Zoom Society by Project-Ability Glasgow

ZOOM SOCIETY An anthology of writing by Re Connect Writing group

From workshops with nicky melville, October-December 2020

www.project-ability.co.uk

With thanks to The Baring Foundation Edited by nicky melville Typesetting & Design by nicky melville Front cover image by Morag © Back cover image by Jane ©

No part of this publication may be reproduced by any means or in any form, stored in electronic or digital media, or by any other means, without prior permission of the authors or publishers.

SOME POEMS

Guidelines

for a walk I walk out

for a look

Simon

I look out

Bel

I made a bubble, softly, touched its iridescent film and worried for the pop.

Trolley poem There is a tiny trolley on my kitchen table. The table is small, just one place setting, so the wee trolley stands out. I don't know why I bought it, no one needs a 6 inch

trolley. I guess I thought it was cute. It's miniature with working wheels, and full of other useless things. Used batteries, a snapped safety pin, a dried out Chapstick. The plastic slinky I got out of a Christmas cracker still works, though.

There are memories in here too, equally useless. An old student ID card, a patch from my first game. There's a tiny Italian flag in there too, stuck onto a cocktail stick. I think I got it on an ice-cream sundae at a restaurant. Or maybe it was pancakes. Hang on, was it at a birthday party? NO, it was an ice cream at a restaurant, I've decided. There's a kilt pin in here I found on the pavement, I don't know whose memory that belongs to. I think this elastic band is about to snap, the rubber has perished over

Bel

time.

Equally Equal The sense of nothing in all its fullness. Of not needing to be anything or be anywhere. This is enough, this is what I am, a gap, a hiatus, a knowing that to be merely here is

fine indeed. I can be still, it can be quiet, all things can

Jane

be equal.

Pasta moment of brittle

Simon

Pasta is tough and gets easier the longer it gets. I like pasta before it is relieved of its brittle composition. On the other hand it is pretty nice. All that fury for 12 minutes, leaves it limp. At one end of the scale sits the world and at the other the world.

Inside the tiny small house

Morag

I laugh Vigorously At the tiny house Full of cheap trash So much I do Time I have Yet I play to myself In the mornings Lost in my head In the tiny house.

An odd and ancient practice It was time. Decision made. This person. This year. I was to be given a way on the day – an odd thing indeed – to be gifted by one man to another. To be passed on

from my birth family world, from one life and one domain to other. Not just symbolically, but offered by hand. Til death do us part. Soon after the ceremony there should be a child. Bellies of newly-weds are closely eyed. This woman’s most intimate behaviours and decisions now publicly scrutinised – their place defined by centuries of

custom and contract. As little as sixty years ago, even the most educated and able women would now be expected to give up work. To spend her precious week and her hard-learned skills shopping, chopping, kneading, scrubbing, pickling, mending, caring and general arse-wiping. Widespread rejection of such traditional marriages is a case and point. Even the least enlightened western governments recognise the outmodedness of this patriarchal practice. Today we may decide to keep our own company – and that’s ok. Some join their number with another, either with contract or without. Some even form polyamorous groups – although these are not without problems. In this transformed

Gillian

world, does traditional marriage still have a place?

Salt and prep. I don’t remember the last time I seasoned. Autumn Winter or Spring. I don’t count the Summer because it’s so nice you would never know. Partial to the Post. We have a variety of Winter green and red. Speak like you are using others’ words. Or speak like you are sharing theirs.

Simon

“No pepper for me thanks.”

The Old Odd backline slackers unlock bare expectations in the public spaces, unlace the corsets of dangerous guessing, and embrace the negative estimates. Stamp for the private sector!

Bel

the public drop Breeze Blocks and lead balloons, which flatten and diminish

The morning gets me The morning gets me As I rip the bubble The cold fridge As I drink them down with Orange â&#x20AC;&#x201C; bitter taste ? not today The afternoon gets me As I look for the email Type in the meeting host and Click the blue light hue As I open my email B4 I sat down and toggled the mouse Late afternoon gets me Got a pen, got some paper, Got an idea Late afternoon gets me more Lift the remote Wait for tv to start up Push button same channel everyday Mind the noise form the street Kids talking People talking Rain falling Wind blows

Stuart

Evening to night gets me Card from wallet Insert atm Push pin Look at balance Gasp

Press the button Agree and ask for a receipt Take card and cash and balance The morning gets me As I rip them from the bubble Feel the cold fridge as I drink With orange the taste Bitter taste Early afternoon gets me Look for the channel Get email Yawn

Late afternoon gets me. Talk on zoom a meeting. Get confused by the latest restrictions Sit down and toggle the mouse Late afternoon gets me Take an idea from my head. Got pen. Got paper

Stuart

Late afternoon gets me Turn off tv Scratch my head. Read paper. Avoid going out Avoid people... Rain falls Wind blows I hear voices on the stair I hear kids playing And traffic at the front

Evening to night gets me Lift up phone Phone the number Ask for chicken tikka curry Ask for poppadoms. Ask for pakora.

