Tuesday, 14 January 2014
Friday, 30 August 2013
Digging BY SEAMUS HEANEY
Digging
BY SEAMUS HEANEY
Between my finger and my thumb
The squat pen rests; snug as a gun.
Under my window, a clean rasping sound
When the spade sinks into gravelly ground:
My father, digging. I look down
Till his straining rump among the flowerbeds
Bends low, comes up twenty years away
Stooping in rhythm through potato drills
Where he was digging.
The coarse boot nestled on the lug, the shaft
Against the inside knee was levered firmly.
He rooted out tall tops, buried the bright edge deep
To scatter new potatoes that we picked,
Loving their cool hardness in our hands.
By God, the old man could handle a spade.
Just like his old man.
My grandfather cut more turf in a day
Than any other man on Toner’s bog.
Once I carried him milk in a bottle
Corked sloppily with paper. He straightened up
To drink it, then fell to right away
Nicking and slicing neatly, heaving sods
Over his shoulder, going down and down
For the good turf. Digging.
The cold smell of potato mould, the squelch and slap
Of soggy peat, the curt cuts of an edge
Through living roots awaken in my head.
But I’ve no spade to follow men like them.
Between my finger and my thumb
The squat pen rests.
I’ll dig with it.
Between my finger and my thumb
The squat pen rests; snug as a gun.
Under my window, a clean rasping sound
When the spade sinks into gravelly ground:
My father, digging. I look down
Till his straining rump among the flowerbeds
Bends low, comes up twenty years away
Stooping in rhythm through potato drills
Where he was digging.
The coarse boot nestled on the lug, the shaft
Against the inside knee was levered firmly.
He rooted out tall tops, buried the bright edge deep
To scatter new potatoes that we picked,
Loving their cool hardness in our hands.
By God, the old man could handle a spade.
Just like his old man.
My grandfather cut more turf in a day
Than any other man on Toner’s bog.
Once I carried him milk in a bottle
Corked sloppily with paper. He straightened up
To drink it, then fell to right away
Nicking and slicing neatly, heaving sods
Over his shoulder, going down and down
For the good turf. Digging.
The cold smell of potato mould, the squelch and slap
Of soggy peat, the curt cuts of an edge
Through living roots awaken in my head.
But I’ve no spade to follow men like them.
Between my finger and my thumb
The squat pen rests.
I’ll dig with it.
Wednesday, 10 July 2013
A Field in England by Ben Wheatley and Amy Jump
Like nothing you've ever seen, and everything you've ever seen. A brilliant representation of the over consumption and delusions of war. An epic non-linear narrative, cinematic and theatrical; Tarkovsky meets Tom Stoppard in a field.
A Field in England watch the trailer here.
A Field in England watch the trailer here.
Tuesday, 26 March 2013
Our Glass House UK Tour 2013
UK Tour Dates
26th February- 9th March 2013 Bradford
13th August - 24th August 2013 Edinburgh
LONDON dates TBC
26th February- 9th March 2013 Bradford
13th August - 24th August 2013 Edinburgh
LONDON dates TBC
Wednesday, 28 March 2012
Our Glass House (2012)
The theme is domestic violence, responding with dance, drama, art and music. In a council house in Bristol you will see an ensemble cast, musicians, illustrators, dancers and carpenters transform a disused building and create an event that is part-gig, part installation, part-theater.
The play has been funded by the Arts Council, supported by Bristol Council and the NHS, as well as many local domestic violence charities.
There is no actual violence in the play. It is hoped that this production will raise awareness and facilitate emotional and imaginative access to this challenging and under-represented social issue.
The play, called Our Glass House is produced by Common Wealth Theater and is taking place in a council house, donated by the local council. This is a full length piece of work.
More details here.
Labels:
Aisha Zia,
Arts Council,
Bristol,
domestic violence,
Evie Manning,
Our Glass House
Thursday, 23 February 2012
Martha Marcy May Marlene (2011)
Brechtian social awareness, Ibsenesque drama with a good mix of Lars von Triers Dogville and The Idiots. A sad, intimate portrayal of the breakdown of a young girl who becomes lost and vulnerable, detached from society whilst looking for a sense of the familiar. The narrative centers around Martha's escape from a Manson-like cult, but is much more about her relationship with her sister, the loss of her mother, and the inability of society to reach out, or locate people who go missing without a trace.
Watch trailer here. |
Labels:
Brecht,
Ibsen,
Lars Von Triers,
Martha Marcy May Marlene
Friday, 10 February 2012
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