WHAT IS POETRY, TO ME, TO YOU?

A few months ago at work, here at our Paris Atelier,  I took part in a workshop on presentation. As a pattern maker by day for the women’s wear brand & Other Stories I don’t really have a need to present. For my job I interpret designs, create patterns; shapes, forms, work out mathematical proportions of the body and then a factory turns my computer-made pattern into a finished product; that dress you needed to have last christmas, that blouse you just couldn’t live without, or so you thought until the following season when the colour was no longer featured in any fashion magazine. So for the presentation, I decided to take my passion and talk about poetry and this is what unfolded…

 

It began as I pulled a mirror onto the stage and asked the audience to tell me what they saw in the mirror. Everyone saw something different. This is what poetry is about, what I see and what you see…

 

1

Poetry is a way for me to share what I see. Poetry is how I share what I see with you.

2

Poetry comes from what I see at the end of the lens, at the fuss when the metro stops moving, in the light that dances in the trees. These are some of the things that I see.

3

I am a writer, I write about what I see, but also how I feel. I am a writer, this is what I do.

4

I am a writer. I write my thoughts and offer them to you, to let you see what you want to see.

5

It all starts with what I see and how I see it and how much I see in it. We all see it, we just don’t all talk about it.

6

As a writer I am constantly questioning the reflections, looking for connections.

7

What I see in the mirror or in reflections is different to what you see. I see a grey car, I see a shadow of something that had meaning, I see a building that is hiding in the sky, I see a city drowning in the water that keeps moving while it cannot move.

34

Poetry is a way of making a connection, between what I see, how I feel and how you react to it.

9

Poetry does not have to be complicated, confusing, only for professors. Poetry for me is simply using words to describe a feeling, a thought, a moment that begs to be shared, a beauty that should not be missed.

99

I am a writer, poetry is my way of connecting with you, the reader, this is my reflection, see me, do you see me as I see me, do you see the world as I see it?

999

We can all see the same things, we can all experience the same feelings but we interpret it in different ways.

9999

I am offering you a reflection of who I am, of what I see, sometimes I am playful and I show you only what I want you to see. It is for you to look deeper if you want to.

99999

What is poetry?

A reflection, a personal beginning that opens up into a universal connection.

 

I am a writer.

You are the reader.

This is who we are.

This is what we see.

 

All words and photographs by Damien B. Donnelly.

 

TO LINGER LONGER, MAYBE…

 

Like a whisper
tissue is painted with purpose,
silk spun from crisp cuts,
white scented with sapphire
parading into Prussian
(fragile of frame and filigree),
like a thought
an image opens, a petal unfolding,
shades seep into substance
as the edges fade
(how quickly we fall to forgetful)
light, liquid, linger, a little longer.
Thoughts tied in twists of emerald
shimmering,
simplicity on a simple stand,
in a liquid light
and the memory leans in.

We are more fragile
than we know.

We could be more lasting
but only time will tell.

Not everything will linger
on after our whispers
fall to a fade…

 
All words and photographs by Damien B. Donnelly.

Photograph taken at the Dior exhibition Couturier Du Rêve, Musee des Arts Décoratifs, Paris

NEW RHYMES 

 

New notes quivering on a quaver, new rhythms
rattling through the repercussions of older rhymes;
echoes of former crescendos that crashed too soon,
convoluted cords that quickly constricted comprehension,
reasons now realised to be unreasonable, yet old fears
still trickle-down worn keys, no longer black and white,
no longer wrong or right, (is there a right note?) is it wrong
to not want to be deceivable. Will he stay, this time,
(maybe this time) should I leave, like I didn’t last time,
the first time, the second, the third, the fifth, though here,
with this new chorus, playing now in double time
along the lower keys, fingers fiddle with flesh, fresher
than before or am I just older than ever, older than the rest,
and what of the rest of me, what is left to be played?
Has the lady sung her final encore, not yet, no! More,
I feel there is more. But is it enough to share, will he care?
Will he be willing, be sturdy? Can we carry on the tune
long since started? Can this time be more worthy
or am I just more worried or wordier?
Is this the warm-up
or the wrap?

All words by Damien B. Donnelly

ADDICT 

 

Slip me in like a pill,
ride these waves,

this thrill.

We are supplements
to sensations, swimming
upstream; salmon fighters,
fresh for flesh,
eager igniters.
Lick these lips,
take me; this pill,

me green and you blue,

there is no choice,
addiction is not a selection
but a devouring infection.

