~ reviews ~
National Poetry Library Instagram Poetry Film Winners
The world’s first Instagram poetry exhibition ran from Thursday, April 26 to Sunday, July 1, 2018 at the UK’s National Poetry Library. Jane Glennie, whose Being and Being Empty — previously posted to Moving Poems — was one of the fifteen filmpoem winners included in the exhibit, was kind enough to share a program [PDF] with me when I noticed a photo of it in a brief news post about the exhibit on her website. That program is the source of the list of winners below. I have added links to play the films, since it’s a daunting task to search for them on the individual Instagram pages, or among the 1,771 posts (as of 28 July 2018) to #instapoetrylib on https://www.instagram.com, which is where all the entries are archived, and which is still active, if you would like to contribute a film even though the contest has ended; some of the more recent posts to be found on #instapoetrylib are photographs documenting the exhibit rather than new poems.
The winning films were apparently announced via comments/DMs on the individual Instagram posts. At the exhibit, the films were on a screen on a continual loop, while the selected image poems were exhibited on the walls. After having spent some time reviewing the films posted to #instapoetrylib, I believe that the 15 selected poetry films were chosen to represent the breadth and variety of work posted to Instagram — from films of poets reciting their poems, to spoken word performance films, to Instagram as poetry notebook, to found poetry films, animated poetry films, and the kinds of film poems Moving Poems typically celebrates.
Poets were only supposed to submit one entry per person, but many of the poets and the National Poetry Library itself did not appear to have taken this rule seriously. Some of the winners submitted more than one entry, and one winner subverted the Instagram video limits by submitting a longer film in two parts. Of the 1771 entries, there are approximately 114 poetry film postings (of which 44 were submitted by one poster, @b.ar.d).
Here are the winning films, listed in order from the exhibition program. (Readers of this post via feed readers or the email newsletter may have to click through to Moving Poems Magazine to watch the videos.)
NHS Crisis by Thomas ‘GhettoGeek’ Owoo (@ghettogeektv)
This might be the Instagram version he submitted to the contest. This link is to a pinned post on the GhettoGeek twitter page, which includes a link to the complete 4:31 version on YouTube.
A slam or spoken word reading style combines with dynamic graphics and imagery in politically powerful ways. Owoo has produced a number of variant works on this and other subjects on his YouTube channel and a range of social media sites.
A Spring Day by Annabel Wilson (@annabelwilsonart)
This is the post on her Instagram page announcing that her film was selected to show in the exhibition. This link is to the film on her Facebook page.
When she first posted the film to Instagram, she commented: “I wrote a poem last week on one of the first spring-like mornings- it came from that feeling that walking out on a clear morning gives, just as the sun comes up in all of its glory. It’s a sunrise, dawn poem, but also a hope and happiness poem. I have created this simple animation as a different kind of way to share it on World Poetry Day!”
The Art of Narcissism by Akora @parthenocarpy
https://www.instagram.com/p/BkI7GerDx4P/?taken-by=parthenocarpy
This is the only video posted to on her Instagram page. This is a link to the performance button on her Instagram page about performing at the National Poetry Library exhibit opening.
For many of the poets posting on Instagram, a film documents the performance of a poem, as does this one.
Being and Being Empty by Jane Glennie (@jane_glennie)
Above is the film on her Instagram page; this is the film on her Vimeo page.
Her description of the film: “How to be a mother … who is this being that I am? Wanting to be half-full with the joy of play, a job well done, and the softness of a bed to sink into at the end. Feeling half-empty with a busy brain that won’t shut down and twitches into awakening too early. Feeling overwhelmed by the chores and feeling rubbish as a result because surely that’s really not important. Tossing and turning and struggling to make a zingy start to each new day.”
A flicker film technique is a visceral representation of both the delight in and the fragmented and distracted attention of motherhood.
Boob Haiku by Fatima Al Rayes (@fatimaspoems)
https://www.instagram.com/p/BgkHmsVlupL/?taken-by=fatimaspoems
Here’s the film on her Instagram page. It is the only post on the page.
A film Fatima describes as “a haiku” documents the performance of writing out the poem and making a simple illustration using time compression.
