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WatchRed Dot
By
Featured 9 months agoRed Dot a stop-motion video responding to Josephine Rowe's poem Red Lights for prod! Supported by media@rmit and the Australian Poetry Centre
Videographers: Putri Ayu Sari, Zhen Jiang Wong
Red Lights
by Josephine Rowe
(A stanza from the poem - Red Lights)
1.
Melbourne, it was a little red light
sewn under your skin.
From thirty k’s distance
we could still make it out.
Sitting on the rooves of our parents’ cars
in outer suburbia
we watched it winking,
traced it along the lit veins of your highways,
in and out of traffic, past the docks and
down blind alleys where everything
that had been said and sold and bought and done
in the lost hours of a hundred and fifty years of Saturday nights
had seeped into the cold stone and left it wanting.
From thirty k’s distance,
from as far away as childhood,
it was a little red light
moving under you skin
and we were all meant to be someone else by now.
Melbourne, you promised.
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Watch
Ebb & Flow
By
Featured 9 months agoAn underwater video responding to Gemma White’s poem - The Mariner’s Lover for prod! Supported by media@rmit and the Australian Poetry Centre.
Videographers: Emma Davies, Eliza Hull, Angeline Lim
The Mariner's Lover
by Gemma White
It is not possible. Seas have upheaved upon us.
It is not a surprise; I saw the new tide coming.
It scared me from the first idle rip-wave. You couldn’t
look that far ahead. It was too misty, you said. Besides,
you could not tell which way you would drift. And you wanted
to be billowed by any coming breeze, whirled into the eye of
any ocean twister, following the tailfins, of any bejeweled sea heiress.
For me it is different. I can no longer give anchor to this mirage
of feeling. The albatross has flown. I thought, shooting it down
could only bring me grief, but its death is a herald of relief, feathered
hope whispering in, like discarded seagull plumes. He is touching me
in the subtle dip and meet, of calami alighting water; free. My ancient love,
I have lost your compass. And it seems, you have lost me.
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Watch
Search for Soul
By
Featured 9 months agoSearch for Soul a stop-motion video responding to Jessica Raschke's poem Bustles for prod! Supported by media@rmit and the Australian Poetry Centre
Videographers: Keshanee De Silva, Danica Revote
Bustles
by Jessica Raschke
As nervous fingers thumb the pads
As jostling arms seek airs to swallow
The lingering wishes for spaciousness
Are denied their chance in this hustle blitz
I wish
To stomp the earth in solitude
I wish
To wake free of white noisiness
Unsound
Unkempt
Impossible
My mind it sprawls in search of yours
Amid the ranges of bustled hordes
What wakefulness is promised me
Among glittering life saviours?
I am told, once more, consoled:
A slapping chorus awaits your heart
The search for soul
Breaks down
At last
Reminiscence
Reminiscence is a video that responds to Josephine Rowe's poem Red Lights for prod! Supported by media@rmit and the Australian Poetry Centre
Videographers: Putri Ayu Sari, Zhen Jiang Wong
Red Lights
by Josephine Rowe
(A stanza from the poem - Red Lights)
6.
There are the things
We want to say
We are just waiting
For the right time
Ad breaks
Red lights
Birthdays
Eulogies.
Published 9 months ago
Between
Between is a video that responds to Josephine Rowe's poem Red Lights for prod! Supported by media@rmit and the Australian Poetry Centre
Videographers: Putri Ayu Sari, Zhen Jiang Wong
Red Lights
by Josephine Rowe
(A stanza from the poem - Red Lights)
1.
Melbourne, it was a little red light
sewn under your skin.
From thirty k’s distance
we could still make it out.
Sitting on the rooves of our parents’ cars
in outer suburbia
we watched it winking,
traced it along the lit veins of your highways,
in and out of traffic, past the docks and
down blind alleys where everything
that had been said and sold and bought and done
in the lost hours of a hundred and fifty years of Saturday nights
had seeped into the cold stone and left it wanting.
