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Posts Tagged ‘Poetry’

Poetry and Photography

In Photography News on October 1, 2016 at 3:04 AM

Recently, I have been collaborating creatively with the poet, Kit Kelen. I have been posting photographs and Kit has been writing poems to accompany my photographs. Seeing poetry and photography collectively, as opposed to singularly is a  journey into a new creative landscape.

Over coming days I will post a small random selection of Kit’s poems. You can also visit this link and below to view Kit’s blog for this project titled 365+1. You’ll find a plethora of great poetry and art from other contributors.  

Kit Kelen – Series with Jack Picone’s Photographs – #14 – the fire at dawn, the waiting 

 14

the fire at dawn, the waiting

is it the bones show through?

is it the where-they-are waking?

so sombre silent still

as if the sky were nothing

as if they were earth already

they compose themselves

for eternity’s frame

have they fallen from great heights to here?

are they stones sprung up in flesh?

I ask because

I just don’t know

what any of this means

                      © Photograph by Jack Picone

Young PNG Highlanders at the crack of dawn. Mt. Hagen, PNG.

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War Photographer

In Ethics on August 12, 2011 at 4:04 AM

War Photographer

In his darkroom he is finally alone
with spools of suffering set out in ordered rows.
The only light is red and softly glows,
as though this were a church and he
a priest preparing to intone a Mass.
Belfast. Beirut. Phnom Penh. All flesh is grass.
He has a job to do. Solutions slop in trays
beneath his hands which did not tremble then
though seem to now. Rural England. Home again
to ordinary pain which simple weather can dispel,
to fields which don’t explode beneath the feet
of running children in a nightmare heat.
Something is happening. A stranger’s features
faintly start to twist before his eyes,
a half-formed ghost. He remembers the cries
of this man’s wife, how he sought approval
without words to do what someone must
and how the blood stained into foreign dust.
A hundred agonies in black-and-white
from which his editor will pick out five or six
for Sunday’s supplement. The reader’s eyeballs prick
with tears between bath and pre-lunch beers.
From  an aeroplane he stares impassively at where
he earns a living and they do not care.
 

 War Photographer by Carol Ann Duffy