The Sea The Sea
Copyright 2014 by the author (Mike Newton) who retains the sole copyright for the contributions to this book. http://blackdog.shutterchance.com/ http://mwnewton.com
Mike Newton The Sea The Sea
â€œIt affords me a curious pleasure to stand upon this bridge and watch the violent forces which the churning waves, advancing or retreating, generate within the confined space of the rocky hole."
THE SEA Have you wondered why poets extol so the sea? Is it the swell, where ‘the little steamers ply’ the promise of whales, aspirations towards unfutured horizons? Is it the waves churn the teeming shoals of species and metaphor encompassing journey and stasis? A binary power of Contemplation and restlessness, Restlessness and contemplation For me it is the undertow I wake to each day even though I know better than to explain through forces external those drawing the energy within It is the wanton suction of the sea below shipping lane and fishery below submersible and the cool bacteria into the bottomless trench where nothing is and no-one lives but me GREG SPIRO ©Greg Spiro all rights reserved, Singapore 2014
Overexposed, the seas horizon, burns a line across the midday sky. Wide-eyed pollock, riding, hunting, white-water rip tides, undertow. Finding land-legs, gasping hard, exchanged, the filtered light for air.
Always, the camera lens says, ‘this is now’. Always, the contact sheet says, ‘that was then’. Double exposed, trick mirage, clearly cars drive in the sea, doubtless, fish float in the air, above Cape Cornwall, above the village of Pendeen.
July’s light-leaks and fogs the film, fixed solid in the summer heat, fixed solid in the archives conversation.
We float, speak in undertones, we float at arms length, we are lost. Our thoughts can’t find the words. Becalmed, we know, yet don’t know what to say. Friends sit anchored in deep sorrow, a pyre ignited in his name.
•5• Seascape and the harbour jetty, mobbed they crane their necks to understand. Wide-angle, and the scene unfolds. Waves, count down from ten, link arms, break swiftly for the shore. Air lifted from those arms, lifted from our gaze.
•8• Night, charred white, an arc of silver, shares the constellation of the plough. Refracted moonlight, hidden scars, cut, round the edge of contact sheets, marked red, end frame, photographic gestures, to look at now and then. SIMON HEAD ©Simon Head all rights reserved, England 2014.
FLOOD Waves pounding endlessly on mussel covered rocks; seeking fissures, building spouts. Old man on the rocks, seeing eyes see no more golden skies at end of day, just loneliness with no end. . Ghostly on her track, the moon timeless in rhythms of lust serenades to surging swell; and unseen, changes tide. Waves pounding without end, ever further the sea stretches out. Seeming the land to quell, but on rocks and sand is spent. Green wave rose in spite so high, falling with thunderous clap, words of release unheard; no silhouette to etch a fiery dusk. . A bird in silent flight observes with plaintive cry. LOUIS KOTZEE ÂŠLouis Kotzee all rights reserved, South Africa 2014