Dice by Annie Rockson (@gyallikeannie)
This is the film on her Instagram page. Here it is on her YouTube page.
A filmed performance of a spoken word poet, “Dice,” “black dots trapped in a white box,” is a trope for the various traps that constrain black lives behind “a smokescreen of racial equality.”
En Silencio by Charles Olsen (@colsenart)
This is the film on Olsen’s Instagram page. Here’s his website.
Charles Olsen translates his poem from Spanish to English in the comments on his Instagram post: “In silence/water trickles down the bark/Leaves shine/like a flight of fish/and the forest/becomes a black sea/Like you/when we are together.” His spare film consists of close shots of the bark, leaves, and forest described in the poem in superimposed titles, but makes no attempt to depict the black sea of the relationship, which he leaves to our imagination.
Esprit Ya Pouvoire by Vid’or Tampa (@PTPlays)
https://www.instagram.com/p/BgEyznohJOX/?taken-by=ptplays
This is the film on her Instagram page.
Another filmed spoken-word performance, this one in honor of International Women’s Day. The comments on the Instagram post provide a translation of the poem to English: And the one who birthed you./And the one who fed you milk./And the one who made you laugh when sadness got into your heart./And the one who cooked porridge for you./And the one who fed you fufu./And the one who carried you on her back/ in her arms./And the one who stood you up each time you fell./And the one who taught you./And the one who wiped away your tears.
And the one who encouraged you;/Gave you advice./And the one who stands up for you./And the one who makes you laugh./And the one who shows you love./And the one who has faith in you./And the one who beats her chest for you./ And the one who sings for you./Bredrin, look left and look right. /She is there and we are all there. /You have grown up in the spirit of power./Recognise us.
Kaki by Sheena Baharudin (@sheenabaharudin)
https://www.instagram.com/p/Bgk669eACnz/?taken-by=sheenabaharudin
The film as it appears on Naharudin’s Instagram page.
Her comments when she posted the Instagram film: “Today is World Poetry Day! Submitting this bilingual piece for the #instapoetrylib call made by the @nationalpoetrylibrary . Inspired by the Zapin, a traditional Malay dance that focuses on the movement of the feet. Fyi, if the words sound familiar, it’s because this is the performed version of my previous #swipeleftpoetry post. Check them out.”
The tight fixed frame that cannot contain the dancing feet work in dialectic with the poem in what is another meditation on the joys and constraints of motherhood.
Public House by Laurie Bolger (@lauriebolger)
The film on Instagram. Here’s the link to Bolger’s website.
“A little poem about pubs” is how the author described this when she posted it, and it does have the casual feel of a cellphone film.
Love Loving by Sanah Ahsan (@psychology_and_poetry)
https://www.instagram.com/p/BUFyeP5jAwL/?taken-by=psychology_and_poetry
Her poem on Instagram.
Another film that documents a poet reading her poem. Sanah comments on her Instagram post, “Tonight has been incredible. I performed a piece that explored culture, mental health and identity as part of an upcoming @bbcthree documentary. Such a BLESSING to listen to and share honest stories about #mentalhealth in the #lgbtcommunity. Thank you for having me.”
Somewhere, Nowhere by Mark J. Rigby @filmmaker_markjrigby
https://www.instagram.com/p/BbXvE9EFZtJ/?taken-by=filmmaker_markjrigby
https://www.instagram.com/p/BbXvdPNlh9I/?taken-by=filmmaker_markjrigby
These are the links to the film on his Instagram page; the film was submitted in two parts. This is the link to his website.
In his comments on the Instagram post, Rigby notes that he wrote, performed and directed this film, which he describes as a “spoken word video … borne out of volunteer work for acting and drama workshops centred on homeless and vulnerable adults.” However, he does not film himself reciting his poem, and his piece has more of the feel of a music video.
Southwark Love Song by Claire Trevién (@ctrevien)
The film on her Instagram page. This is her poetry website.
