Round 10: Poetry

Speaking with Reindeer

Speech:/ the antler of the mind

(Robert Bringhurst – ‘A Quadratic Equation’)

I admired his cap of antlers –

ideas forking from his scalp,

yet struggled with his voice,

which bellowed like a stag.

They studied his awkward gait,

his upright stance, his lack

of language. And like a preacher,

he didn’t know how to listen.

                               

I wanted to hear what they knew

about the quality of tundra

the taste of cloudburst berries;

what deer feel about snow.

I saw a herd, splodgy brown,

reverse freckles. Unafraid.

They scented me, trotted off –

a force of winter forest –

ideas intact, their knowledge

still out of my grasp. Yet,

like meeting someone famous,

what would I have said?

Katrina Naomi

Round 9: Art

Round 8: Poetry

What the Crocodile Taught Me

I swooned at the large god of him, sunning,

a tooth for every day of my life.

He performed his run along the bank,

as males do. I brought my boat closer,

he took to following, at a distance.

I wasn’t taken in, knew his four-chambered heart

could pump love out and in, in and out,

knew his tongue had few good uses,

knew all about his grin. Whoever said he was cold-

blooded has never truly known this beast.

He brought out the prehistoric in me. I dived.

We swam, belly to belly, swam to where the Niles meet,

tussled as we thrashed among the weeds. After, I lay

the length of him, a limestone lilo, studs patterning

my skin. He smiled at me, often. Taught me all he knew.

Years later, when a man tried to drag me under,

I practised the force my lover had held back –

levered my small jaws open to their fullest extent,

splashed them down on the human’s arm.

My attacker still carries the mark of my smile.

Katrina Naomi

Round 7: Art

Crocodile, pencil on paper, 21.5 cm by 30 cm June 2012

Round 6: Poetry

Bearskin

I like noughts and crosses      hangman

played a lot of that with the kids

makes me a bit nostalgic      You don’t mind?

Only I don’t see them anymore

haven’t done for years      I still think of them

as kids      still      they’re grown up now

probably got kids of their own

I get a card from my eldest at xmas

it cracks me up      seeing her

handwriting      I blame the wife      don’t remember

hitting her      I joined that fathers’ group

clambered about on rooftops      a bit undignified

for a soldier      I’ve calmed down now      Needed to

I used to travel      a lot      Too much

Got up to some things I shouldn’t of

specially for a soldier      Word got around

In ’98 or maybe ’97      I passed out on parade    

dropped my gun      Everyone was kind     

For a while      I really tried      You believe me?

And then      there was the drink      Still is    

I’m not boring you?      Only I miss my mates     

in the guard      miss my kids      miss Janey

Did I tell you I had to go away for a bit?

I used to love that bearskin

Katrina Naomi

Round 5: Art

Soldiers and contour drawing

This was a difficult couple of weeks for me. Music and particular punk are very important to me, they pulled me into art and adulthood. Critical distance is important, but Katrina's poem was a challenge which I wanted to take on. Since Peter Saville designed the Unknown pleasures album cover and Jamie Reid made cut ups Punks means of communication I was never going to look at the world in the same way. Punk and its consequent waves of influence, and our early relationship are forever entwined.

Round 4: Poetry

Jubilee

Punk’s gobby charm largely passed me by,

lost in a chasm between disco and metal.

I’ll admit to a headbanger award at Dreamland,

(a 50’s frock in a sea of denim), split ends thrashing

to Mötorhead’s Overkill; yet, still too shy

to compete as a disco champ, unlike Emin.  

And while I flitted between the pages of Sounds,

you were NME. I shouldn’t sneer; we got together

to Smash It Up, never to be DLT’s kind of couple.

And while I loved the women’s spikes and chains,

who could afford ‘Sex’ on the Kings Road?

And I saw Rotten once with PIL (so much better

than the Pistols) he walked off after 20 minutes.

I disliked him then and now. This is heresy to you,

with your three pairs of bondage trousers,

your home-stencilled Combat shirts –

I knew no one like you in Margate. And now,

Reid’s pins hold a number to a marathon vest,

punters paying to advertise two companies

for 3 hours, 39 minutes. Today, you’ll thread

a safety pin through your lapel. And while I dance

to Sister Sledge, I’ll loosen my hair for the Sabbath.

Katrina Naomi 11 May 2012