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The Patchwork Poem Project is a fundraising initiative for the Alzheimer's Society, exploring the connection between production and poetry. The aim is to create a tangible poem in the form of a patchwork of words that challenges traditional ways of reading and writing. This project embraces the beauty and complexity of textile art to make meaning from the collection of words, rhythms, and metaphors.
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Patchwork Poem Project, 2013 Bristol Poetry Institute, fundraising for the Alzheimer’s Society
Responding to the connection between production and poetry – poiēsis –this project is about making poetry. The aim is to make a poem a tangible object. The poem itself – a collection of words with rhythms and meanings and metaphors – will emerge in the form of a patchwork of words put together and collectively re-arranged into something resembling a poetry.
Textile asks for a different way of reading, a different way of writing, a different way of making meaning Image by Dominique Browning, slowlovelife.com
My purpose is to tell of bodies which have been transformed into shapes of a different kind. You heavenly powers, since you were responsible for those changes, as for all else, look favourably upon my attempts, and spin an unbroken thread of verse, from the earliest beginnings of the world, down to my own times ... Ovid, Metamorphoses 1.1-5, translated by Mary Innes
Quaker Tumbling Block Star Quilt, created by Dr. Sarah Taylor Middleton Rogers, New Jersey (1852) from the American Museum, Bath
I said to Poetry: “I’m finished with you.’ Having to almost die before some weird light comes creeping through is no fun. ‘No thank you, Creation, no muse need apply. I’m out for good times – at the very least, some painless convention. Poetry laid back and played dead. until this morning ... Alice Walker, from I Said To Poetry
adire eleko, Nigeria, c1970s (women’s wrap dress), from the Textile Museum of Canada, (ID T94.2139)
it is simple do not strive to paint do not strive to rite do not strive for postion do not strive for rewards do not strive for power do not strive for love un-do painting un-do riting un-do life Billy Childish, from the 1st green horse god has ever made poems 1996-2004
Rugged up for winter snow you have put your bodies where your hearts are ... against the gates and under the wheels of war. ... Like you we sit on the doorstep of the world’s end and will not look away. The people long to know something is indestructible. It may only be you Wendy Poussard, Greenham Woman
From Greenham Common Peace Camp, 1981-2000 (image from radicalcrossstitch.com)
... Joy and Woe are woven fine, A Clothing for the Soul divine Under every grief & pine Runs a joy with silken twine... William Blake, from Auguries of Innocence
Newport Froliking People Sampler, created by Hannah Taylor, Rhode Island, 1774, from the American Museum, Bath
This is really the story of a sista who was very too-ge-tha in everythang but life. You see she was so too-ge-tha she had nothang but strife. Everyone thought because she was so too-ge-tha she didn’t feel pain ... ... She finally concluded there’s no earthly use in bein too-ge-tha if it don’t put some joy in yo life. Sherely Anne Williams, The House of Desire.
Melbourne Revolutionary Craft Circle Action, Footscray, Melbourne 2008, from radicalcrossstitch.com
My reason which was once severed, Cut into unconscious divisions, Hidden in maladroit madness; Is now returning with a bounce. Welcoming the spring’s green trees Which promise a new soundness of mind And a new beginning from the little I have left. Margot Jordan, Hidden Reason
Cynon Valley Tapestry, Aberdare c2000, from the National Needlework Archive
Endless unfolding of words of ages! And mine a word of the modern, the word En-masse. A word of the faith that never balks. Here or henceforward it is all the same to me, I accept Time absolutely. Walt Whitman, from Song of Myself , 23.
I'm not going to cry all the timenor shall I laugh all the time,I don't prefer one "strain" to another.I'd have the immediacy of a bad movie,not just a sleeper, but also the big,overproduced first-run kind. I want to beat least as alive as the vulgar. And ifsome aficionado of my mess says "That'snot like Frank!", all to the good! Idon't wear brown and grey suits all the time,do I? No. I wear workshirts to the opera,often. I want my feet to be bare,I want my face to be shaven, and my heart--you can't plan on the heart, butthe better part of it, my poetry, is open. Frank O’Hara, My Heart
I handed my teacher a poem, ‘This is not a poem,’ he said. ‘It has no form, Your lines are unpoetic. Silence is nearer to truth Than your written thoughts are to verse.’ Feeling I had betrayed my learning I laboured through the years to perfect my style Wishing for the day when my teacher Would recognise me as a poet. Now I have little conversation left I wonder if I handed this poem to him Would my teacher clasp me to his breast Or who he send me backwards in my craft With the proclamation: ‘Silence is nearer to truth Than your written thoughts are to verse.’ Margot Jordan, Silence is Nearer to Truth
Radical Hospitality (patchwork quilt), by Jemima Wyman (2012) from Piecing Together Core Concerns, Brisbane
... I love you. I love you, but I’m turning to my verses and my heart is closing like a fist. Words! be sick as I am sick, swoon, roll back your eyes, a pool, and I’ll stare down at my wounded beauty which at best is only a talent for poetry. Cannot please, cannot charm or win what a poet! and the clear water is thick with bloody blows on its head. I embrace a cloud, but when I soared it rained. ... Frank O’Hara ,from Mayakovsky
Sheila Pepe, Bus Lines, 2006 World Financial Plaza, New York
Three Women, dressed in white, wreathes around their heads. Three women, sitting spaced around a spindle. Three Women, the Fates – Daughters of Necessity – Lachesis, Clotho, and Atropos. Three Women, they sang in harmony with the Sirens. Lachesis singing of the things that were, Clotho of the things that are, and Atropos, the things that are yet to come. Plato, The Republic X. 617c