In her comments, Trevién describes her piece as a “#poetryfilm of #foundpoetry collected around Southwark, London Bridge, etc.” This in one of a series of her poetryfilms that find a poem in the camera framing of portions of street signs, names of buildings, advertisement art, and more. The sound is whatever the camera mic records in real time. The technique is tantalizing, and certainly permits the intentional roughness of execution.
MAN by Tommy Evans (@tommya_manevans)
This is the film on #instapoetrylib. I believe this is the film on his Instagram page, although I don’t see either #instapoetrylib or @nationalpoetrylibrary in the comments.
Here is a longer version on his YouTube page; both of the Instagram films appear to be excerpts from the longer work. Here’s a post on his Twitter page about his film being exhibited at the National Poetry Library.
A spoken word poet performance that uses the jarring contrasts between medium shots and tight close-ups to suggest the contradictions in the social construction of masculinity.
We be in No Thing by Jason Kofi-Haye (@surf._ace)
This is the poem as it appears on #instapoetrylib. I could not locate this version on his Instagram page, but there are many variants of this work, which is an instance of a year-long project to use Instagram as a kind of artist’s sketch pad. This tendency to post variants, works-in-progress, and rough drafts is a strategy he uses not only on his Instagram page, but also on his other web and social media sites. To see more examples, search Instagram for #WeBeinNoThing.
And finally, one possible winner who got notified, but apparently wasn’t exhibited:
Receipt for our Romance, by Jade Cuttle (@jadecuttle)
That’s the film as it appears at #instapoetrylib.
The poem is represented as a cash register receipt, which the camera simply scrolls down. I find the technique quite clever, albeit probably unrepeatable.
More information on the National Poetry Library exhibit
There have been four posts on the National Poetry Society website: Instagram poetry; Celebrating Instagram Poetry at National Poetry Library; Instagram poetry is here – find out more in our podcast; and A new generation of poets emerges on Instagram. This last post, in which Jessica Atkinson, the National Poetry Library’s Digital Co-ordinator, discusses four of the Instagram poems included in the exhibition and what makes them stand out, is particularly interesting, since it provides some insight into the curation process.
And finally, stay tuned to the blog at littlethoughtspot.co.uk, which promises a review of the exhibition.
For more information about Instagram poets and poetry, here is a brief online bibliography:
Voices of the new ‘Instagram poets’ | Financial Times
The Life of an Instagram Poet | The New Yorker
Why Rupi Kaur and Her Peers Are the Most Popular Poets in the World | New York Times
The Poetry of Instagram | BBC Radio 4
Can Instagram Make Poems Sell Again? | Publishers Weekly
12 Instagram Poets to follow | HuffPost
Is It OK To Make Fun Of Instagram Poets? | Luna Luna Magazine
Instagram poets society: selfie age gives new life and following into poetry | The Guardian
And finally, an interview with Marisa Crane, who says,
I didn’t necessarily mean to cultivate such a large Instagram following. It all happened pretty organically, and I think it helps that I began posting my work right before the boom of Instagram poetry (which is going downhill now, and fast). I can remember sitting on my couch in 2012 reading a poem by Tyler Knott Gregson, which had been typed on a typewriter. He had thousands of likes on a piece that was, in my opinion, pretty basic. Not to say that it wasn’t intriguing or good, but it was short and easily digestible, which made it perfect for people scrolling quickly. I figured I’d take a stab at it, so I began posting some of my shorter poems on my Instagram, which had about 300 followers at the time. I even forgot to put my name under a few of them. For a while, nothing happened, and I didn’t care. I wasn’t posting to become Instagram famous. Then, I think sometime in 2014 some bigger poetry accounts, like Christopher Poindexter, began reposting my work, and it snowballed from there. I don’t particularly enjoy the medium anymore, as I feel that it’s on its way out. Instagram changed their algorithm, and it hurt engagement for a lot of people. I’m basically just riding it out until it becomes null and void.
Read the complete interview on Bekah Steimel’s blog. (Thanks to Dave Bonta for the link.)
There might be something in this: Maybe today everyone wants to be a poet, just like everyone wants to be a filmmaker. But when there are 5,000 submissions to some film festivals for the 60 or 70 spots available for films to be screened, maybe there is also something to be said for being able to post poems or films to social media sites, despite the overwhelming numbers that soon cry out for curation by means other than the viral. I believe Moving Poems is a valuable community in that regard.