From thirty k’s distance,
from as far away as childhood,
it was a little red light
moving under you skin
and we were all meant to be someone else by now.
Melbourne, you promised.
Published 9 months ago
Ebb & Flow
An underwater video responding to Gemma White’s poem - The Mariner’s Lover for prod! Supported by media@rmit and the Australian Poetry Centre.
Videographers: Emma Davies, Eliza Hull, Angeline Lim
The Mariner's Lover
by Gemma White
It is not possible. Seas have upheaved upon us.
It is not a surprise; I saw the new tide coming.
It scared me from the first idle rip-wave. You couldn’t
look that far ahead. It was too misty, you said. Besides,
you could not tell which way you would drift. And you wanted
to be billowed by any coming breeze, whirled into the eye of
any ocean twister, following the tailfins, of any bejeweled sea heiress.
For me it is different. I can no longer give anchor to this mirage
of feeling. The albatross has flown. I thought, shooting it down
could only bring me grief, but its death is a herald of relief, feathered
hope whispering in, like discarded seagull plumes. He is touching me
in the subtle dip and meet, of calami alighting water; free. My ancient love,
I have lost your compass. And it seems, you have lost me.
Published 10 months ago
Flowerman
Stopmotion & timelapse video responding to Gemma White’s poem - The Mariner’s Lover for prod!
Supported by media@rmit and the Australian Poetry Centre.
Videographers: Emma Davies, Eliza Hull, Angeline Lim
The Mariner's Lover
by Gemma White
It is not possible. Seas have upheaved upon us.
It is not a surprise; I saw the new tide coming.
It scared me from the first idle rip-wave. You couldn’t
look that far ahead. It was too misty, you said. Besides,
you could not tell which way you would drift. And you wanted
to be billowed by any coming breeze, whirled into the eye of
any ocean twister, following the tailfins, of any bejeweled sea heiress.
For me it is different. I can no longer give anchor to this mirage
of feeling. The albatross has flown. I thought, shooting it down
could only bring me grief, but its death is a herald of relief, feathered
hope whispering in, like discarded seagull plumes. He is touching me
in the subtle dip and meet, of calami alighting water; free. My ancient love,
I have lost your compass. And it seems, you have lost me.
Published 10 months ago
Set Adrift
Featuring contemporary dancer Verity McLucas; responding to Gemma White’s poem - The Mariner’s Lover for prod!
Supported by media@rmit and the Australian Poetry Centre.
Videographers: Emma Davies, Eliza Hull, Angeline Lim
The Mariner's Lover
by Gemma White
It is not possible. Seas have upheaved upon us.
It is not a surprise; I saw the new tide coming.
It scared me from the first idle rip-wave. You couldn’t
look that far ahead. It was too misty, you said. Besides,
you could not tell which way you would drift. And you wanted
to be billowed by any coming breeze, whirled into the eye of
any ocean twister, following the tailfins, of any bejeweled sea heiress.
For me it is different. I can no longer give anchor to this mirage
of feeling. The albatross has flown. I thought, shooting it down
could only bring me grief, but its death is a herald of relief, feathered
hope whispering in, like discarded seagull plumes. He is touching me
in the subtle dip and meet, of calami alighting water; free. My ancient love,
I have lost your compass. And it seems, you have lost me.
Published 10 months ago
Exploring Interaction
Exploring Interaction is a video that responds to the poem Some People by Laura Smith for prod! supported by media@rmit and the Australian Poetry Centre
Videographers: Kang Hee Dong, Kailyn Yong
Some People
Laura Smith
They're not reviewers
who unfurl back row centre
who sometimes bring a notebook
or a friend.
Not Front of House staff
who loosen the back door
smile at the tech
and break training
to stand in the aisle
and block the fire exit.
Not the producer
who perches in an aisle seat
laughs once
twice
then leaves.
Not the comedian's mates
who dam-burst in
laugh over-loud at some jokes
and settle through the rest.
Not other comics
bringing the job with them
to the second row.
They're ticket holders.
