ࡱ> y bjbjEE 4'''d!#####7778ott7WWmmm|* vE#||##mmj#m#mmП#?70x0)@d))#) :  Stone Voices By David Calcutt and The Company of Poets A Note on the composition of Stone Voices Members of Lichfields Company of Poets were asked to take the citys cathedral as their inspiration and to write a number of poems in which various characters in the cathedral spoke. In the finished poems, these characters included gargoyles, tomb-effigies, lecterns, prayer-cards, stone columns, lightning-rods, and a weather-worn statue of Charles II. With the poets permission, lines from these poems were taken and to be used as the raw material from which a longer, narrative poem was to be created. The lines were grouped according to sound and shape and rhythm, and from these groupings a number of related themes began to emerge, which were written down in free verse pieces composed entirely of lines from the poems. It was these free verse pieces that formed the structure for the final narrative poem, Stone Voices. As the poem is set out on the page, lines in italics are those taken from the original poems. Stone Voices was performed by David Calcutt with The Company of Poets at the Lichfield Festival in July 2007. Prologue         In the beginning was the word     ... And the word was... ...silence Big doors shut fast Ridged archways Spikes of spires Stone kings Fixed in place Dead eyes staring Over a stone land. My roots are buried deep In the mouths of deadmen The neatly clipped lawns, The sleeping sunstruck houses, Are the bolts drawn Across the eye. I was born of fire. The rooks ratchet A tumble of feathers Shedding black plumage Is the twist of the key In the ears lock. An interceding angel skims blue sky Black stone Dulled windows Dead flames I will sing no more But here, a well-worn pathway. Here, a pale watersplash of light on the cobbles. And here, by the door, the sign reads, Welcome. Seeking solace and shelter Grasp the handle. Raise the latch. Lean your weight against the hinge. Open the door Head bowed, Enter. I The Voices of the Dead Id stayed too long waiting for the cathedral tour. Youre a little early, Id been told, Politely, but firmly. I think Id caught him off-guard, In the middle of some duty he had to attend to. The tours not due to start yet. Please take a seat. A guide will be with you in a little while. His footsteps had squeaked away across the stone flags, Disappearing behind a door, which had closed With a hushed whisper and click. Politely, but firmly. And had left me to myself. So Id waited, and then wandered down the nave, Along the avenue of fluted columns, past tombs And hanging, threadbare flags The choirstalls and the altar, and faces carved from stone Our mouths are hard and cold And had found myself at last behind the altar Deep in the sombre cathedral silence In the Lady Chapel. Candles burned In a tray of sand. Id lit one, out of habit, Read some prayer cards, then found a chair And sat to wait. And woke Some hours later in the dark. ****** I didnt know what had happened. Had I fallen asleep, been overlooked, forgotten? But how? How could such a thing happen? I was locked inside the cathedral and it was late. Midnight, or later. Deep night. I began to panic. I stood up. I took a step. I froze. I was afraid to move. Darkness Silence Cancellation of being Absolute and utter zero existence. I didnt know what to do. I was losing myself, Pieces of me unravelling into the emptiness. I forgot where I was. Was I in a cave? Perhaps I was in a cave My roots are buried deep Hollowed out of earths bedrock millennia ago, A place not of sanctuary or refuge or asylum, Seeking shelter But of minimal, bare, subsistence survival. And darkness. And silence. Absolute and utter. I put my hand out into the darkness To reach out and touch Hoping to find something to steady it there, Something solid and real, Length and breadth Space and measure The carved edge of a pillar, The gritted surface of a wall. And there was something there. Cold And it closed as stone over my fingers And gripped them. A hand. ****** Hush Flicker of pale flame. Shiver of light. Hush Whisper of pale voice Tremor of breath. Hush Voiceflicker Breathshiver Lighttremor Flamewhisper Hush Hush Breath of light And light of breath Illuminating the eye, the ear Hush Candlflicker of syllable Tongueflicker of flame Hush And a voice speaking We are sleeping now And another We lie icy still Two voices, speaking as one Our dust motes float in timeless tedium And the flame burned brighter And the light burned stronger And their voices burned fiercer Our mouths are hard and cold They were children, but with hags features, Children, wearing ragged and sunken masks The faces that gazed at me, dead faces. The eyes in those faces, dead eyes. The lips that moved, the mouths that opened, the tongues that spoke, Dead lips, dead mouths, dead tongues. The hand that gripped mine, a dead hand. I tried to pull free But the fingers gripped