Flicker film, and a review of the world’s first documentary on videopoetry
Two new English-language articles have recently been published in the online version of Poetryfilm Magazine, the bilingual journal embedded in the Weimar-based Poetryfilmkanal website and released annually in a print and PDF version. UK artist and typographer Jane Glennie, a couple of whose videos I’ve shared at Moving Poems, has an essay titled Flicker film and the videopoem:
A ›flicker film‹, as I have made them and understand them thus far, consists not of moving image footage but of a series of still images presented at around 24 or 25 per second. It could be described as an extremely rapid slideshow. Cinema film is also, of course, still images projected at 24 frames per second, but with the intention of transforming frames into seamless movement, whereas a flicker film disrupts the seamless with disparate frames.
Glennie gives a brief history of the technique, which dates back to 1966, then talks about its relevance today, and to her own practice:
Flicker film can also be perceived as reflective upon the broader culture of the online environment where so much time is now spent. Indeed, Parker’s film was derived from her Instagram feed. Image usage, sophistication and relevance continues to grow rapidly. In 2014, two thousand million photos were shared per day across five key social media platforms, rising to over three thousand million in 2015. Upcoming generations are expected to communicate with images even more than at present (happily videopoetry is part of this ever growing online scene). Flicker film can have instant visual impact in a short length and can capture attention in the brief, ephemeral encounters of social media. For instance, my film Being and being empty (2018) was selected for the world’s first Instagram Poetry exhibition at the National Poetry Library in London. But flicker film also offers challenges to the viewer: what can be perceived each time it is viewed? What images or messages might have entered the subconscious? If I continue to view the film – can I perceive more through practice or ›training myself‹ or do I enter a visual fatigue and ›see‹ less and less? A flicker film can be seen as a test of endurance and the brain’s ability to digest images at speed and through the subconscious. If we are to continue to consume images at ever greater volumes and pace, the flicker film begs the question – what are the limits that human cognition can take? Is there a point at which the message and/or the poetic is lost in the frenzy? I am interested in how the fleeting can be imprinted in the mind and create an overall impression through repetition, the subliminal message, and/or the blurring of the distinctions between discrete elements.
Fascinating stuff. Do go read the whole thing.
The other article was my own, published just yesterday: ›Versogramas‹ and the Possibilities for Videopoetry.
Versogramas, the 2017 film directed by Belén Montero, is apparently the world’s first documentary about videopoetry, and as such, it’s likely that viewers may come to it with heightened expectations which will not be fulfilled. Taken on its own terms, however, I found it a delightful romp with a few glaring defects. It has great potential as a teaching aid in the poetry or film classroom—especially if, as I hope, its official web release is accompanied by links to all the videos and videopoets in the film. It’s also available as part of a bookDVD from Editorial Galaxia (which I have not seen).
Quoting oneself is always a bit awkward, but let me skip over the snarky bit and give one more excerpt:
It’s impressive that the producers can focus on just one part of the world—Spain, especially the Galician region—add a handful of filmmakers and videopoets from outside that region, and still end up with a highly varied, complete-feeling snapshot of the state of videopoetry in the 21st century. […] I liked the rootedness of this approach, and I enjoyed getting a sense of how Spanish and Galician poets and artists have been working with videopoesía in recent years.
And for all its playing around with definitions, Versogramas does not end up providing some kind of unified field theory of videopoetry, thank God. (Though it does give Konyves the last word, as is fitting.) What it does, and does very well, is present us with a series of possibilities: this is what videopoetry might be (the narrative sections); this is what a bunch of actual practitioners have found it to be (the interviews).
I had, of course, much more to say than that. I’m grateful for the opportunity to have seen the documentary, and if and when it becomes generally available online, I’ll be sure to share the link here.
Review of Poetry Film screening at the MIX conference
Bath Spa University, July 2017
Revolution, Regeneration, Reflections. These were the themes chosen for the MIX 2017 conference to celebrate the human capacity for renewal and experimentation combined with deep thought and to look at where creative writing, storytelling, and media creation intersect with and/or are dependent upon technology. The programme featured a mix of academic papers, practitioner presentations, seminars, keynotes, discussions, workshops and poetry film screenings.