You are base now
to my blood now,
steaming now.

See us:

hooked before we’ve even
swallowed each other whole.

 

All words and photographs by Damien B. Donnelly

POLAROID 

 

Camera stands to capture
all the memory cannot hold.

Stand. Strike. Flash
before we fade.

I hold a younger you
in my older hands;

lips
just settling after a smile
and your eyes;

forever with questions
I couldn’t answer

and now
all that stands
is our silence;

for the voice
is never part of the Polaroid.

 

All words by Damien B. Donnelly.

Photograph taken at the Irving Penn exhibition at Grand Palais Paris

TIME ON THE TIDE, PART 11; WHEN THE SEA MEETS THE SHORE

 

See me,
see in me,
see the sea in me,

see in me motion moving,
from an outstretched ocean,
returning, movements manoeuvring;

the sea in me, seeping,
seeping out of me,
sweeping over you,

over us now,

not just me now,
not just you and me now,

us now, us two now, too.

The sea and shore,
and the sea wants more.

See me,
see the sea in me,
see how much more we can be;

you; the shore and me; the sea
coming in, coming home,

see more in us now, today,
here together, (forget forever).

See the sea seeping over shore
sinking deep between
the cuts and curves

see in us more than before.

See me, this sea
that sees you, me, us,

these waves that sweep you, me us,

concerning, caressing
this current connection

coming in closer, (and breathe)
pulling out gently (and breathe)
coming back deeper (and we breathe).

See us taking major meanings
from these minor movements,
taking time for the tides that bind us;
bare bodies, on this beach, that wash over us;

me; the sea and you;
the shore, now sure

now each wanting more and more of more.

All words and photographs by Damien B. Donnelly

TIME ON THE TIDE, PART 9; TRUSTING TIME

 

We slip and slide
like grains of sand
that the sea seduces
as time sweeps over us,
combing us into compact
companions that come apart
after the sun shines
and the warmth dries us up,
how we hate the sand
that slips between the cracks
when we are parted
from the shore and so
we pull apart before we slip
and slide again, making
memory solely of the golden
grains and not the matted
mess that formerly moulded us
into misunderstood,
trusting time to thrust us
into more of a lasting truth
and I wonder if the water
coming in, sweeping up,
spreading out over each grain of sand
has a memory of the last time
it touched the shore or if each sweep
inland is like a new breath,
a fresh attempt to hold
onto something more
hopeful?

 

All words and photographs by Damien B. Donnelly

Audio version available on Soundcloud:

https://soundcloud.com/damien-donnelly-2/time-on-the-tides-part-9-trusting-time

 

TIME ON THE TIDE; PART 7; I PROMISE

I wrote words before,
polished promises I lost hold of
at nights by the sea where the waves stripped
all that was fantasy from a reality
that was never to know my hold.
I lost words I’d promised to hold
for longer than time would allow
but time is not to be toiled with,
time takes no prisoners, is not on our side,
the tide comes and goes, like these lines,
the ones we write and the ones we cross.
I can promise now, nothing but now,
nothing but this hold where hope is held
without being spoken,
I promise to hold you as we wash over time,
further, deeper into the waves
to see what the tides think of us,
to see if we float united,
or fall under in separate streams.
I promise, I promise.

TIME ON THE TIDE, PART 3; IN WAVES

 

And we kissed
and I took you in, in waves;
your breath, your body,
the smoothness of your skin,
the ease with which
my hands slipped
from thigh to burning heat,
lower, deeper,
aching for exploration
and my hunger rose
and I took a breath
and all that you are flooded me
with nothing but a longing
for more and more
of more.

 

All words and photographs by Damien B. Donnelly

Audio version available on Soundcloud:

TIME ON THE TIDE, PART 2; DRAWN TO THE DEEP

 

In sweeping sprays
the ceaseless sea
is savage to the shore;

bound and breathless,
always and evermore.

Living life on lucent lines
that linger on longing
but are lulled by the lullaby;

that constant cord caressing
the circle ever spinning by.

Ardent amoureux are we all,
ever eager to be eaten
and drawn to devotion,

never quite knowing
if we are the sea;

devouring

or the shore;

devoured by the desires
of our own creation.

 

All words and photographs by Damien B. Donnelly

Audio version available on Soundcloud: