Home (Winter 2012)

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UNIVERSITY OF BRISTOL CREATIVE ARTS MAGAZINE WINTER 2012

HOME

Cover photograph by Alistair Scott Right, ‘Forth Home’ by Tristan Martin

Editors Freddie Herbert Subhani Rawat Promotions Officer Nahema Marchal Art Editors Lydia Greenaway Alex Berridge Photography Editors Florence Downs Charlie de Montfort Poetry Editor Sam Ahmed Prose Editor Kate Holmes Feutures Editors Lucinda Elliott Lucia Osbourne-Crawley Treasurer Alasdair Copland heliconbristol.blogspot.com facebook.com/helicon magazine twitter.com/heliconmagazine

EDITORIAL

Home sweet home. This issue is best read with a cup of tea and your favourite slice of cake.

Our next theme is ‘Flawed’ because although we’re sure you’ll find holes in our logic, we think that there’s nothing more beautiful than imperfections. Let’s get creative and break the rules, flaunt our foibles and embrace our oddities.

Interpret as you wish and send us your art, photography, poetry and prose to helicon.magazine@gmail.com Enjoy, Freddie and Subhani

A Poem Left Behind I’m imagining:

let me disintegrate down into dust

visions of rainy landscapes and urban

and grind my way into your downtrodden,

grime

downtown,

dripping through your windscreen,

downsized dreams.

so pungent even the wipes cannot swipe

Disenchant me.

them away.

Your thoughts,

Now you

vivid hallucinations,

criss-cross the cracks, cutting through an

permeate the air like exhaust fumes

ivory-pool landslide,

that stale in a trapped motor-boxed joyride. to collect yourself.

Ivory of your smiling teeth, Take me,

and nose,

take me with you,

a powder waiting to catch fire, explode,

to consume and envelope.

to the tapping of this same old city: a desolate, drowned, dubstep-

Take me,

spoken rhyme.

take me on your trip through these ab-

And your exhausted heart fills the night

scesses

with sadness.

where I can crunch and grind like neuron- The panoramic view of the exterior lights synapses surfing on brain waves:

of Bristol: bright eyes

a sea of grey matter

staring up and out and after your

beneath ivory-papered skin,

bike tires leaving it.

translucent to the point it’s unhealthy.

Charlotte Spires and Marietta Kirkbride

Yet, I sit, stagnant and squat, and can only listen

Florence Downs

Home I can still Smell the small clementines and their trees The sharp citrus tang of their leaves The rough damp scent of their bark Hear the dripping leak from the air conditioner pipe outside Your slippers as you walk The ticking of your rosary beads in the morning, I still remember the rush of excitement as I swung higher on my swing the content of playing out imagined dreams in the green house shed

Anna Godfrey 45678

Faye Planer

the silent wonder at that wooden horse my bike speeding along the driveway meat loaf and mashed potatoes for dinner steamed pudding for dessert I remember You brushed my hair into plaits On school-mornings I remember Hating having to leave you Even for the briefest instant.

Farah Tiwana

56789

Anna Godfrey

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Florence Downs

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Echoes of Our Past

Lydia Greenaway

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I see muscled stone on earth echoing but solid frames, an unlikely tomb.

Your touch has left, and the mirrors cast what remains of us.

I sought nostalgia in ephemeral words that clung to the polished stone.

They propped our past and now alone, I doubt I was ever there.

And I smile.

For the echoes of our past are unsuited as haunting, half remembered shadows of this house.

So they sit with me and watch, that muscled stone crumble down.

Sam Forward

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Midnight in Paris “My theme is memory, that winged host that soared about me one grey morning of war-time. These memories, which are a part of my life – for we possess nothing certainly except the past-- were always with me.”

‘Brideshead Revisited’, Evelyn Waugh.

Nostalgics yearn for a lost home. A home hiding in the distant past. Sick with longing, I search for Arcadia in damp limestone churches and hat pin packets.

Too slippery, the sound of it is in the tinkle of bone china and a glimpse of it is in Julia’s Flapper bob waving in the evening wind. You can spy it through opera glass lenses; smell it in soft face powder and feel it in Chanel bouclé tweed. I know not if it is the Betty Draper waist atop a voluminous New Look skirt or the drapery flagging in a wicker chair under the long heat of an Edwardian summer.