Artists/poets and digital writers were asked to submit poetry films/film poems/video poetry responding to these themes. Nineteen poetry films from the international submissions received were screened throughout the duration of the conference.
The selection was curated by Lucy English, Reader in Creative Writing at Bath Spa University and co-founder of Liberated Words, and Zata Banks, founder of PoetryFilm, an influential research arts project and film screening series.
I wondered if the themes of revolution, regeneration and reflections were too optimistic in theme. Perhaps war, power, consumerism, genocide, apocalypse, violence and chaos are nearer to what governs our thoughts at present.
Some of the poetry films covered predictable ground: love, word play, abstracts and introspection. Other films braved the realms of suicide, oppression, humour and sustainability. Some were cleverly and/or beautifully designed, others revealed their workings (you almost saw the filmmaker at work).
The curation itself was expertly put together. The viewer could watch to the end without feeling bombarded or overwhelmed, while at the same time feeling they had traveled; a journey which was troubling at times, more re-assuring at the end. We were taken from political marginalisation and resistance to universal sustainability in 19 films.
The first film, If We Must Die by Othneil Smith, used imagery from a 1970s Blaxploitation film to highlight resistance and a 1919 sonnet written in response to attacks on African-American communities, and began:
If we must die, let it not be like hogs
Hunted and penned in an inglorious spot,
While round us bark the mad and hungry dogs,
Making their mock at our accursed lot.
The last film, Kate Flaherty’s A Mouse’s Prayer, with a delicate voice and a mouse’s prayer to the moon, ended:
O moon, you see me
when others do not,
you know my brown fur’s sheen,
and you reflect for me
my own great smallness
in your immensely
dark and speckled sky.
At the end of the first film and the beginning of the last film, the viewer literally looked into someone’s face. This created an intimate space, connected the viewer to the personal and forged the link between responsibility and hope.
Whilst I watched, I kept thinking: this is a poet’s curation (but then, what is a poetry film if it’s not poetry?). There were no long distracting pages of seemingly endless credits, no words were trying to compete with images and there were no excessive soundtracks. Almost all the films selected had near equal elements of sound, image and text.
Selecting for a poetry film curation isn’t just about choosing the best films submitted. The films need to sit alongside one another to flow, illuminate, juxtapose — the whole should be greater than the sum of its parts.
I was able to recognize Zata’s experimental film choices that invited us to focus on semiotics. The meaning making systems in the elements that make up the films (sound, movement, etc). In Matthew Griffith’s Pain in Colour, we were asked to find meaning through colour, movement and sound but with no words.
But can you have a poem without words? I’m not sure. But I know you can have a ‘poetic experience’ and Pain in Colour offered up its own meanings within the whole curation. I’m not sure it would have done so on its own. I would prefer to see it in a gallery space, where I may be less self-conscious of finding a specific context and meaning.
The territory of poetry film is still being mapped. And as I watched the films the nagging question hanging in the mainly empty auditorium was ‘What is poetry film?’ The curation didn’t direct me to the answer. But it led me to wonder if poetry film needs to be more confident in embracing its own genres (whether that is seen as another type of art film or an entirely new genre of poetry), and then we may be nearer to developing clearer analytical language and critical discourses.
In the middle of the curation, the background evangelist in Cindy St. Onge’s Road to Damascus and the end line in Dave Bonta’s Grassland, “I’ll break like bread at your table”, gave a jolt toward the anxieties of faith and a hope for something more, and was a reminder that the curation was a journey from resistance to sustainability.
Angie Bogachenko’s version of Oracle of a Found Shoe and the collaboration between Cheryl Gross and Lucy English, Shop, both animations, demonstrated that animation works when the images and words work together, where you can’t see the seam between the two. Both showed the strength of the poem and the skill of the animator.
I noted that 11 of the 19 films, by nature of the poem or the choice of presentation, had a strong performance element. This reflects the balance of new work that I have seen emerging elsewhere. Poetry film is an ideal medium to embody spoken word poetry, and as a genre I think it will bring an immediate and urgent contribution to the field.