tighter Tried to drag myself away And the voices bit deeper Hush Listen Listen to the silence Other lives are transfixed here Songless birds Crying out Hush Listen to the silence Listen And I listened. And I heard. Stonefaces out of the stonewalls stonespeaking The names of those whose flesh Had faded to dust, Become withering shadow, Become shadow and echo. Pray for me To the memory of Thomas White Late of this city And for me In the vault near this place are interred The remains of Please pray for Charlotte Anne, regretted and beloved All the poor and lonely In loving memory of To the sacred memory of For my wife to be healed Daniel and William and Charles and Edward Give me courage to face death Helen and Charlotte and Mary and Ann Pleas of faith and hope displayed The creaking voices of the Dead Leaking through wallcracks, Sneaking out of graveholes, Names sliding free of the chiselled inscriptions Dustwords drifting from scratched epitaphs, Winding together wreathwraiths of memory, Ghosttwistss of misty breath Outbreathed from shroudsheets. Beneath these gothic spires My grieving flock entombed me And now they came more insistent My master will not wake I will sing no more Now they came harder and sharper-edged Earth is harsh and unyielding Stone tongues clacking a broken stone language Our mouths are hidden deep Snapped fragment of voices Dark shadows buried Ragged and wretched Flameflash of broken and ignited tongues Flying like glass from a smashed window Beneath these grieving Harsh and unyielding Dark shadows buried Hidden and ragged Our mouths entombed I will sing no more Now I knew now where I was. This was no place of worship or blessing. No prayers were spoken here, no praisesongs sung. This was a tomb, a mausoleum, A vast charnel house, Filled with the dumped And shovelled voices of the dead. Our mouths entombed I will sing no more Beneath these grieving Harsh and unyielding Dark shadows buried Hidden and ragged Still the hand gripped mine, Still the fingers held fast, As the voices gripped and held fast. And I was pulled down among them, Flailing, falling, Like a man being dragged down into black water Engulfed by the rush and swell of their cries. I will sing no more Beneath these grieving Harsh and unyielding Dark shadows buried Hidden and ragged Our mouths entombed And suddenly they stopped. Suddenly, silence, absolute and utter. And a stillness, as of waiting. End and beginning. Then childfingers were lifted from my wrist, And childfaces, untouched by death, Looked into mine. And first one spoke. We have led you to here to this place of death So that you may stand where all things start. And then the other. To see beauty you must put on the mask of horror. To see life you must gaze through the eyes of the dead. Two voices, speaking as one. Death is no end but a beginning. And now, from here, your journey may begin. Beyond faith and grief, Beyond hope and prayer, To witness the fragility of life laid bare. One voice, speaking as many. Leave us now. And the silence was split as by loud thunder, And I saw a crack run up the length of one pillar, And along the ceiling From the West Door to the East Window, And the columns buckled, the arches collapsed, The windows shattered, the altar fell apart, And the cathedral split wide open, And with a grinding crash TUMBLEROAR FALLSPLITTING STONE UPON STONE Fell in on top of me. II Warriors and Demons It was late in the day. Towards evening. Ash-smoke grey light. The skys edge a dying ember. I stood on a flat valley plain. Marshland ahead of me, broken By the dull glitter of pools. No wind. Still. A mystery concealed. A crow overhead flapped its tattered banner Shedding black plumage The shadow of a single tree lay crosswise on the grass. There was no cathedral. I stood alone Transfixed in a landscape unfamiliar to me, and I Unknown to it. But there, a boat was coming across the marsh. A single figure pulled at the oars, And I could see the effort it took, The push and strain of the shoulders against the waters drag, The burn in the neck-muscles, The twist in the spine. The whole body aching. Taking the weight. At last the prow touched the bank. The figure laid down the oars and climbed out. Then turned towards me, and raised a hand, beckoning. It was an old man. Hair ragged and tangled. A battered hat, patchwork tatty coat. Shapeless boots, trouserbottoms tied with string. Wiping his face with a filthy rag. He had the look of some timeless and road-worn pilgrim. A suppliant or penitent. Or maybe a tramp. He was already speaking as I approached. It was a busy day for me, The day of the battle. Right here where youre standing Armies clashed and blood spilled A bloody and a busy day. I didnt get much rest. Backwards and forwards, over the water, From this shore to that one. He glanced towards that shore, which lay in shadow Hidden and deep, a mystery that no eye Or mind could fathom concealed Then carried on. I took their