Do I find it in Victory rolls or beehives? I know it certainly happened long before the dirty 1980s.

The cocaine of the ‘20s is defiantly purer, whiter, edged with lace and Vile Bodies humour. It probably came in a delightful little tin with writing in a treacle jar font on it.

We revel in the advances and freedoms of an age without whale bone, but fall into a sigh trying to count the hooks on Dita’s corset.

I heard him say to me “You were meant to be born into another age, weren’t you?” as I swooned over seamed stockings and cuddled down into a warm cocoon of veiled hats. Through polka dot netting it is harder to see what Cameron, Merkel and Sarkozy really look like. I will wrap my ears in a fur stole and not hear ‘Greece’ and not hear the raindrops and the wailing wind crying at me.

“This is all too much!” I say, followed quickly by “I must take tea and cake with haste!”

It wasn’t cold in the Past and if it was there were scones 10 11 12 13 14

and Darjeeling and a delightful suitor’s knee to perch on. Gin in tea cups or Absinthe with Degas, I wouldn’t have felt the cold between my patent T-bar toes.

Is London right? Is Exmoor right? No, nowhere is right, but somewhere far behind us. Bicycles, baskets, parasols and pin-ups. With champagne for breakfast whilst Sebastian dresses Aloysius.

And yet, For one moment, I saw it in you in the silly tweed jacket and that great big forehead. What is lost from the present is found in the shape of your GI neck and the platform kisses. No steam train smoke, but there is a touch of lost Homeland teacakes about the place and the clock quietly strikes midnight in Paris.

Rosemary Ellen Cherry

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Maya Dudok de Wit

Bristol’s Squatting Community “Home isn’t really about possesions; it’s about people.”

For most of us, the word ‘home’ conjures images of fireplaces, comfortable beds and home-cooked meals on cold winter nights. These comforts have come to represent the relief and safety we all associate with the idea of home. But what if we had to build a sense of home out of far less than this?

In order to explore a less conventional concept of home and comfort, we got in touch with some members of Bristol’s squatting community to find out exactly what home means to them. When we visited we discovered that many people find a remarkable sense of home, comfort and security within the walls of what an oblivious passerby might consider to be no more than a derelict building. It is estimated that there are around 20,000 squatters across Britain, but many would say that this is something of an underestimation. The squatting community - particularly in Bristol - is large, very tightly knit and remarkably inclusive.

These days, many squatted buildings are turned into art spaces, arenas for open political discussion and cultural centres that provide a range of facilities free of charge for members of the community who would not otherwise be able to afford them. Everywhere you look in Stokes Croft you can feel the squatter’s legacy, the unique microcosm of culture that the squatters embody. They may not have walls and beams to call their own but they have managed to fill up previously neglected spaces with love and dreams which, after all, is what home is all about.

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What does home mean to you?

Johnny: Home is where I lay my hat. I honestly believe that home is what you make it, and you can make yourself at home anywhere you choose. To be honest, I think of home as anywhere I can sleep for more than a week, sometimes I can make myself at home in even less time than that. Home isn’t about one place or another really; it’s about the people you surround yourself with.

Amber: Home is where you are happy. Home is where your feet can walk.

Do you have any possessions or rituals that you use to make yourself feel more at home in a new place?

Johnny: We sometimes pick up things to make the place feel more homely, but none of us care too much about that kind of thing. I worry about being too materialistic so I don’t have very many special things. As I said, home isn’t really about possessions, it’s about people.

Amber: I have a special box that I carry around with me everywhere, and keep hidden. My home is in that box, I buried it two feet underground.

Tell us about the people - what is it like to be a part of Bristol’s squatting community?

“There’s just something about Bristol – it’s the vortex.”

Johnny: Bristol is one big melting pot for squatters – everybody comes here to squat. We call it the ‘Bristol vortex’ because once people come here to squat even for a few nights, they just can’t leave. I knew a guy who planned on ‘passing through’ Bristol five years ago and has been squatting here ever since. There’s just something about Bristol – it’s the vortex. It’s addictive. There are so many of us and the sense of community is so strong that once you’re a part of it you can’t just walk away. It becomes a family so quickly and you just don’t want to leave. The thing is though, with communities like ours, even when people do leave, it’s never for long. I’ve learned never to say long goodbyes because I know we’ll all see each other again – we’re part of the same world now, which means no-one is ever gone for good. We know they’ll be back.