By design or chance, the curation at MIX 2017 brought a rhythm, line by line, film by film, that on a large scale was sustained to the end. The themes created a forward momentum — and that reflects the journey of poetry film itself.
The Art of Poetry Film with Cheryl Gross: “Streamschool (Patakiskola)”
Streamschool (Patakiskola)
poem: Zsolt Miklya
director: Péter Vácz
background: Kati Egely
narration: Piroska Molnár
music: Yvein Monq
English translation: Joseph Wallace
2012
The Vimeo description reads: “A little girl has an adventure with water as she travels from a small brook to the sea. A tale of growing up based on a Hungarian poem.” And Péter Vácz adds that “The film was made in (MOME) Moholy- Nagy University of Arts and Design in 2012 as my BA graduation in Animation.”
One thing I can say about my own animation students: they are dedicated and make great illustrators. That’s because they are pushed into honing their craft. Some of the best work I’ve seen comes out of film schools. It’s fresh, interesting, and ambitious. It’s always good to see a young artist present their thesis. In my opinion it usually turns out to be among their best work. Such is the case with Péter Vácz.
Streamschool (Patakiskola) is a beautifully rendered work of art. The combination of tactile materials such as plastic and cloth adds to the sweetness of the piece and depicts childhood as an exquisite journey. The music-box effect flows stunningly as well as the gravelly voice of the narrator, which reminds me of a loving grandparent. His use of stop motion (Dragon Stop Motion software) reminds me of the claymation that was very popular during my childhood, and continues to be so. Also, I like the fact that Péter posts the process of his work. Not every artist is this generous.
All in all, Péter Vácz is a serious technician and an amazing craftsperson. It’s good to see that one does not out-weigh the other. I checked out his other films, which are just as charming and a lot of fun. As a bonus, here is the making of Streamschool.
“Trump Draws”: satirical micro-videopoetry takes Twitter by storm
Behold the wonder that is @TrumpDraws: a Twitter account dedicated entirely to animated GIFs of Trump signing executive orders. The description reads, “i’m the president and i like to draw”. Created just four days ago, @TrumpDraws has 319,000 followers. It began with “house”
house pic.twitter.com/AHAjqMazJ4
— Trump Draws (@TrumpDraws) January 31, 2017
and moved on to “kat”, “horse” and “turkey” (evidently made with one of the president’s own, small hands)
turkey pic.twitter.com/t6OJ15Fsan
— Trump Draws (@TrumpDraws) January 31, 2017
before arriving at Trump’s favorite subject:
— Trump Draws (@TrumpDraws) January 31, 2017
These alternative executive orders may seem silly and absurd at first, but cumulatively they do speak truth to power, critiquing the child-like capriciousness of President Trump’s so-far incoherent attempts to govern via poorly executed fiat.
my plane pic.twitter.com/o7jDiam0vP
— Trump Draws (@TrumpDraws) February 3, 2017
What sorts of orders are these? Is it enough for the powerful to point and speak?
dinosar pic.twitter.com/R629EU9WDh
— Trump Draws (@TrumpDraws) February 1, 2017
Is it fair to children to compare their crude yet often brilliant, uninhibited creations with the rambling, self-centered utterances of a sociopathic septuagenarian?
pretty pic.twitter.com/h2pc3SpKCV
— Trump Draws (@TrumpDraws) February 2, 2017
Like all effective poetry, these miniature videopoems lead not to any definitive solution but to a radical reappraisal of the quotidian, stripped of all deadening cliches. In an increasingly perilous political environment they offer levity, yes, but more importantly they serve the salutary goal, more often honored in the breach, of refusing to normalize what is in fact both deeply aberrant and abhorrent.
The Art of Poetry Film with Cheryl Gross: “It turns out”
It turns out
poem and film by Martha McCollough
2012
Martha McCollough is one of my absolute favorite artists. It turns out is another one of her pieces that is over the top.
She combines one voiceover that uses echo with another that is just plain-spoken. And she gives us two formats in one, the written work and spoken word. It’s as if they are two separate poems. Could it be one is imagined and the other based in reality? What is the message? We ask for help, but does it exist?