souls. Earth took their bodies. As always. Its a good arrangement. But what she takes she doesnt keep for long. Thats what Im here to tell you. What youre here to witness. Listen. Listen to the silence. Put your ear to the ground. Theyre moving. Getting ready to sprout And speak again. I knelt, and pressed my ear to the ground The earth was hard and cold And, like when you put your ear to a shell And you hear what seems to be the sea, Close and far off, the hushed roar And whisper of its waves, but you know it isnt, So now I heard deep down beneath the ground, What seemed to be voices. And they were. Voices planted in the earth, buried, hidden. A clumped knot of rooted tongues, Syllable-tangles, Vowel, consonant, accent and dialect, Unravelling and unwinding their separate languages, The sap rise of speech Leaking upwards Word-shoots Thrust up through the stony world. They buried me deep I was king of my domain Warriors, raiders Marched proudly to war There are many of us We dream of glories past Spilled blood, evil deeds We secret guardians Shining and savage Hidden deep Strong and true The foundation on which everything is built I sat up. Looked round. The old man was gone. In the west, the sky was blood red. Over the marshes, a gathering darkness. Congealing of shadow, a crumbling edge. But here, closer, the light still held, And the ground trembled under it, As if a wind had passed over. But no wind had passed. There was no wind. The ground was moving. Or something was moving under the ground. Something down there Deep, far down Was pushing its way up through the earth. I thought of the voices Id heard. Icy, cold I thought of the dead Secret guardians Those buried, warrior dead Shining and savage. I wondered what it was that was coming out. It was a spike. A green spike of shoot. Then another. And another. And then another. Suddenly, all over the field, Speartip shoots were shoving upwards Into the air and the dying light Trembling, shimmering And with each thrust, a fingersnap of sound, Tongue clicked against teeth, A harsh, syllabic hiss. Lic. And again. Lic. Again and again. Lic. Lic. The voices of the dead speaking a strange, new language. Stone and mud Bone and blood Speaking themselves into new forms That rose and stretched, Flexed and strengthened And lengthened, Hands reaching out Grasping the air, grappling ropetwists of light, Hauling themselves up, climbing higher, Thickening, widening to become trees Standing high and tall Great trees with sinewy branches In a twigtangle sap rise of each days promise With grainy creatures in the bark And leafy creatures in the branches Creatures of blood and fire and stone And each of these creatures had its song Green-draped in moss and lichen Which was the song of being The song of becoming Of flux and change and shapes shifting Flowing and forming. all transformed Tongueflames flowering their hymn of praise. I sing my voice Fused of fire Of stone and mud Climbing higher I sing my wings To soar, to fly Tumble of feathers Skim blue sky Hidden deep Rough-hewn skin Blood and bone Still we dream Eyes ignited Born of fire Our mystery Transfixed here Sacred words Locked within Textured tracks Of human skin See the singing Gust of wind Brightly shining Glorious sound Flowing golden Strong and true Singing out With glorious flow Thudding pulsing My spirit flies The riot of love Coming alive The creatures song ended. Now it was night. All around me the huge trees towered up. A full moon had risen in the sky. All was stillness and silence again. But not the stillness of forest. It was the stillness of stone. I placed my hand against one of the trunks. It had become stone. It was the same with the others. All the trees had become stone. Their trunks had become pillars. The sky entwined in their branches Had become the roof. The moon was a window Through which the moonlight shone. But the sap still pulsed, And the heartblood beat, And all was living, And all was light, And I stood inside the cathedral again. ****** I know a different song. I was standing near a small doorway. Human faces were flowering from the walls. Flowforming pushing out and through, With branches sprouting from their mouths, And leaves uncurling from their heads, So you couldnt tell where the human ended And the vegetable began, As if being human and vegetable were the same thing. The creatures of the forest, The grainy creatures, the leafy creatures, Were becoming human again, And the song theyd been singing was still going on, But it was silent now, a song of stone Singing itself into these human forms, With human faces rooted in stone. Thats what I was doing, And I was waiting to see what would happen next, When the voice Bent and broken Beast-like Foul-tongued Spoke. I know a different song. Something stood in the doorway, which was open now. A shadowy figure. A shadow easing itself Out of the shadows, a piece of the darkness tearing free. And speaking