be honest I really love the language choices throughout! I just want to know more about the speaker and why he is choosing to describe them in this way and why he is choosing to notice the lovely details he is noticing.

    Are you going to perform it in his voice? Really excited to see you collaborate with Kat on this one as I think your two pieces will work remarkably well together!

    Speak soon
    Debris!

  3. MouthyPoets June 3, 2015 at 9:01 pm #

    Hi, thanks for the feed back, I’ll have a go at developing his character a little more.
    Izzy

  4. MouthyPoets June 3, 2015 at 10:14 pm #

    Hi, I just did this now – I was in a poetry sort of mood:

    Boys are freed from range rovers,
    fresh from the exam hall,
    Hair smoothed back by their mother as she plants her parting kiss
    They are waterproof, synthetic
    Trailing crumbs of sticky aluminium
    With their illegal glass
    Swapping names and bottles
    Weaving round the burger stands

    And the men stretch band shirts between their broad shoulders,
    Their brows gnarled, un-kissed
    They smear their resentment of The Man on the Door
    As they squeeze their haunches through the search stations
    Sniffed for drugs
    I could be with them
    If only
    I’d had the weekend off

    When the bands play, I do not hear
    But I see a girl
    Flung high, into the spears of up stretched hands
    Surges on the crest of a wave
    Away, away, away
    Rolls high,
    The stars and the laser smoke
    Smeared across her eyes

    Tumbles over the barrier
    I am dense and I am real
    Grounded in the stodgy grass
    And like all the kids,
    She expects me to catch her
    Safety net woven so fine
    The mesh is lost in the spotlights
    The lids of her eyes are swimming

    A glance back, and she’s faceless
    Waist deep in mud, and running
    To a noiseless scream
    Painful in its silence
    I stand, fluorescent
    A muted giant
    Invisible in high-vis
    Hidden by the ticking hand of strobe lights

    I will myself to be young,
    To be wide eyed
    Slamming down the glass
    Red faced from my first shot
    I remember discovering the cool indifference
    Of bands who tire of their words
    Of men like me, stamping your hand

    The kids don’t seem to sleep
    But jitter by the DJ tents
    Diving into cameras
    As though begging for food
    A man turns slow circles in Blue Camp
    Glazed and twitching
    And they take selfies with him

    I patrol the silent disco,
    And drop my jacket in the mud,
    Let the teens keep their drinks
    Melt into the ink pool
    Of rustling denim
    I sink into a hot bath
    And fall asleep

    I Feel the crush of senseless movement
    Its unsynchronised twists
    Its splutters
    Of lyrics that bleed together
    And dancers laced together
    Until I feel I might be one of them

    Their luck runs out – Monday morning
    I am the last man standing
    Peering down – their bodies on the grass
    Cynical as ever once party’s over

    And I know now, we could not be more apart
    They are pale, scattered ashes
    From DIY barbeques
    Abandoning tents
    Like fractured road kill
    Discarding their possessions

    The hush falls heavier than dew
    Startled by the shriek of a boy
    In a tie dye peace shirt
    Lynx can ignited
    Breathing washed bluish flames
    Scented with the fragrance
    That never got him laid

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