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Words

Writing as a way of thinking and of sharing ideas has formed an essential part of the creative process for Oceanallover.

Words are used as one way to generate choreographic ideas as well as a way of processing performances after the fact. Poetry in particular has proved to be a form that mirrors some of the abbreviated and condensed emotional content of the live work. Included here are a number of pieces of writing that are associated with specific performances given by the company. All of the words are written by Alex Rigg as a tool for direction and explanation.

 

Some words were posted on a blogspot a couple of years ago and you can click here to read them:

Feathermammy.blogspot.com

 

............ or read on for words written for recent performance work...........

 

©Alex Rigg

Might

Irascibility incarnated
should be the itch by which you scratch
with so many more legs, so many more arms;
but all of your grist powers thinking
and all of your thoughts are potentials
nothing in your body but drive
to move the earth.

Make it change, reset all orbits by
wild hypotheses and crazed calculus;
such a small item, a mite,
almost as invisible as an idea
and with which small totem I might
fill my mind and paint the walls
giving an emulsion to emotion.

Think me into action, tiny one
my head is yours, my body, arms, legs
with both hands and both feet I make
a progress elective, a passage selected,
moving with a purpose; we, us;
heating muscles to combustive drive,
we, you, I, we.

 

©Alex Rigg

Tearing it Up

I'm a tall
Gigantone
Gigantone
Gigantone
I'm a tall
Gigantone
The earth and sun don't matter.

When I walk
The Angels look
At the strength I hold
In my elbow's cruck
When I walk
Through stars and void
The solar winds are shattered.

In my head
There's room to think
Room to drift
Room to grow
My head's a place
Where eagles roost
And monkeys come to chatter.

Upon the earth
I saw a speck
I spied a mite
A tiny fleck
Through clouds and years
I dragged it up
And on my shoulder sat it.

Now on this day
The tick arrived
Inside a mind
With room to share
Sun up sun down
We changed the shape
And water, earth are scattered.

Each day makes more
We build we break
Build and break
Build and break
Exuberant in entropy
We weave the cloth and tear it.

 

©Alex Rigg

Large

Dance as if you can, big man
Dance to die for
Rattle a thought, chase it round
Your tin head.

Lift your boots, sonny Jim
Scrape the clods
Off with fat fat fingers thick
Nails like bone.

Tilt your hips shakey shake
Slide that liver over
Put your heart in your hands,
Squeeze it like you mean it.

Those teeth are made for gnashing,
And you should gnash them too,
Make your tongue like a road
And walk out
Walk out
Walk on;
Sweat thick as amber dribbles
Sticky sap
And a smell to dissolve ozone;
That's my boy!

 

©Alex Rigg

Together

His chin a cantilever growing outwards
Set of jaw, jowls, lip - secure.
Cheeks the twin castles, bridge of nose,
Bluff brow over cleft lids;
Night thick hair and voice without words.

I'll be a fool for you, my errors
As large as your arms my flaws
As voluminous as your lungs
My love will break upon you, darling colossus,
We will founder together in mistaken endeavours;
Make thunderous love, striking flints
Striking sparks, drowning in perspiration.

Set of jaw, jowls, lip - secure;
I see what we are and what we are for.

 

©Alex Rigg

Too Big

Too big, your mass breaks the crust
of earth in which I am a red spot.
Keeping still one may perceive
the passage of your hands.

Looking up I thought a bird had landed
impossibly high on your collar's edge and
folding its cloud wings closed,
slept within my own dream.

Large your feet that press the rock flat,
large your step which is a single day
and walking measures out the year in
strides one day left, one day right.

What is a giant except ideas
too big to hold in your mind
or a lens too wide to find the focus
on so small a skin as mine.

