prod! poets ride online dangerously

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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 4 months ago

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  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 4 months ago

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  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 4 months ago