Hear the buzzer go Hear the paper Hear the plastic foam squeak Feel the spice on my tongue. The morning gets me As I take the pill from the bubble Ran out of orange from the fridge Drink water no bitter taste but is cold. The start of afternoon gets me Write down some lines of prose Talk about stuff on zoom Delete some spam Listen to the radio

Later in the afternoon it gets me Got some lines written Look over and delete some Speak out loud what Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ve written Try to make some sense of it

Stuart

Late afternoon gets me Watch the clouds hurtle past. See the trees blow Hear the rain torrent There are no birds singing No children playing No voices on the stair

Evening to night gets me Listen to some music. Try on jeans Shower...shave In the past remember that itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s not every night that I do this Not able to get out. Dance around the room to some music. Think about the past and the good times I had the weekend gets me

Stuart

take my meds. Listen to the radio Go to the supermarket. Think about the past Listen to some music. Wonder when lockdown will go Wonder if I will ever be in that crowd again In the same way Thinking of her.

Pictures of Scotland Ross road Single lane The curve at the Dr bridge Swerve avoid a crash Pull in check in Watch the hills Forestry below Rolling above Deep breath Drive on

Morag

Half full Half empty Glass Reflection Worldview Glasshouse No stones Many stones Broken glass Pick up the pieces

Autumn aches and believes in better. Wrongly defined as colourful

more so this year.

I notice colours much this year. Reds, yellows, green and reds. Is there someone who determines the optimum height for leaf piles? Not Too high That the wind will fell

Simon

But enough to be worthwhile.

SOME FOUND POEMS Found poems are poems that use words that already exist in the world, from material such as magazines, books, posters, food packaging, political manifestos and so on. Anywhere there words are basically. The words are then reused in different ways to create new meanings.

Paper of different sizes 8 x 10 inch 9 x 7 inch

5 x 7 inch 12 x 10 ish 4 x 5 favourite 5 x 4 favourite

2Â˝ x 10 printed Folded A4 Flat A4 Square

Deckled edge Pad of water colour

Simon

Brush sitting on top

Barbie not included

Morag

Prance & Shimmer Dream your own Adventures Inspired by travel dreams Playset fantastic present 70 accessories Play out stories and decide where she flies to next! Reveal 7 different surprises Doll not included

Christmas Carol We know it’s been a tough old year. And we want you to know that We are here for you

Bel

Let us help you make Christmas special, at home, with us. We know there’s nothing quite like Christmas dinner, because we’re big on bringing top turkeys to your table, Big on providing festive feasts with all the trimmings. Feast your eyes on our festive range. Deluxe pies Deluxe cheesecakes Deluxe six all butter mince pies. mmm Discover exclusive deals Discover tempting treats Discover our Fresh Festive Flowers Discover MORE Discover something for everyone Pet gifts Gadget gifts Kids gifts Adult gifts Gifts for him and her and them (because we’re very modern, We made our beer trans And our coffee LGBT) Because we believe in Small Acts of Kindness 25% off of 6 2 for £5 3 for 2 £2.89 per kg 27 Multibuy £2.89

SOME VISUAL POEMS Visual poems, or concrete poems, focus on the visual aspects of words, language and meaning.

Jane

vvvvvvvvvvrunvvvvvvvvvv vvvvvvvvvvrunvvvvvvvvvv vvvvvvvvvvrunvvvvvvvvvv vvvvvvvvvvrunvvvvvvvvvv vvvvvvvvvvrunvvvvvvvvvv vvvvvvvvvvrunvvvvvvvvvv vvvvvvvvvvrunvvvvvvvvvv vvvvvvvvvvrunvvvvvvvvvv vvvvvvvvvvrunvvvvvvvvvv vvvvvvvvvvrunvvvvvvvvvv vvvvvvvvvvrunvvvvvvvvvv vvvvvvvvvvrunvvvvvvvvvv vvvvvvvvvvrunvvvvvvvvvv vvvvvvvvvvrunvvvvvvvvvv vvvvvvvvvvrunvvvvvvvvvv vvvvvvvvvvrunvvvvvvvvvv vvvvvvvvvvrunvvvvvvvvvv vvvvvvvvvvrunvvvvvvvvvv vvvvvvvvvvrunvvvvvvvvvv vvvvvvvvvvrunvvvvvvvvvv vvvvvvvvvvrunvvvvvvvvvv vvvvvvvvvvrunvvvvvvvvvv vvvvvvvvvvrunvvvvvvvvvv vvvvvvvvvvrunvvvvvvvvvv vvvvvvvvvvrunvvvvvvvvvv vvvvvvvvvvrunvvvvvvvvvv vvvvvvvvvvrunvvvvvvvvvv vvvvvvvvvvrunvvvvvvvvvv vvvvvvvvvvrunvvvvvvvvvv vvvvvvvvvvrunvvvvvvvvvv vvvvvvvvvvrunvvvvvvvvvv vvvvvvvvvvrunvvvvvvvvvv vvvvvvvvvvrunvvvvvvvvvv vvvvvvvvvvrunvvvvvvvvvv vvvvvvvvvvrunvvvvvvvvvv vvvvvvvvvvrunvvvvvvvvvv vvvvvvvvvvrunvvvvvvvvvv