 

©Alex Rigg

Sonorous Place

Listening and speaking
I've tried so hard,
I,m trying still

Conversion of form or
Reversal of waves,
A through flow

Noise nonsense
Stut-uttering comprehensive
Educationals

Where coloured sound
Enamorates or vitalises
A decaying mind

Skeletal shifts of
agitated ossicles
In rictus dancing

Do not forsake me,
Oh my darling,
My darling wave

Raise me high between
Liquid and gaseous humours
Into a sonorous peace.
-----
Chorus where required-

A skylark above the hill sings
Of what it sees and what it hopes;
Amongst bracken I wish for wings
And a clear, mellifluous throat.

 

©Alex Rigg

 

Polleniser

Called blue or some grand colour,
Given shapes of plants:
Like making a tree out of wood,
Like building a cow with butter,
Turning water into water
And bread into food.
Called blue or some deep shade,
Giving a sheen to black.
Caught in the dyer's vat,
Crushed rotten;
Caught turning from green:
Chlorophobic gardens.
Called blue when colour means
Giving uniformity;
Like the strip of cloth around each neck,
Like social chains and an indigo brand,
Burned, tatooed, where the stain
Of a working day's sweat is blue.
Called dying: taking pigment from one plant and
Placing it onto the bones of another.

 

©Alex Rigg

Metal (my father)

Blood is like rust, crawling in crystalline
forms, unmaking geometry as benign
and calcareous kaleidoscopes
across the skin of human thought and hope.
Hopes are forged and riveted together,
children cast like coins or fathered
by a hammer swung in rhythmic comprehension;
a pattern to be copied through generations.
So I was made in the fire of my mother.
I am melted and reformed through ardour;
orange iron bones, ferrous flesh –
a conscious corrosion of all histories past.

-
Wood (my self)

Standing straight in bound fibres,
muscular trees are cut and dried like flowers,
roots and heads discarded. A stolid torso,
doughty arms sawn straight by metal jaws.
I marry wooden limbs, arrange assignations,
match-make, half-house, dove-tail for tension.
Un carpintero whose eye lifts and measures –
designing a fit for all parts with pleasure.
The passage of my saw through plank and rafter
marks the passage of its future and hereafter.
A creation through destruction, cutting to heal;
a shelter of roof and walls for life concealed.

-
Rope (that held me)

The beginning and the end are difficult,
but chiefly the end, whose strands, laid out,
are hard to unify because it is the nature
of fibres, once twisted, to unwind into the future so
this rope, by which my life hangs,
was made with the stalks of nettle and
each thread rolled between finger and thumb
to sustain a tension once begun
and every thread spiralled in will be
thicker as strands and strands, three on three,
together give the strength that hold me
clear of the earth

-
Paper(that holds me still)

An elegant summary, this sheet,
a temporary suspension of disbeliefs.
My life reduced to lines and flat,
sheaves of information caught, stacked.
A page is made from all the little pieces,
all the ends and scraps complete it.
Swollen with water; confused, adrift,
then squeezed and held until they stick.
My skin reproduce upon a skin,
pierced by points and cut thin;
a bold tattoo that beats the drum
of my life in words and pictures.

 

©Alex Rigg

Stairs

Each block of stone is chosen and cut from the earth,
Dressed and placed by hands bruised and aching,
Built into a cascading wall of rocks to make
A fall whose proportion fits the measured tread
Of all who pass and repass:
A mountain of graded crystal carried to form
Infinite potentials, energies locked with mortar
Giving our legs the power of flight.

I thought that I would speak to each stone,
Extract from its impassive face the truths
Grown through tectonic assault and skeletal collapse;
Offer my own energies in a trade,
Rub off a little skin in an erosion of all sense:
Donate breath, transfer heat, spend time upon.
In descent life is spent, born high then washed
Into the ocean like a grain of sand.

 

©Alex Rigg

 

through and through

searching for a space between
now and now
a breath, in and out
that lasts a day
I dance through
states of change with
bare hands and bare feet

 

©Alex Rigg

 

Measure

 

 

 

If you click on the beetleman here you can read a short story that was written as an idea for a piece of theatre. The story and the theatrical project have remained as fragments but you might still find them interesting...........

 

 

©Alex Rigg

 

live@oceanallover.co.uk

 

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