dominicsymes
DOMINIC SYMES
I am a writer from Adeliade, Australia. I write poems about Visual Art. This is called Ekphrasis. I post the paintings that I am writing about, to help the reader see what I am seeing. Some older poems on this page are conceptual works themed around new media texts. Follow the hashtags under each poem to read the poems in series as they were intended. (N.B All Visual Works remain the property of the Artist and all attempts have been made to properly cite their original source) - contact: [email protected]
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« Photography Is Art. »
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BLUE POLES #8
where were you?
in the shadows in the corner?
behind the floodlights?
in between the cracks
in the old timber frame
where the heat escapes?
recall one piece of
2x4, birch as I remember,
leaning against
the old wall
recuperating, congealed,
left black and blue
to dry out in the
cold.
another question of source,
did you try and hack a straight
path through the jungle?
did you try and follow a
sextant through the foggy
ocean beyond the bay?
did you search the internet
looking for your absent father?
true believers regard, one
above all - the source of
wisdom and hope, the rest
are left in holy spaces
in Dionysian fits we dance
in revelry a
round totem poles
pleading with the
spirits for the answers
a further question on source:
did you access this from the frontal
lobe? the memory chamber?
the cartesian split? the id?
the subconscious? the
divine intervention?
lonely sailors spend
cold nights listlessly
drifting from one side
of the deck to the other
from the shore only
the tall masts
are visible in
flutters from the lighthouse.
a final query regarding source:
do you know what blue means?
all at once the
chaos must stop
we seek knowledge to an end,
such seduction towards
impossible accounts
for the how and why
momentary lapses in
authority, tacit judgement
you have made my bed,
and now I have to
sleep
in it.
#poetry#visualpoetry#JacksonPollock#Bluepoles#BluePolesPoetrySeries#ekphrasis#poem#Poems#DomSymes#NGA
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BLUE POLES #7
An American in Canberra
hoping it would be warmer
the June morning, without my coffee
told I couldn’t take inside.
Carrying my jacket,
unable to retrace my steps back to
the cloakroom,
no interest in pastorals.
Passing Australian landscapes
on the walls,
finding it difficult to see
what is significant about Eucalypts
and Bushrangers.
The exhibition eludes me
following the signs,
looking at my watch,
how long before closing?
Bigger than I’d imagined,
taking a seat on the backless lounge,
uncertain where to start.
Transported back to
the top of the Grand Canyon, the
panorama consuming my entire field of vision,
commanding silence and
reverie.
Interrupted by the thick vowels
of an Australian woman, with an
assortment of middle school students.
My quiet conversation
in familiar West Coast accents,
with Pollock on the wall
must wait.
Checking my watch again,
wishing they would leave.
#Bluepoles#BluePolesPoetrySeries#ekphrasis#JacksonPollock#nga#DomSymes#visualpoetry#poetry#poem#poems
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BLUE POLES 6
This morning I woke up feeling blue. From the first cigarette in bed I coughed phlegm all over my sheets. I ashed it out and went to make breakfast. The eggs ran all over my plate and in a weary stupor I watched them ooze yellow onto my toast. I left the plate in the sink and went back to bed. I picked my journal off the floor and out fell the pieces of my blue pen. I must have stepped on it at some point, as there was ink everywhere making what I’d written unreadable. I blew my nose on some tissues, but it started bleeding. It was the last one in the box, so I had to run to the bathroom. I leant over the sink and watched the blood drip into the murky grey water. The drain must have become blocked again. The blood clotted eventually. I got dressed and headed out to the shed. When I opened the door I knocked over a tin of paint that I’d been saving for the outside wall. The cream acrylic went all over the concrete of the patio, but I let it run. I figured it would dry eventually. I didn’t have time anyway, I’d wasted enough of my morning not painting.