There’s a nice collage effect, interlacing texture with line animation and design. I love the voiceover. Images of a floor plan are juxtaposed with talk about no help from a help desk. I often feel that way. Are we to assume that we must venture on alone? Could she be talking about immigration? Electing Trump? Trying to escape from the horrors of war and reality? We are left to fend for ourselves, applying her words however we can to assist us on our journey. Have technology and the media impaired our senses and way of being? Or am I reading too deeply into what has been in front of us all along?
We see imagery of people running, wolves running towards them — a metaphor. There are so many questions to be asked in such uncertain times.
So how does one go about critiquing a work that is perfect in its imperfection? It turns out does seem somehow very fitting for the post-election funk we are feeling. Can we call it prophetic? Is this what people have been trying to say all along? It makes me wonder what is real and what has been manipulated to appear so.
The Art of Poetry Film with Cheryl Gross: “Forgetfulness”
Forgetfulness
poem and voiceover: Billy Collins
animation: Julian Grey of Head Gear
part of a series produced by JWT-NY
2007
We are brought into the reality of forgetting what we once enjoyed. What was once important, now a memory… at best.
Sometimes I feel guilty writing a good review. I assume my readers prefer to be forewarned concerning a video poem that is sub-par so as not to waste their time. I know I do. There are times when I will forgo watching a film or reading a book that was panned in the media. But when I stumble upon a work that I believe is worth noticing, I can’t help but sing its praises. Such is the case of Forgetfulness by former U.S. poet laureate Billy Collins.
Forgetfulness is a visual treat. Animator Julian Grey of Head Gear employs the old-film technique that gives the video an overall feel of nostalgia. Technically the video appears to rely quite heavily on its use of masks. This helps to make images disappear and assists in building movement, thereby contributing to its fast pace and timing.
Grey incorporated a small amount of animation, which blends in very nicely. I like to call this method altered video. (Perhaps I am coining this phrase because I Googled it and there doesn’t seem to be a concrete definition. Well, at least not where Google is concerned.)
I love the overexposure and pastel colors that are anything but soothing, giving the video an almost creepy feeling.
The poem reminds me of growing older and losing the memories we once had. Lost are the stories, words and events that have slipped out from under us, barely a memory at best. I can’t think of a more gentle way of addressing a part of life that is inevitable.
The Art of Poetry Film with Cheryl Gross: “Wayne the Stegosaurus” and “Cigar Box Banjo”
Wayne the Stegosaurus
poem: Kenn Nesbitt
co-directors: Aran Quinn, Jeff Dates
3D lead artsts: Rob Petrie, Jeff Dates
produced for Motionpoems
2014
Wayne the Stegosaurus is a delightful, airy children’s poem written by Kenn Nesbitt. The animation is rendered beautifully and produced by The Mill, a Chicago-based production company.
The poem is intended for children. I watched it a few times looking for a clue if the artists were withholding a nightmare. No such luck. Just a plain and simple video poem intended purely to entertain.
The animation is delightful. Pastel hand-painted watercolors move about. The action appears to be frame-by-frame and alludes to a stop-motion effect. I may be wrong, but since this is a high-production studio, Wayne the Stegosaurus was probably completely done on computer. It’s a treat to see the artist’s hand at work and it would be nice if this had been done “old school,” but no matter how it was done, the outcome is magnificent and charming, and the viewer can’t help but fall in love with it.
That being said, there is nothing to analyze or rip apart. It’s perfect in its simplicity.
Then I stumbled upon Cigar Box Banjo by Kim Addonizio. The content is much grittier and more to my taste.
Cigar Box Banjo
poem: Kim Addonizio
voiceover: Johanna Braddy
director and sound designer: Danny Madden
editor: Mari Walker
performers: Hannah Elder, Jon Thibault, and Iere Castagne
produced for Motionpoems
2015
The editing is terrific. The footage is seamlessly woven together and reads like an indie film, powerful and poignant. It’s well done, not at all corny, and a good mixture of old and new footage. The song “Dark Was the Night, Cold Was the Ground,” written and performed by Blind Willie Johnson, is a perfect addition and allows the piece to flow very nicely. I also have to mention that the design on the entire piece is sophisticated and exciting to watch. I found it refreshing, and I have nothing negative to say on this one either. I liked watching both videos back to back.