La Lack a laisy Lack a learn

Lack a lurn Lack a larn Lack a luse Lack a lack

Lack a lack

Simon

Lack a lack

Morag

Café Laje Laft

Luft Loof Lapt Lurt

Lupt

Simon

Luck

Wee Willie Winkie [punctuation only]

, ‘ , ‘

, “ ‘ “

, ?”

‘

, ‘

‘ , ‘

, ,

‘

.” ,

‘

, ‘

‘

, ‘

‘, ‘

, , -

‘

“

‘ ‘

, ‘ ,

‘

, -

!”

, ‘

, , , ‘ ‘ -

Jane

SOME NOUN POEMS The following poems were created using lists of the most common 25 nouns and the most common 50 nouns in English.

25 nouns The TIME for the PERSON which took a YEAR to get out of the WAY every DAY the THING played a MAN in the WORLD, Yet his LIFE was HANDed to him in PART since he

was a CHILD. Each EYE was a WOMAN, each PLACE called after the WORK in a WEEK. The CASE was a POINT in the GOVERNMENT subsided by a COMPANY and given. NUMBER for a GROUP there is

Stuart

no PROBLEM in that FACT.

25 nouns

Jane

And time is a person, To sing way down for a day, To be a thing, a man of the world. Life has a hand in each part of the child, Eye hidden from the woman, In a place where work, Who had case to point. Aye the government kept company, In the group the problem became the fact.

Night is all right (not all nouns present) It’s a strange area of work, the book business. Especially if you write only for young people. In that case, it’s all the weirder as you need to inhabit their world. But child

company can be good company. Sometimes the best. But not if it is the only land you live in. You need other countries – ones with varied conversation, reciprocity and the ‘supposed’ sophistication of adults. Sylvia began her day as ever with a coffee at her com-

puter. Her eye travelled over yesterday’s writing. Unsatisfied, she felt the need to sneak in something more profound. To infect into these youngsters some realism. To teach them some undeniable facts. For instance, that we all need a family – at least as a springboard into adulthood. And that we need government, to prevent anarchy and protect the needy; lend a hand to disem-

powered groups. That without a home and job, life is precarious.

That our lot isn’t given, it’s earned and

learned. There ain’t no money man, bank of mum and dad, no tooth fairy or Santa Claus. All this more seemed pertinent to her this month as her of her death. Mr Graham, the undertaker, did a funeral night number, to accommodate her allergy to the day. And to people, and to places. He got the point and it was no problem. He had a program for everyone, for the right price.

Gillian

mother was in her thoughts – given it was the anniversary

50 nouns In which area is the book? He held a business case, a child his company They’ll leave the country for a day eye on the fact that they can’t take family The government knows their group will raise a hand to force them home No job, short life, shit lot. The man made money that month sent it home to his mother People called him Mr in the day At night, they called his number called him part-people in the wrong place they point and call him A problem We made the program And question his right to room, school and state

They do not ask his story, a student who tries to study a system, a thing choked in time A stagnant waterway It’s been a week, and a woman asks for a word. (Where does it work, in the world?) Now it’s been a year.

Bel

area book business case child company country day eye fact family government group hand home job life lot man money month mother mr night number part people place point problem program question right room school state story student study system thing time water way week woman word work world year

50 nouns In the right area for a book on the subject of business. The case of the unexplained child. A book company for the old country. Each of these goes by day by day. A

shut eye for the facts. Within the family, parental government. Grouped handed homely. This was a job for life. A lot for any man. The currency of money due every month. Handed to mother imagined by Mr Right. His number was then ten a part from people and more.