Brendan: In this community, everyone is made to feel welcome until you do something to make us feel otherwise.

Amber: We’re very family orientated here. I’ve known her all my life, she’s the closest thing I’ll ever have to a sister. And these men and boys are my brothers.

I’d protect anyone here.

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Do you ever have arguments around the squat?

Do you feel that squatting is a big part of your identity now?

Brendan: The biggest arguments in a squat are about the washing up! We are all messy but decent people. The last time there was a big fight in here was over a year ago, and I can’t even remember what it was about!

Johnny: Yeah, it is. Growing up as a travelling kid and being a squatter as an adult has definitely shaped who I am. I grew up differently to other kids – I was forced to grow up much quicker than everyone else because I was moving around so much and my mum abandoned me when I was thirteen. I didn’t have a choice but to become an adult, all of a sudden I had to look after myself. Also, when you’re living in a squat everyone is treated equally, with the same amount of respect no matter how old they are. Everyone treated me like an adult even though I wasn’t. I was taking care of myself and because of that I was treated like everybody else. Everyone is treated with that respect. You can’t find this kind of environment in any other part of society.

What’s your favourite home-cooked meal?

Brendan: Definitely squirrel pie. They’re very meaty; you need three squirrels.

You catch them with nuts.

“When you’re living in a squat everyone is treated equally, with the same amount of respect.”

Florence Downs

Would you ever choose to live alone?

Johnny: Definitely not. Home is all about company, maybe it’s to do with the way I grew up but I always feel more comfortable when I’m around other people. Of course sometimes it gets a bit much having so many people around all the time and not always having your own space, but I like it this way.

Sometimes I think

I need to get away from it all, I’ll go to a friends flat to chill out and be on my own, but every time I find myself getting sick of it. At the end of the day I want to be surrounded by people.

Amber: You know what? I don’t think I would ever want to live alone.

What have you learned about living with other people? What advice would you give to other squatters?

Johnny: I’ve learnt so much about getting along with other people from squatting and travelling my whole life.

Firstly, you learn very quickly that you always have to stand up for yourself and you can never let people take advantage of you. At the same time though, I’ve learnt that you have to take things with a pinch of salt sometimes. If someone says something out of line you have to remember that they might be going through something you couldn’t possibly understand. You have to give people a chance sometimes. My advice to squatters? You have to learn when to trust people and when to keep your

“The golden rule of squatting is you never leave someone if they have nowhere to go.”

mouth shut. We learn that you can never let your guard down until you’ve decided a person is trustworthy, because we get undercover cops and stuff in here all the time. You always have to be careful. Also, you have to remember that one of the golden rules of squat-

ting is you never leave someone if they have nowhere to go. No-one is ever left out on the street.

What do you see in the future of the squat?

Brendan: At the end of the day, the squat is going to go the way it’s going to go. I want to stay here until they knock it down – I want the lead off the roof when they do though.

By Lucia Osborne-Crowley and Lucinda Elliott

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Rosie Belben

Charlie de Montfort 20 21 22 23 24

a stranger home I watch bricks studded like fish scales, locked like limbs of a corpse, longing for them to ripple, revitalised, and laugh with life in this, the dead of my night.

Leaning into memories which taste like toast to my tepid tongue: the dust which seemed to sparkle in that old Sunday sun as I sat, young, confronted by a tangerine made naked by my mother’s tender tips.

And the Blue room, where Louis’ notes melt off the ivory keys, and soak like a scent through walls bent weak under music like willows in heat.

Memories maze, like rings of a tree, silently looping my mind: green ivy, shadowed eaves.

And I view this neat building from the distance of time, Just a house, soft and fading, and no longer mine.

Anna Godfrey

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H

ome it is within me it’s the vessel I’m sailing, unattached from the physical Home is the place inside it sees the twinkle in a stranger’s eye the ray of light that says, ‘I’m born, I’m alive and I’ll die’ It knows what you said when you didn’t say it and feels the boundless love weightlessly connecting us people Home is the place within that recognises unity in the storm of difference if I’m lucky and breathes n’ sees crystal light despite the duality of day and night Home is listening to the drum of my heart, the rise, the fall, the race and punch.