with a voice of shadowy darkness. Leave these turnip-tops to sprout, It spat and hissed. They wont be done for a long time yet. It shuffled forward and I caught a half-glimpse Through sweating, bruising shadows Of a beaked and lizard face. They need the dark for their business. For ours, we the need light. It grinned a granite smile Turned, and was gone. I followed through the door, Up narrow, winding stairs, Through another doorway at the top, And out onto the roof. I saw the creature clearly then. Some kind of hunched, bird-reptile With ragged wings and talons, Contorted features, bulging eyes, A monster. But something rough-hewn In its form suggesting man Or mans first try-out gone wrong. Some kind of demon from a folk-tale. Id seen it before, stone head jutting From the cathedral roof, with gaping jaws. A gargoyle. A freak. The underbelly of belief. Behold! it cried. It stood there on the rooftop With its arms and wings spread wide. I was king of my domain! I looked out. I saw nothing. A pale sun, heavy mist. Vague forms of landscape. The light shut out Everything else was hidden. Buried, lost in the stillness. The creature spoke again. Look at me now. Dishonoured! Battered! Broken! Ragged! Beast-like! A winged freak! Loathsome! Grotesque! It hobbled forward, shuffling a clumsy grace And brought its beak close to my ears and hissed I have heard the voices of the dead. And so have you. Now listen To the voices of the living. He pointed to a small hole in the roof Where a piece of stone piping poked through. That goes down to the bottom, the creature said. The people praying down below, Who think they have a hot-line to their god, This is where theyre prayers come out, And drift away, black smoke and ash. It spat. Listen. Have a laugh. Youve not had many so far. I listened. And voices Id heard before, Faint and distant, cold and hollow, Came drifting up. Please pray for granddad. The creature sniggered. Give me courage to face death. It giggled, snorted. Pray for all the poor and lonely. Howled, roared, guffawed. And for me, for I am stale. It rolled on its back. It clutched its sides. Pray for my wife to be healed of her sickness. It laughed loud and long. Requests for prayers! it screeched, Holding its sides and kicking its legs in the air. Then lay back, exhausted, panting. What did I tell you? Good, eh? As if it made any difference. As if words changed anything, Or made anything any better. Up here theres a different perspective. You see life as it is. Without the frills. And death. And theres not much to choose between. A bad joke, both of them, dreamed up by the god That fashioned me. It pointed upwards with a claw Where a raven interceding angel Floated through the mist, that was dissolving now. Me, and others of my kind. I soon saw what the creature meant by that. As the raven passed the middle spire, An arm shot out. Fingers closed around its neck, Others tore at its wings, and the bloody mess Tumbleshedding black plumefeathers Was flung out, and landed at my feet. And a voice called, We never rest! As if out of the stone, and another, We watch these walls! As if the stones themselves were speaking, We secret guardians! Alert and vigilant! But it wasnt the stones that were speaking. It was something inside the stones. Something that was now climbing out of the stones. First one, then another, Breaking free and tumbling out, Snaking and spilling down the spires, Leaping up and over and along the walls, Streetgang nasty with goblin voices, Mobbing the rooftop with their clubbed cries. Peace! Freedom! Faith! Hope! Love! They jeered and screamed and sneered and growled. Grief! Anger! Rage! Riot! Despair! They screeched and bawled and hooted and howled. Peace! Grief! Freedom! Anger! Faith! Rage! Hope! Riot!! Love! Despair! Over and over Again and again Like some mad unholy hells-mouth mantra, An invocation of curse conjuring the tempest That was gathering above me In a black knot of bruise. Prithee pause! All fell silent. Then the creature in front of me straightened itself And reared up to its full, horrible height, And its scales were gleaming the wicked stormlight, And there was a wild triumph in its voice as it cried out, I was rough-hewn from Man to mischief make! And then again, but softer, and to me, Behold the storm! Stormcloud. Sheetflash. Windsquall. The cathedral bucked. Its stones creaked. The spires shuddered and snapped their rigging A bolt of lightning jag-smacked down. Thunder crashed. The tower fell. The cathedral burst into flames. III Song of the Fallen Stones I stood among the ruins. Early morning. Late evening. I couldnt tell. The same kind of bruised half light. And here Charred and splintered beams. Blackened, broken pillars. Ash drifting on a reek of breeze. The cathedral was a holocaust of tumbled stones. The landscape round about, an apocalypse. The scene of catastrophe, a hole in the head From which everything was slowly seeping out. All