In the right area for a place. Over there she points. Not a problem he shouts. It’s programmed to do that. Any questions? Right. Head towards that room. In the school. “What a state”.

That’s some story she says “and for one of my students”. Study more for longer. Stick to the system. It’s one of those things. Take your time even if the water is running out way more than it should. About a week.

Simon

About a woman word of work, in this world “what a year.”

50 nouns The area book was a business case some child inherited a company every day the eye fact in family paused the government/group have meant home. His job in life was

a lot. And the man used money every month to mother the big mr, yet at night each number did part people. A place poured a point of the problem unable to program a question right in the room. In the school each state had a story each student to study, the system â&#x20AC;&#x201C; each thing took time as the water way took for a week to trav-

el. A woman once said a world the word was work of her

Stuart

saying lasted a year but the end never cameâ&#x20AC;Ś

50 nouns The area of the book shone. It was purely business thought. A case was found and a child was lost.

“What company did we keep back in the old country?” Each day sprang forth, I held my eye close to the window. It was a known fact in the family but hardly hidden. “Was the government informed? I heard a group had

held up a hand.” Home from the job, life had little to offer and a lot to forgive. It was only when the man had the money, that the sad month could be declared closed. “Mother, did Mr Right prove so in the end?” At night it felt purely a game for the number. Part of what the people desire is merely a place, not just a decimal point followed by a problem. As you ask the question, yes they were right. The whole

room was available, but in a school it was the state that

Jane

bothered, In a story, yes, the student may study. “But what system, what thing, what time?”

I ran with the water downhill, a wandering way. â&#x20AC;&#x153;In a week will the woman be here?â&#x20AC;? Oh your word, lightly said but we must work or our world

Jane

will be gone in a year.

SOME OULIPO POEMS The OuLiPo (Ouvroir de LittĂŠrature Potentielle â&#x20AC;&#x201C; Workshop for Potential Literature) is a French writing collective which combines maths and word puzzles with poetry and prose to create unusual writing. The examples here include: N+7, which is where every noun in a piece of writing is replaced by the seventh noun that follows it in a dictionary; tautograms, where every word begins with the same letter; an antonymic poem (where words are changed to opposite meanings); and an alphabetical poem.

Ouli

Pian

Possies o’ people partied plenty; packed peapods

perspiring profusely. Perplexed, Peter’s predicament pertained to parking – plus pimple. The pustule, peaking past parka, presently pre-protruded puss. Problem pondered, Peter plastered pesky pimple ‘n pink protective plastic package. Pain-faced, Peter passed-

Gillian

off pretence perfectly.

Anachronistic Azure bipartisan

bubblegum casualty clingfilm continent Cyrillic Dictate

Drumstick

eraser

fellow fossil

fuel

gleam handle housefly ink kamasutra lie mangrove

mmissprint neurotransmitter orthography pearl plectrum private sector

radial

Simon

reserve sadly separable shaken

N new now never not

niggle native nature name named nothing nocturnal

night nouns naĂŻve

Stuart

nice

5 words of POP from the essential English dictionary pancake pancake day panchromatic pancreas panda omnipotent omnipresent omniscient omnivore omnivorous

Stuart

pan out pan pipes pandemic paint panda

Wee Willie Winkie (n+7 version) Wee Willie Winkie Rins through the tracer, Up stalker an' doon stalker In his nightshade, Tirlin' at the winger, Crying at the locksmith, "Are the webs in their beech, For it's now ten o'clock?" "Hey, Willie Winkie, Are ye comin' ben? The catamaran's singin grey thrums To the sleepin heptathlon, The doghouse’s speldert on the florist, And disna gie a chemise, But here's a waukrife lagging, That wunna fa' asleep." Onything but sleuth, you roof! Glow'ring like the mop, Rattlin' in an irritant julep Wi' an irritant sportsman, Rumblin', tumblin' roon about, Crawin' like a cockroach, Skirlin like a kenna-what, Waukenin' sleepin' font.

Jane

"Hey Willie Winkie – The web’s in a crescent, Wamblin' aff a bogies knights Like a verra effrontery, Ruggin' at the catamaran’s lumberjack, Rav’llin a' her thrums

Hey Willie Winkie â&#x20AC;&#x201C; See there he comes!"

Jane

Wearit is the moulding That has a stoorie web, A wee, stumpie, stousie, That canna rin his lane, That has a bay aye wi' sleep, Afore he'll close an eyeliner â&#x20AC;&#x201C; But a kitchenette frae aff his rosy liquor Gies striker anew to me.

