Buxton Country Park
Monday 15th September 2014
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| venturing underground |
Monday's session was for first ideas, for exploring and talking and meeting each other.
I'm just going to post the poems that grew out of our walk through Poole's Cavern
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| where will our sculptures go? what could the group be like? |
Introduction - the feel of this project
Almost stones.
Standing stones,
Petrified people,
Called from the heartwood,
Their stories carved into the wood of their bodies
In runes
Under the hill - this poem grew out of comments and notes. It feels like several different voices so if you read it out try getting different people to read different verses. The italic sections I think are the voices of people wandering through the cave
Our modern feet,
In sensible shoes,
Splashing in puddles,
On sensible floors,
Casting shadows over stones,
From the sensible lights.
Get in there!
A long way in,
It's a long way in.
It's cold.
The darkness waits
For us to turn our backs,
To let our guard slip,
To let the drips drop,
And the petrifying water catch us
Or our pennies,
Or our shoes,
Or our mobile phones.
A splendour of rock and water and earth.
Time stands still.
It's surprising what water can do.
It's a long way in.
Nothing here is quite what it seems,
Turn your back for a moment and the darkness comes back
Water made solid
Reptilian
Step into the darkness,
Stooping,
Careful,
Into the shelter and the silence and the cold.
This darkness,
A home for hibernating bats,
A lair for bears,
A grave for the ancient dead.
4,000 years of peace broken by
Victorian shovels
a strange world
quiet
peaceful
no traffic noise
no fumes
no smells at all
Purple, green and grey
Line and layers of stone,
Sideways ripples across a boulder,
Folds become faces,
A skull caught forever in
Hanging stone
deep, mysterious
time caught in the dripping echoes
stone-time not our time
we are here and gone again
the stone lasts
changing all the time but still here
One lump of rock becomes
A bear, a beast, a lion, a gorilla,
A chenille blanket.
A thousand years of dripping
To grow a dragon's eye,
A cave jellyfish,
A weeping swelling
On the cave floor.
A cauliflower,
A marshmallow for trolls,
Miniature rice paddies,
Deceptively hard,
Hard as stone and
Wet
Tree roots and a picnic bench
Up there somewhere.
Now
We are hidden,
Secrets in the limestone hills,
Now
We are the mystery
There are stories here,
Here in the cold and the dark
Stories waiting to be told
Voices like grating rocks and dripping water
A convocation of stalemites*
An amphitheatre of stalagmites,
Watchful, listening, patient
Waiting for the dark to return when we go away,
Poised on the edge,
Guarding their own,
Still,
Peaceful,
Hidden,
World.
This parliament of stones
Ancient but still alive,
Ancient and never stagnant
*I know this should be stalactite or stalagmite but I thought stal-e-mite was such a good word we should keep it!
