Latest video reviews
Memoir in Bone & Ink (#1) by Kristy Bowen
The first in a projected series of author-made videopoems for Kristy Bowen’s upcoming collection Memoir in Bone & Ink. As a publisher herself (dancing girl press), Bowen’s relationship with books is more hands-on than the average poet’s, and that’s what drew me to this videopoem: the bibliocentric images and text come from a place of deep knowledge. The result is a poetry book trailer that feels like a commentary on book promotion generally, the author trying to coax a book out from under the covers.
Here’s the bio Bowen used for the YouTube description:
A writer and book artist working in both text and image, Kristy Bowen creates a regular series of chapbook, zine, and artist book projects. Since 2005, she has blogged about writing, art, and other creative pursuits at dulcetly: notes on a bookish life. She is the author of eleven full-length collections of poetry/prose/hybrid work, including the recent SEX & VIOLENCE (Black Lawrence Press, 2020), and the self-issued ANIMAL, VEGETABLE, MONSTER; DARK COUNTRY; and FEED.
The Gone Missing by Joseph Aversano (EnD)
Selected for the 2023 Haiku North America Haibun Film Festival. Browse the other selections.
From Australian director EnD, AKA Nigel Wells.
Director’s statement: “Produce, Produce, Produce!”
Judges’ statement: “A colorful film with some great changes of pace and use of speeded-up footage. Though rather literal at times, there was an interesting mix of images that worked to not feel too obvious overall.”
Joseph Salvatore Aversano is a native New Yorker currently living on the Central Anatolian steppe with his wife Asu. His poems have been published in numerous journals and some have been awarded or anthologized. He is the founding curator of Half Day Moon Press and editor of Half Day Moon Journal. We chose five different films that used his haibun, “The Gone Missing,” intrigued that so many filmmakers chose to work with it, and eager to show the variety of approaches that poetry filmmakers can take.
Au jardin bleu (In the Blue Garden) by Jean Coulombe
A 2020 videopoem by regular collaborators Jean Coulombe (text, images) and Gilbert Sévigny (images, editing, sound). I’d meant to share it at the time, but I do enjoy looking at wintry shots in the middle of summer: a natural surrealism. As a long-time blogger, I also love the fact that Coulombe and Sévigny make their videopoems primarily to provide content for a group blog called CLS Poésie, which has been around since 2009 — as long as Moving Poems. They describe their collective as a
Free association of unclassifiable poets, broadcasting via a blog (which never sleeps) texts, photos and video-poems of a poetry on edge, with blues, neo-country and urban trash accents… (Association libre de poètes inclassables, diffusant par le biais d’un blogue (qui ne dort jamais) des textes, photos et vidéo-poèmes d’une poésie à fleur de peau, aux accents blues, néo-country autant que trash-urbains…)
This is only the sixth videopoem of theirs we’ve shared. Check out the others, but be sure to spend some time on their Vimeo page and discover your own favorites.
Flush by Luisa A. Igloria
This recent videopoem by Marc Neys may be one of my favorites of his to date, exploring each line of a text as one might explore a new beach on holiday, with several lovely and joyous surprises amid the contemplative flow. The text is from Night Willow, a 2012 collection of prose poetry by Fil-Am poet Luisa A. Igloria, who just concluded her second term as the Commonwealth of Virginia’s poet laureate. (The poem originally appeared at Via Negativa, a daily poetry blog that Luisa and I both contribute to.)
This is, by my count, Marc’s sixth film with Luisa’s poetry, though I may be forgetting about one or two. Nor is Marc the only filmmaker to work with Luisa; here’s her page at Moving Poems. So many brilliant films there (plus two of mine).
Orée du désastre (Edge of Disaster) by Sylvain Campeau
A videopoem by Montréal-based filmmaker Mériol Lehmann with text by Sylvain Campeau. Click on the CC icon for subtitles in English or Spanish. I found the English translation by Peter Schulman rather too reliant on cognates for my taste, but was seduced nonetheless by the juxtaposition of landscape and domestic spaces, as well as the contrast between the fast-flowing recitation (by Pierre C. Girard) and the slow panning shots and glacial music.