An antonymic poem The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn by Mark Twain You don’t know about me without you have read a book by the name of The Adventures of Tom Sawyer; but that ain’t no matter. That book was made by Mr. Mark Twain, and he told the truth, mainly. There was things which he stretched, but mainly he told the truth. That is nothing. I never seen anybody but lied one time or another, without it was Aunt Polly, or the widow, or maybe Mary. Aunt Polly—Tom’s Aunt Polly, she is—and Mary, and the Widow Douglas is all told about in that book, which is mostly a true book, with some stretchers, as I said before. The polar opposite wording of The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn by Mark Twain by Stuart

Stuart

I don’t know about you. With you have not blemished a book by the squelch of the romantic under of Tomasina Sawyer. But that ain’t no air. The screen was deconstructed by Michelle Twain, and she told lies secondarily. There was objects which she stretched, but singularly she kept secret that is something. We always looked not at personally but truth, twice or the same, with that was Uncle Peter or the spouse or maybe Mark. Uncle Peter— Rena’s Uncle Peter, he was—thus Mark, and the Spouse Spinster Delila as not kept secret about in that page, which is mostly a lying page with some squashes, as we hid after.

SOME MORE POEMS

My meds and me

Gillian

Both jailer and emancipator Twice-daily, waking and bedtime To miss is a risk I’m a mess if it’s messed with Liberation from torture Yet cuffed in their snare Travel’s a rigmarole Months away impossible I need them yet hate them I’m angry but I’m grateful Ambivalent yet sure Resigned and consigned Free but costly Benefits with side-effects Safe but harmful Not addictive yet I’m dependent Researched – not longitudinally Evidence-based, but only ripest cherries picked We – beneficiaries of modern medicine? Or mugs on psych-drugs – This sorcery of medicine Scientific trial and error Or error and trial Contingencies for litigation Big pharma Or big harmer? Or behaviour saviour? A mindfuck For a fucked mind But I try not to mind

to care / provide for / look after FOOD WATER SPACE Entertainment, chasing boredom FOOD WATER SPACE Touchless, disintegrate FOOD WATER SPACE Stimulation? Have you ●contributed enough? ●worked hard enough? ●paid tax enough? Have you had enough?

Bel

WATER SPACE GOODS SERVICES BILLS TIME

The crack in the floor, the uneven board, my faults and failings on display, but now less so.

The Improbability of Eggs There is a time to throw up your hands and walk away but the devil in me, or just plain me, screeches no. I will prove my imagined status, the floured forearms of encompassing care or, more likely, control. I will wrestle to the ground the improbability of eggs and terrorise tiny children with the custard of doom.

The Mayonnaise Irregularity Through this I am my worth. In horror the innocent emulsion of eggs and oil separate and curdle. A more

kind heart would have cured that misery. I slip away, itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s personal. In the cutlery drawer old stories are quietly passed. Each hand that held, each voice that spoke. Wood sings songs of the old country, the brittle call of Bakelite settles

Jane

down.

The happiness of the boiled egg of the soul.

Drawing found under a table in a drama practice room after teaching a drama class.

Stig anopithicks Vertically stacked nostrils. A four teethed mouth. A drawing made in worship or in warning. The page was torn as life tried to spring free. What magics were abandoned here, discarded in the dust, left to live in the discarded things? Stig anopithicks lives where the spoken tongue is ZIP ZAP BOING. The landscape plays out devised scenes. The mountains folded photocopies stapled at the corners.

Bel

Project, Stig Anopithicks! Speak nice and loud and slow. Don’t Rush. You have all the time in the world. Don’t turn your back on your audience. Don’t be nervous. Nice and steady now.

Four black and white pictures There are still goats on holy isle.

Despite its historical value they tore down the hall to build part of the new school.

The homebuyer insisted the tree was cut down.

Morag

During the Co-op extension the original sign was found.

Dear Santa Please grant me my life back Bring normality in your sack Let me wander free of fear Gift me a real live band to hear Let my people share my room Rid me of this curse of zoom Free me of this virtual face Allow once more some warm embrace

Gillian

And if this is too much to ask Then fortify me for this task Nothing better can you bring Than sanity until the spring

layers For instance who are you likely to meet in the rain? Who are you likely to meet in the sun? What about snow?

I suppose it depends on the type of snow. Dry snow, wet snow, falling snow, drifting snow, icy snow, heavy snow, powder snow, squeaky snow, crumping snow underfoot, snow falling in the palm of your hand, Compressed snow, pure white snow? Snow without footprints, ever. Snow at a remote location. It will take a while to get there. Say two days, A day. A day and a half? Train, plane, boat, foot.

Thatâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s remote snow and you might as well take as many jackets as you can wear. Layer up.

Simon

The snow falls so fast here it covers footprints in ten seconds.