Aside from both being poetry films, Wayne the Stegosaurus and Cigar Box Banjo are very different. Wayne embraces a colorful, safe world, while Cigar Box tells an entirely different story. But both are well written and visually outstanding — examples of video poetry at its finest.
Editor’s note: A huge congratulations to Cheryl — and to her collaborator, the poet Nicelle Davis — for having a film accepted for ZEBRA, the world’s foremost poetry film festival, for the third time in a row! Active Shooter Event will be screened at the ZEBRA Poetry Film Festival Münster|Berlin, October 27-30, 2016 at the Schlosstheater cinema in Münster, Germany. —Dave B.
The Art of Poetry Film with Cheryl Gross: “Beer”
BEER
direction: Nerdo
poem: Charles Bukowski
art direction: Daniele Gavatorta
coordination: Diego Pizziconi
animation: Daniele Gavatorta, Simone Cirillo, Milena Tipaldo, Erik Righetti, and Alessandro Durando
original music and sound design: Enrico Ascoli
voiceover: David Wayne Callahan
recording engineer: Andrea Pestarino
2016
I acquired a taste for beer many years ago while at an artist residency program in Saarbrücken, Germany. I attribute this phenomenon to my good friend and installation artist, Claudia Brieske. Upon meeting the poet Nicelle Davis, I was introduced to the world of video poetry. In my opinion the two go hand-in-hand. So it’s no wonder why Beer based on a poem by the famous Charles Bukowski caught my eye. I’m a big fan of Bukowski, so to find a video poem that embraces not one but two things I am passionate about is a rare treat. In simpler terms, it’s worth the price of admission.
That being said, my favorite place to start is always with the visuals. I love fast-paced, well-designed art. The animation is smooth and lyrical. It conveys a feeling of nostalgia in a postmodern sort of way, meaning the vector images are all computer-generated, but they contain images of objects such as a telephone that were a part of life back in the 20th century. All have either disappeared already or are about to disappear.
As far as the writing is concerned, I think most of us can relate. Break-ups with women, waiting for the phone to ring, just adds to the bloat of this self-imposed condition, hobby or should I say pastime of beer drinking. But when it comes down to it, life is just a matter of waiting for the next thing, waiting for something that will get us closer to the brass ring. In the meantime we have beer, the vehicle that will help ease the frustration and pass the time.
The Art of Poetry Film with Cheryl Gross: “The Clinic”
The Clinic (Kliniken)
poem and voiceover: Annelie Axén
design and animation: Kristian Pedersen
produced by Gasspedal Animert
2010
One of my least favorite activities when I was a child was visiting the dentist. It was a major cause of anxiety. However, there is something about The Clinic that addresses this discomfort in a unique and bizarre way.
Despite my deep love for nostalgia and the fact that I lean left-of-center concerning my taste in entertainment, The Clinic kicked up memories that were not pleasant. Reminiscing about the dentist is not exactly what I call a good time and the sound of drilling puts me over the edge. Despite my discomfort, there is no doubt that it’s a great video. The visuals are clever and fit right in. I am particularly fond of the teeth x-rays, the distressed film look and the brilliant use of typography and Adobe After Effects.
The Clinic uses teeth as a metaphor. From the beginning, we are made to feel as if we are about to encounter impending doom and are made to feel nervous. We are coldly asked questions that feed into our fears and anxiety. There is no comfort offered, just more questions. Eventually it is revealed that we are just a number. As the toothless grind their jaws, perhaps the antidote to the uneasiness we feel is the white powder with our information on it.
The Clinic in my opinion is a very successful, Orwellian piece. Not only does it get the message across, but it creeps me out. Seeing the work is feeling it and again, and at the end of the day this is what matters most. It’s traditionally been said that great art should evoke powerful emotions, and by that standard, The Clinic certainly qualifies as great art.
