ROAD TRIP MARSALA

H O M E

tom@tomrickman.co.uk

 

 

S O U T H 2 >>>
Going east to go south
gouache on gesso15 x 15 cm
Dover gate gouache on gesso15 x 15 cm
Ferry gouache on paper15 x 20 cm
Cliff gouache on paper 15 x 20 cm
Southern Gate gouache on paper 15 x 20 cm
Morning Cannes gouache on paper 15 x 20 cm
S O U T H 2 >>>

13 Sept Thursday
Going east to go south
Back in the Morgan, leaving Cornwall and the west, accross the green of the south coast.
now I know what lies ahead - retracing a route
chasing something I found last year, though this time waking the dream
This trip will be different - not new - me trying to re-define - re-fine - re-find

Back in the Royal Norfolk Hotel near Folkestone- not so much royal.
Its charm and decor has not diminished.
I am Road weary.

Along the southern hem of Britain, all that south coast stuff, reminds me of somewhere in youth
It was a long haul to get started.
The drive was good
through a dusted yellow september day,
milked with a summers splendour, spent.

This hotel has a certain character, though I like where it is - an edge of England.
The quiet sea just over the wall,
remembering last year the moon over the channel
the promise of the south

returning into a venture as if to go over it
to remind me or to realise it, again.
A repetition, the same thing but slightly different - slightly out of phase

The last trip, was it a wave good-bye to a youth or a hello to a maturity?
Ambiguous crossings

A fear the dream has disappeared - or become normal
a death in the afternoon

Following a notion
not even an idea
as unformed as a whim

out the window into the oranged sulphur streets

Away now

Away with the sun and the wind

14 Sept Friday

On deck out with the smokers

The channel is a muted green
with ochre flumes beneath the surface

I feel quite groggy from the rapidly eaten full english and weak coffee

Mist dissolves the white cliffs of Dover
( or is it the cigarette smoke ).

I start to notice the French

The strip of sand in Calais is sunlit and bright.
Out into Europe.
the motorail terminal is like an empty car lot, slowly filling with English trippers

The last train south of summer
It leaves its suburban siding, slowly,
out through the suburbs into the goldening light
Champagne in a six berth couchette
life can’t be all that bad

trattling south
through a Corot greenness
moments of affirmation - recognition - remembrance

Light edge, blurred in transit
a strange magnitude

a deep wood - as if filled with stars
in its must
linger
stars chambered with earth
unlocked and futile
this sounds out - on and eternal

somewhere near a dense damp soft musk
as julip falls

then, a rise up into ether
all violet and blue
hemming a skirt of twilight

dark shout
up into a night proclaiming further light



a glimpse brocaded with an age

somewhere calling
as abstract shapes
drawn as shadows

until the day
drawn as one long arc
like child's charcoal
spiked and unaware

 

15 Sept Saturday

waking up in the golden light of the med
olive and palm trees woosh past the sparkle of the calm sea

passing apartment apartment apartment

hills bathed in morning yellow light
I sense, at first, this warmth through the eyes

This is Cannes, large yachts

first existential pangs like indigestion

' regrets I’ve had a few '

My train journey through an unfamiliar land
snap shot - fragmented

rouched thoughts flamboyantly hiding secrets
parallel
intersected and floating
this motion and direction
as if I’ve come to rest
in transit
like Bees
and their love with flowers
colour biology
or a necessity born out of god

I am as if floating
finding threads to knot or weave
or lay like a gifted simple line

watching the west fall away
(beyond melancholy)

a slim version


arcadian
bejewelled
white flowers
on the lips and hips of voluptuous women
as memory and wish

not real
at the borders of sleep
an enchantment
a rhyme that weaves around till sleep

click clack

To make my thoughts my own
picking nettles without the sting

This journey to no-one I know
on my own volition
no meaning except in my process


Towards south
I am moving away from reason and quantity

dim lights on dusked sidings

this point of stasis
just before action
like breath

a place where something that has and something that will,
lines either side

stasis is it's appearance when actually it is a moment of realisation

no meditation

just champagne


S O U T H 2 >>>
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