The Door

There's a certain magic to be found in the sacred space of The Leeds Library. It's become my crucible. I stumbled upon this extraordinary door beneath the railway station today and a few hours later an embryonic poem had formed in response.

It's a work in progress but it feels right to journal its beginnings here. It will be interesting to see what shape I'll be happy to leave it in and then compare it eventually to its final form, should I ever feel like revisiting it. For now, it's entitled "Monochrome".

******

I pick up my camera
And find myself at a door,
An entrance
To another world.

I look through the lens,
Feel for a doorknob.
I frame what I see,
Release a catch.
I click the shutter,
Push.

The door opens.
Time is stopped.

I look at my photograph,
Walk through the door.
I download the raw image,
Begin to explore.

I probe for a meaning,
Find some deep essence.
I have doubts in my mind,
Suspect that it’s pretence.

I remove all the colour,
Reveal a new space.
I manipulate pixels,
Emphasise shape.

I cast light into shadow,
Discover what’s hidden.
I play with the contrast,
Make surfaces glisten.

I am lost to my process
Deep in a rhythm.
I close down the software,
Head to the exit.

Time has gone missing.
So has the door.

I have no compass,
Use black as a bearing.
I am drawn to the corners,
Seek out the shade.
I crave anonymity,
Hide

I choose to stay,
Saved,
In the silver tones
Of my monochrome world.





******

And then this evening I was at a talk about As Kingfishers Catch Fire by Alex Preston. The writer was talking to Richard Smyth, author of A Sweet, Wild Note. As a result of their truly sparkling discussion and their eloquent passion for birds, I'm now in possession of signed copies of both their books. I'm not quite sure how that happened as I was determined to be strong-willed tonight.

Add these to your list of recommendations, with thanks to those here who have offered their own. I've also been reminded that I forgot another impassioned suggestion from the panel last night: The Songs of Trees by David George Haskell.

It was another great literary evening at the library.