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BLUE POLES 5
is this it?
you have known colour before
but not like this,
as way of introduction
formality demands, the merging rivers of
conscious and spontaneous creation
meet as philosophy and the paint
splattered on his
feet.
let your mind wander around the room
because colour is nothing without
context, a tradition to rest on.
the belgian canvas doesn’t speak
belgian, or any other language, so
why bother trying to coax words from it?
you may ask, but I will refuse
to illuminate any more
than I know he would have wanted,
instead, let me ask a question of my own,
why would Whitlam have
wasted $1.3 million
on exploding stars, runny eggs, arctic blizzards, patchwork elephants, bleeding gums and golden threads held in place by eight blue poles to hang in an unfinished national gallery in the middle of nowhere?
still people flock to see it
like a meteor shower or
aurora borealis.
can you ever
be calm amid the whispers and
sniggers?
does it make you anxious,
being in it’s presence?
if it makes you feel better,
I could download a jpeg to your
desktop to make you feel more
at home?
how does it make you feel? could
you have done better? is it nothing
but a storm inside a teacup?
that follows you around the room
in the moment of creation
mad with tubes of acrylic
angst, concentric revolutions
stalking the canvas, imposing
himself with distillatory proof.
aboriginal painting was colonized
after blue poles had invaded Australia’s
sovereign borders, putting sixty thousand
years into context and currency
painting on the ground was not an
original idea, native cultures
have traditionally left their footprints
on art
when you have no walls, the floor
does just fine, he might have said to
himself.
it’s nice to finally be alone.
you can see the house that jackson built,
held up by blue poles.
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BLUE POLES 4
the colour blue is never angry, never urgent.
it intends no harm;
in fact it intends nothing at all.
the colour blue is an origin unto itself
an independent pillar of colour,
the source of it’s own becoming
without beginning or ending.
the colour blue is not artistic on its own,
but defenseless against purpose and
artistic intention, easily interpreted as
an emotional descriptor
or reference to a physical struggle.
the colour blue is none of these, alone,
it remains silently compliant.
the blue pen is never angry, never urgent.
it intends no harm;
in fact it intends nothing at all.
the blue pen is a vessel
in which words are carried
without complaint.
the blue pen is pregnant with
words gestating inside,
kicking with potential as shopping lists
suicide notes, essays, contracts,
calculations, ballads, eulogies.
the blue pen is none of these, alone,
it cries thick blue tears.
the blue ocean is never angry, never urgent.
it intends no harm,
in fact it intends nothing at all.
the blue ocean is vast beyond
human comprehension, it defies
description or ownership.
the blue ocean is loud and violent,
it is quiet and tranquil, it is shallow and light,
it is deep and dark.
the blue ocean is none of these, alone,
it is transparent in abstraction.
#poetry#poem#JacksonPollock#nga#DomSymes#Bluepoles#BluePolesPoetrySeries#ekphrasis#visualpoetry#adelaidepoetry
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BLUE POLES 3
hollow skulls and eyelashes,
electrical sockets,
stairs and concrete
mud maps to ancient burial grounds
with each pulsation
a ray of sunlight,
illuminates the dark urban jungle,
for breakfast graffiti
practiced in east hampton packing sheds dripping blood onto the sheets, roofs of copper elephant’s ears a mask for new apocalyptic fear in exhibitions of darkness, sacred frustrations
kick the bucket
go-go boots
dagger tipped poisonous frogs re-spawned
discursive anarchy
tips for making
soap, fleeting power trips banana peels
floating made up father christmases
slicing telephone lines
portraits of kings,
spartan warriors heads dressed, mailboxes
free-fall toward earth
birds soaring await
aeroplane’s engines, for all eternity
practicing signatures in exercise books
scrawling away
exploding stars, burning
overhead, dancing elves in the garden
kissing fairies
an anteater’s tongue
licking the inside of your ear to wake you up.
