Is this how it often goes,
back on oneself, a whistle
from above, across?
The ridges of the chair believe
they are ribs, scaffolding to the
lumbar. But this chiseled wood cannot
bend and the copses call to say they have
turned to face us.
(let the crows disturb
by hassling clawed tiles
I know how they gather
it does not bother)
I’m often angry, wishing not to
be buffeted, but then I suppose
it is also saying look not behind thee,
so I gather my thistle staff and toothed
scimitar and before I can wrestle I allow
it. Then I am climbing, not ascending - I
have only to ask the plum trees to assent
(nearly accepted how the
winds steals, even
embraced its hold,
prepared for the knock)
The black knot that sometimes binds has
a sort of strangle – soon you find yourself
stamping, refusing any more, and it
lets you stay standing, something in
balance and the periphery, wide.
There is another bottled window
reflecting this way, beckoning towards
a hearth, lion and slippers.
(when I return I receive
heavy feathers from the
gutter and dry them near
the stove, setting light)
- poem by Hannah Machover in response / hand in hand with the release, which was created in the first lockdown of 2020
credits
released December 14, 2020
Jonas Anetzberger (saxophone , synthesizer + production)
Ted Mair (double bass)
Joseph Bradley Hill (piano, synthesizer + production)
the first album from my band Post Club Art Club with Stan Welch, Lily Hayes and Biba Cole, created in 24 hours with limited instruments in a cottage one-four