They choose a row
five or six back from the front
three or four forward
from the back.
They walk to the end of the row
lull into the wall
like it's a dry place to come
and it's raining in every other room.
Some people
come to comedy shows
alone.
Published 10 months ago
Ebb & Flow
An underwater video responding to Gemma White’s poem - The Mariner’s Lover for prod! Supported by media@rmit and the Australian Poetry Centre.
Videographers: Emma Davies, Eliza Hull, Angeline Lim
The Mariner's Lover
by Gemma White
It is not possible. Seas have upheaved upon us.
It is not a surprise; I saw the new tide coming.
It scared me from the first idle rip-wave. You couldn’t
look that far ahead. It was too misty, you said. Besides,
you could not tell which way you would drift. And you wanted
to be billowed by any coming breeze, whirled into the eye of
any ocean twister, following the tailfins, of any bejeweled sea heiress.
For me it is different. I can no longer give anchor to this mirage
of feeling. The albatross has flown. I thought, shooting it down
could only bring me grief, but its death is a herald of relief, feathered
hope whispering in, like discarded seagull plumes. He is touching me
in the subtle dip and meet, of calami alighting water; free. My ancient love,
I have lost your compass. And it seems, you have lost me.
Published 10 months ago
Good Day Mate
Good Day Mate is a video that responds to the poem Some People by Laura Smith for prod! supported by media@rmit and the Australian Poetry Centre
Videographers: Kang Hee Dong, Kailyn Yong
Some People
Laura Smith
They're not reviewers
who unfurl back row centre
who sometimes bring a notebook
or a friend.
Not Front of House staff
who loosen the back door
smile at the tech
and break training
to stand in the aisle
and block the fire exit.
Not the producer
who perches in an aisle seat
laughs once
twice
then leaves.
Not the comedian's mates
who dam-burst in
laugh over-loud at some jokes
and settle through the rest.
Not other comics
bringing the job with them
to the second row.
They're ticket holders.
They choose a row
five or six back from the front
three or four forward
from the back.
They walk to the end of the row
lull into the wall
like it's a dry place to come
and it's raining in every other room.
Some people
come to comedy shows
alone.
Published 10 months ago
Set Adrift
Featuring contemporary dancer Verity McLucas; responding to Gemma White’s poem - The Mariner’s Lover for prod!
Supported by media@rmit and the Australian Poetry Centre.
Videographers: Emma Davies, Eliza Hull, Angeline Lim
The Mariner's Lover
by Gemma White
It is not possible. Seas have upheaved upon us.
It is not a surprise; I saw the new tide coming.
It scared me from the first idle rip-wave. You couldn’t
look that far ahead. It was too misty, you said. Besides,
you could not tell which way you would drift. And you wanted
to be billowed by any coming breeze, whirled into the eye of
any ocean twister, following the tailfins, of any bejeweled sea heiress.
For me it is different. I can no longer give anchor to this mirage
of feeling. The albatross has flown. I thought, shooting it down
could only bring me grief, but its death is a herald of relief, feathered
hope whispering in, like discarded seagull plumes. He is touching me
in the subtle dip and meet, of calami alighting water; free. My ancient love,
I have lost your compass. And it seems, you have lost me.
Published 10 months ago
Displaced
Displaced a time-lapse video responding to Jessica Raschke's poem Bustles for prod! Supported by media@rmit and the Australian Poetry Centre
Videographers: Keshanee De Silva, Danica Revote
Bustles
by Jessica Raschke
As nervous fingers thumb the pads
As jostling arms seek airs to swallow
The lingering wishes for spaciousness
Are denied their chance in this hustle blitz
I wish
To stomp the earth in solitude
I wish
To wake free of white noisiness
Unsound
Unkempt
Impossible
My mind it sprawls in search of yours
Amid the ranges of bustled hordes
What wakefulness is promised me
Among glittering life saviours?
I am told, once more, consoled:
A slapping chorus awaits your heart
The search for soul
Breaks down
At last
Published 10 months ago