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BLUE POLES 2
let me paint a picture for you:
your emotions must be contained somehow, bursting at their seams, eight blue stitches, a colourful violent psyche remains silent underneath.
reserved for truthful whispers, such as these, between sips of water on brown leather chaise lounges, yellow pads, fountain pens and mmmhmms,
how does it make you feel?
the frames on the wall are un- inspiring,
you’ve never liked landscapes anyway, the window is closed,
you’ve never liked portraits either
so you avoid eye contact,
if you liked still life, then you wouldn’t be here would you?
that’s the source of your problems.
you stare at the wallpaper so long that it starts to look like the carpet and as the afternoon melts away outside, you stop listening, you feel yourself being lifted up out of your chair,
mid air you catch a glimpse of yourself in a little mirror on his desk, the convex lens confuses, you barely recognise yourself,
you didn’t come here expecting simple answers did you?
as the sorcerer’s apprentice conjures the water from your cup, the storm rages on inside, now you watch it engulf the room,
the water rises and falls at the white gloved command,
what do you think is happening to you?
orchestrated in your dreams, overheard as if from another room, the water is sucked back into your glass, you blink and blink again.
you see the walls are as they were when you arrived, but there are patterns on them, watermarks, that look like something you have seen before but
found it hard to articulate.
you are handed an inkblot test:
tell me what you see?
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BLUE POLES 1
anyone could have done this:
just paint
on a canvas,
just words on a page.
there is no beauty, no technical refinement,
only brains scattered everywhere.
who is to say
it isn’t unfinished or hanging upside down?
raw emotion without mediation or metaphor,
pure abstraction
nowhere to set up a base camp,
pure expression,
a complete lack of respect for tradition.
‘when I am in my painting
I am not aware of what I am doing’
obviously
must have had a messy desk
‘the action
is immediately art’,
‘spontaneous movement
creates a unique experience’.
is this it?
obviously
must have had a bit to drink
this is not art
this is frustration
are we even talking about the same thing?
could anyone have done this?
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It took me four years to learn to paint like Raphael, but a lifetime to paint like a child
Pablo Picasso
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It’s all about the Blue Poles
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COMMENTARY: 7 PICTURES OF BEYONCE THAT TOTALLY REDEFINE PERFECTION.
This poem comments on the attention grabbing style of headlines used on Buzzfeed. There seems to be no objective for the site other than generating web traffic and getting people to their site by appealing to things that are popular or trending. It is a news site that doesn’t present any real news. From reading the titles on the page, I realized patterns such as the appeal to female users. As it is imitative appropriation, I emphasized this useless news aspect of the site by referencing cats and Game of Thrones. I also incorporated the second person into the poem as this is a tactic used by the site to engage their audience.
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CONTEXTUAL STATEMENT: 7 PICTURES OF BEYONCE THAT TOTALLY REDEFINE PERFECTION
This poem assumes the style of article headlines on Buzzfeed, a website that presents content. The style of language is very specific to the viral intention of the website, to generate traffic onto the site. As all the headlines on the site contain numbers I chose to present the poem as a countdown.
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7 PICTURES OF BEYONCE THAT TOTALLY REDEFINE PERFECTION.
14 must see pictures of cats.
13 minutes into this video you will be speechless (watch all the way to the end).
12 celebrity twitter wars.
11 thoughts every woman has had trying on a swimsuit.
10 reasons your english major will get you nowhere.
9 signs you grew up in Australia in the nineties.
8 G.O.T facts that will change how you watch the show forever (spoiler alert!)
7 pictures of Beyonce that totally redefine perfection.
6 best disney princesses.
5 songs with outrageously epic intros (you won’t be able to sit still).
4 pictures that prove how eyebrows change your face.
3 ways to get your cat to love you more.
2 very different ways to approach the red carpet (you decide).
1 website you need to visit today.
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COMMENTARY: FOLLOW.
The idea behind this poem was to usurp the sensible uses of twitter. It comments on the advertising and business presence on twitter with all the business names, as well as on the universality of twitter as a platform for communicating, with some text in Russian and Chinese characters. The word ‘follow’, in a similar way to the word ‘like’ has adopted a new meaning through social media. This is a nonsense poem that puns on the usage of the verb ‘to follow’ and perhaps could be seen as a wake up call to the tacit acceptance of social media which everyone is eager to be a part of. This reflects the binary or wanting to stand out, but wanting to fit in by ‘following’. By purely appropriating, the piece assumes an ironic tone through the non-sensical connection between the user profiles.
