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Red Lights

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  • 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

  • Red Dot

    Red 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.

    Published 10 months ago

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