Home is dé ja vu, because I’ve been here before… and when we sleep? Where is home?

When the sky shoots falling peaches? and every moment you’ve ever witnessed is on a football pitch cracking underneath your feet and they announce it’s just a game on speakers underwater and they don’t want to know your postal code.

Home is this experience it’s the ever playing HD rainbow-ray video-game divine interactive opportunity of time: to stand and taste the day to feel the air in my lungs, putting wind in my veins Home is the place I am that accepts love, loss and pain and when I don’t... I sure am lost at sea homeless as can be ultimately, the choice is yours: be caged or be free This precious place is with me whatever I do, I can never leave it’s what I answer to it is a sponge so be careful what you soak in for everywhere I’m passing through becomes a part of it, too

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Home is this gift of awareness No matter what I ‘own’ I’ll only ever be this place I’m observing from it’s my crows-nest aboard the vessel I have nothing but the view the salty sea and sky ever wet and blue I try very hard to keep a good home you in me, me in you to keep it clean and free and spacious and welcoming to others who take a lot of strength to be around the tests it puts us through and sometimes I just sit down helplessly don’t know what i’m witnessing, O the fun! what else is there to do? so if i smile or if i fall I’m exactly where I’m meant to be and I may be wrong, cos i’m still young: I feel home is my soul that’s nowhere at all Ollie Loudon

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Homecoming In a lab they made a cloth so light it wants to hover or hitch itself on thin air.

They sit it like a crown on the white head of a dandelion and not a single seed is ruffled not a hair.

It’s lighter than Styrofoam but not quite as light as the first step back into our house that sees him more a stranger than estranged.

Or the way he bends like steam into the couch where he turns into a likeness and fades on arrival.

He never made a sound what woke us was not the sighing of wood underfoot or the hallway taking a breath as he opened the door but the white noise of his presence the static weight of his burden which he wears like a crown crushing his heirs beneath it.

I. M. Knottsam

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Tamara-Jade Kaz

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music

We’d like to thank everyone who contributed to our wonderful ‘Home’ launch night. A combination of old hats and new talent certainly made it a night to remember. Take a look at their pages, hopefully we’ll be seeing them again soon.

If any musicians are interested in performing at our next launch party please feel free to e-mail us athelicon.magazine@gmail.com.

Tidy Street

soundcloud.com/tidy-street

Vices

vicesband.com

Ollie Loudon

soundcloud.com/ollieloudon

The Cavemen

soundcloud.com/the-cavemen

March

April

Thurdsay 1st An exhibition opens with @Bristol at the Habourside, entitled Our World: No More Waste and will be running throughout the year.

Thursday 18th The fun duo, Uh Huh Her, play at Thekla. theklabristol.co.uk

Monday 5th The Fleece present the quirky post-punk five-piece band The Duke Spirit along with Sissy and the Blisters. thefleece.co.uk Wednesday 7th - Sunday 11th Macbeth will be performed by fledgling Bristol theatre company As Told By in the stunning loaction of Bristol Museum and Art Gallery next to Wills Memorial.

Friday 30th Bristol Museum and Art Gallery will be hosting an exhibition of Leonardo de Vinci’s finest drawings, not to be missed.

The exhibition will be open until 10th June.

Monday 30th For the lovers of folk and bearded men, fear not, the sensational Dry The River are playing at The Fleece. thefleece.co.uk

Monthly Every Wednesday, Student Restaurant and FoodCycle provides meals with foods that would have otherwise gone to waste, to volunteer or find out more go to foodcycle.org.uk/bristol.php Every Tuesday Plantation Restaurant on Cheltenham Road puts on a free entry open mic night, for more info go to nite-vision.co.uk In amongst all the wld fun you will be having, don’t forget the unmissable Best of Bristol lectures every Thursday, given by our favourite lectures. boblectures.org.uk

events Winter may be miserable, but Bristol is still heartwarmingly lively, providing lots of exciting, creative events in the upcoming months to tempt you from your studies. We hope to see you there because we certainly will be!

Xander Lloyd