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CONTEXTUAL STATEMENT: FOLLOW.
This poem is taken from the search bar on twitter, when searching ‘sheep’. The user names were copied out and arranged thematically. The work is one of pure appropriation, the user names are unedited.
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FOLLOW.
Shaun the Sheep @shaunthesheep
An official account for the Shaun the Sheep website, bringing you all the latest news, competitions and special offers from Shaun HQ!
geek sleep sheep @geeksleepsheep
◆ geek sleep sheep official twitter ◆ kazuhiro momo: vocal, guitar from MO'SOME TONEBENDER 345: vocal, bass from 凛として時雨 yukihiro: drum from L'Arc～en～Ciel
The Black Sheep @BlackSheep_MSU
The Black Sheep: a college newspaper that's actually about college. And Spartying.
BlackSheep @BlackSheepBeer
Established in 1992. Black Sheep Brewery produces award-winning ales in the time honoured fashion.
Obwa Mneahtpon @penciled_sheep
лишённый логики, смысла и хоть какой-нибудь чёткой периодичности недокомикс про овцу-мизантропа и некоторых других овец
Shannon @LittleEmoSheep
Adventurer, Starbucks lover & professional crazy person. I'm a caffeine based life-form. Addicted to British YouTubers, shopping & Skittles. Glitter scares me.
Sheeps @sheepsofcomedy
The people who the joke about saying both skits and sketches is from.
Electric Sheep @ESheepMagazine
The magazine for lovers of transgressive cinema
~Relation Sheep~ @relatedship
A sheep brought to you by an another sheep to give you some advice about your goddamn problems.
Black Sheep @BaabBaasheep
20. The black sheep of the family. princess. Aspiring catlady. Avi is me. 11-11-13
Black Sheep Lodge @blacksheeplodge
Best burgers and beer joint in Austin! 512-707-2744
Black Sheep Media @ShearTheSheep
BLACK SHEEP is the irreverent and ernest internet talk radio show you've come to know and love.
Blaqk Sheep @blaqksheepmafia
Blaqk Sheep Music & Loud Disturbance Records/producer/engineer/musician/writer/vocalist..
Non’Sheep @NONSHEEP
ロックバンドNON'SHEEP（ノンシープ）officialアカウント！最新作「悪魔の飼育」このCDと連動したVo佐藤による小説「悪魔の飼育」（徳間書店）も発売中！メンバーアカウント：
Electrik Sheep @ElectrikSheep1
Electrik Sheep is an independent clothing brand in Newcastle, England founded in 2006 by Design Studio, Reluctant Hero.
BlackSheepRestaurant @BlackSheepJax
At Black Sheep Restaurant, we believe everyone deserves great food at a reasonable price, attentive service, and thoughtful surroundings.
Black Sheep Reviews @thesheeptweets
Black Sheep Reviews, a film review site.
Sheep Dip @Sheep_dip
Sheep Dip is a hand crafted scotch malt whisky made from sixteen single malt whiskies aged between 8 and 21 years in first fill oak.
National Sheep Assoc @natsheep
Striving for a sustainable and prosperous UK sheep industry. If you're not already a member, join today!
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COMMENTARY: LIKES.
This poem is a comment on the facebook-specific use of the word ‘like’. ‘Like’ already has a number of meanings, but in this context it generally means agreeing with something the person has said or congratulating them on something they’ve done. The strange thing about this collection of statuses is that they do not feel appropriate to like because that would indicate support or congratulations when really it would be more apt to express sympathy. This is a comment on the narcissistic qualities of facebook users who use the social media site as a platform to complain about the bad things that happen in their life. The anaphoric repetition of the word ‘like’ becomes a chorus for the sad statuses. It also appears as a newsfeed, reading down, with the option to like sitting below each line. This is an instance of imitative appropriation rather than pure appropriation.
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