was still. That kind of stillness With no before or after. Moment by moment of nothing happening, And nothing ever likely to happen again. Then out of this stillness, As if a handful of cinders was suddenly flung up, There came the twittering of bat-voices, saying I will sing no more And I will crumble in time And I was We are I stand here We secret Sad little song splinters scratching the ear. My voice is The songless I lost my Leave us Then Grief in The sombre Listen to the Silence And the swirl of ash in the wind, That was the slow disintegration of a last ghost Dying voiceless. ****** Some time later. The light the same. Everything the same. I was still there. There was nowhere to go. What road had led here stopped And did not lead back, nor go on. Stillness. Silence. Utter. Absolute. Then a stir of breeze. And there A figure, where there had been no one before. Cloaked and hooded, squatting among the stones And tapping at them. Tap. I heard the sound. Tap. A hard, brittle crack. Tap, tap. The bite and clack of a chisels blade. Tap. I approached. Still working, the figure spoke. Its never finished. The work, I mean. Our tasks simple. To make the ordinary divine. Simple and impossible. But the attempts worth it. You might say the attempt is all there is. The figure hunched, bent closer to the stone, And struck. Tap. But I could see no chisel. What others before me took up I continue, And others will continue after me. Theres no secret to it, no holy mystery. Its graft and sweat, blood and bone, A little skill, and working the stone. Tap. Taptaptap. Tap. Generations of us are gathered here, Fallen with these fallen stones, Our dust and theirs mingled together. But its no end. Only a new beginning. And Im just the latest in the line. See, I put my mark. The figure struck again, tap, its whole body Hammering forward, And was suddenly transformed, No longer a human figure, but a crow A large crow or raven, Striking the stone its beak Tap. As the figures was transformed So too were the stones. No longer stones, but bones, And the broken cathedral was a vast body, A giant flesh-stripped carcass Lying spreadeagled on the ground where it had fallen, A prone, sleeping Titan, chained to root and rock, Unable to move, pinned With a spike of silence Tap. And this crow, or raven, was trying to wake it, Flinging up chippings and fragments of sound, As if each fragment was the broken end of a word, Or its snapped-off beginning, And the crow was trying to string them together, Unpicking a language out of these ruins, And seeking to wake the voice that would speak it. Tap. The crow stopped. It cocked its head to one side. It listened, hearing something. I listened. I heard. A sound, far, deep, hidden Almost not heard, but felt. A low, tremulous vibration, Running under the earth, A shockwave of sound Rising, lifting, and breaking through, The open-throated outcry of a wordless voice. A voice without language, seeking a language. A voice without words, seeking words. And finding them here. The crow flew off. Its job was done. The voice spoke. ****** Song Fitting itself to these chipped-off fragments of words. Root Fitting those fragments together. Skin Shaping them to sound. Sap Shaping sound to speech. Earth Shaping speech to meaning. Blood First one word, then another. Branch Stringing them together. Stone A necklace of speech. Flower The one voice speaking as many. Breath The many voices speaking as one Shaping a song of stone A prayer in air Which was the dream of man, Sleeping in earth, Strapped to root, Rooted to rock, Waiting to stir, to shift, to wake, And rise to his life Of human joys. ****** Hush Trembling Hush Sing Hush Breathe Hush Sing of Root of skin Lips of mud Flower of blood Flesh of bone Tracing the thread of The dancing web of The sleeping voice of The stony world Earth rain sap light Branches and flowers Humble and terrible Reaching out Secret and savage The stillness of movement Deep within the weathered roots Fluttering in the secret blood Rising through the hidden earth Skin of man The heartbeat of time The human eternal Reaching and climbing Flowing and forming Mud stone flesh fire Air wind sky voice The length and breadth The space and measure The grace the swagger Taking the weight Strong and true In riot In peace In rage In faith In storm In grace In war In hope In fire In flesh In pain In beauty In grief In love Call Wake Rise Sing The blood of man in the heart of stone The spirit of stone in the heart of man. ****** The song ended. I was in the cathedral. No time had passed. Nothing seemed to have changed. I rose from the seat. I walked back down the nave. I came to the door. I went outside. The song continued. Epilogue Open the door Lift the latch, Step outside. All as before, as if unchanging. But ever-changing. And lit. Uprush of stonesongflowering light. And tuned. Tumble of stoneflameflowering song. 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