Synaesthetes night out at Cafe Oto

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Synaesthetes night out at Cafe Oto

This is an impression of an impression,
the hyperreal of ketchup in a painting,
a kid’s wax crayon drawing,
a pulp paperback, lurid and lovely,
a pastiche of unstitched pop songs.

This music tastes not of red wine but cold beer,
electronic gizmos sharpen silence,
club cut hair is feather black on cheek bones,
basket weave lantern throws honey light.
Beside the prepared piano, blonde wig
over her filbert head, the woman sings
of sparrows and white flowers
only her scarlet stockings anchor her to earth.
She is utterly serious, and utterly amused.
Guitar feedback flocks birds into our chests,
sliver whining mobile worms under layers of chords,
water condenses on the window to the street.

My hand slices acid trails in air.
You decant cold Brooklyn Beer into my wine glass,
everything stands for something else.
The two minute encore satisfies brains bathed in dissonance.

◄ Lido

Found poem: the ways of water ►


Robert Gross

Mon 2nd May 2016 18:01

Blind Labyrinth is an electroacoustic music duo and we found this poem through this blog. With Pauline Sewards's permission and collaboration, we set this poem to music!

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Cynthia Buell Thomas

Tue 16th Apr 2013 10:26

This poem is sharp, in concept and in craftsmanship, full of original images that excite all the senses and push the brain into high gear. It is an - experience - one of the best poems I have ever read. I salute a master hand.

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pauline sewards

Mon 8th Apr 2013 09:01

Thanks very much Charlie. I have exactly the same thing re days of the week - although my Tuesday is maroon ...
Lovely to have your comment x

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Charlie Preston

Fri 5th Apr 2013 09:25

This is a great poem. I love the line 'guitar feedback flocks birds into our chests'. I suspect I might be a synaesthete. Days of the week have colours (Sunday is yellow; Tuesday a definite blue) and music conjures up shapes - although perhaps I just spent too much time watching Fantasia as a kid! Anyway, thanks for sharing. X

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