Unseen!
New words and visuals
Unseen!
New words and visuals
Unseen! 1 - Inside
001
Inside - Things made in isolation
unseen! 001 - inside
This is the first issue of Unseen! - a web zine created to showcase new words and visuals from emerging artists and writers.
Inside is a collection of writing and visuals by Unseen Collective and friends, created during the COVID-19 lockdown.
ABout unseen Collective
We're a group of poets who met in the southwest, who have since dispersed. The collective keeps us connected, and creates a platform to share other artists' and poets' work.
MEG
Venus crouches at my side
protecting me through loss -
a warrior against grief,
strengthening me
after others have left...
I forge a band of leaves
around my right arm,
plant a tree on my ribs
and they do not crack,
for I tend to them
with cocoa butter
until I am smooth as dawn.
Monique
My eyes build buildings
melt ceilings
were winter once
my mouth knows my mother’s tongue
hormones left my flesh freckled
my skin it is worn
but it is mine
by design
I look for silver linings
my life
the product of perfect timing
I write to be
to be is enough
rob
I am the space unfilled between us:
stretching, silent, sunlight,
deep blue spring skies,
stealing glances from weary eyes without
asking:
smoke, mirrors,
here, smiling,
summer, trying,
living, dying,
solid mountain,
empty sun.
CONTENTS
1 - unseen! tanka series
1 - Unseen! Tanka Series
2 - Nostalgia
3 - Poems by Meg
4 - Guest! Visuals
5 - Poems by Monique
6 - Unseen! Visuals
5 - Poems by Rob
6 - Paris Diary
7 - Guest! Poems
8 - Nostalgia II
9 - Acknowledgements
10- Submissions and Contact
Meg
Your scent slips inside
my house as your letter falls,
confusing my dog.
Her bark, both happy and sad,
echoes our mixed messages.
Monique
Have I not waited
mother aching moments past
dilated from my
eyes water breaking hello
Satan I’ve been so patient
Rob
The first buds of spring
emerge from within themselves
incumbent and reticent –
a welcome message
from somewhere we cannot see.
A tanka from each of us about an unexpected message.
2 - nostalgia
Images of a pre-lockdown UK shot by Monique using a leaky film camera.
3 - POEMS BY MEG
cocoon
In the absence
of a guiding hand
to lead this dance,
I lift my own arm
high above my head and,
with closed eyes,
I begin to spin
a blanket of silk
to hug my skin
like a womb.
Silver threads flow into my veins
through my palms,
lighting up
my arms, my chest,
coursing through
my shoulder blades.
And give me time
(what could be
more beautiful?)
as I stretch out
my tigered back,
unstiffen
my weakened spine,
roll my chin
from chest to sky,
then watch as
(gently)
my wings unfold
with my sigh.
IMAGINING DINNER WITH FRIENDS
The table is laid
with dappled sun
and the scent
of blossom and larksong
catches our skin.
We feast our eyes,
overcome by company,
drink in each other’s smiles,
drunk with delight.
I close my eyes
turn my face to the light.
Our hands briefly touch
as you pass the sorbet,
and it does not matter.
Afterwards
we all hug goodbye
hold each other close
and feel our hearts’ duet,
our bellies pressed together
like a prayer
Atlas
Something is wrong
with the atlas on my bedroom wall.
The lines are too straight,
drawn out like a square,
with a triangle hat,
and windows framing Turkey,
Spain and South Sudan.
Russia is not real -
it was rubbed out by a child,
and only spoken into existence
by strangers
with beautiful tongues.
The canals of St Petersburg
pour into Venice,
while Moscow’s empty metro floors
gleam in the Ashmolean.
France dissolved
as I crossed the sea -
a scattered trail of Paris
falling away behind the train,
into a photobook
in attempts to remain.
Countries slide off the map
as my world grows smaller
and smaller
until
I gaze up at the atlas
and see only
this house.
Papaya
Do you remember the very first thing
that touched your lips?
Did you smile?
Did you run away,
knowing that it was enough?
Do you eat papaya with a slice of lime?
Do you know the satisfaction
of a spoon scooping into its centre,
while a puddle of juice
dews your plate?
Do you remember when you tasted it first?
When you were done,
did you push it away?
Did you look up
to meet someone’s eyes?
Was it your mother?
Did you stain your shirt?
Was it your favourite colour?
Did she shake her head?
Did she smile?
Do you remember the feeling
of lifting your arms,
of the neckline pulling against
your forehead?
Did you run your sticky hands
over your chest?
Did you run away?
Did you smile?
Do you remember the very first thing
that touched your lips?
Do you remember your first kiss?
Did you run away?
Was it harder to stay?
Have you ever cried
with your lips shaped like a smile?
Have you watched your reflection
crumple,
your forehead line, while tears
run down your cheeks?
Have you sobbed without knowing why?
Did it help?
When you’re alone
do you dance?
Do you remember your first dance?
The very first hand that touched your hips?
Did you run away?
Did they ask you to smile?
Have you ever curled up and
rested your chest on your thighs?
Turned your head to the side
with closed eyes
and kissed the scar on your arm?
Did you feel less alone?
Did your arm understand
the touch of your lips?
Did you taste of cocoa butter?
Did you smell like your mother’s perfume,
a small square bottle of jasmine
rubbed in a circle between your wrists
and neck?
Have you bitten your skin
to remind yourself you’re there?
Have you whispered ‘I love you’
when there was no one else around?
Did your voice sound small,
too self-aware?
Were you afraid
to not hear your love returned?
Have you cut your own hair?
Have you watched three years of growth
fall to the ground?
Have you seen it lie
like swirling stars at your feet?
Do you like the shape of your toes?
Do your feet still grow calluses in Summer,
hardening yourself for the days ahead?
Crossing over sharp stones,
stepping into green pools,
do you still watch rays graze your skin?
Do you run when you should walk?
Do you know how to skip?
How to skim a stone until it jumps?
Have you crouched down low
to squint at the horizon
and catch the last of the sun?
Did you smile?
Was it enough?
Do you give yourself enough time?
Do you still eat papaya
with a slice of lime?
clouds
I am walking on the clouds -
my feet stepping lightly on their undersides,
and I wonder when they might decide
to let go,
to fall away with a sigh
to the old world below,
crashing into something new.
Down side up, head under heels,
from here I can see everyone I know -
what a view.
If only I could reach out
to hold your hand or
plant a kiss on your head.
For now, suspended upside down,
I’ll return your smile instead.
4 - GUEST! VISUALS
Various work from talented guest artists - illustrations by Lucy, Adam, and Alice, a visual poem by Sophia, and a mixed media collage by Becky. Click the images for a link to our guests' Instagram accounts!
illustrations by lucy
visual poem by sophia
illustration by becky
illustration by aDam
illustrations by Alice
5 - poems by monique
Eye
For you I wake to watch the sunrise
Everynight is a goodnight
As the sun sets to sleep
I watch warm water colours paint your cheeks
And for a moment emotion washes over me
I wage a war
On the thoughts that tell me to leave before you do
For you will soon
When I look at you I know you were loved
Your skin so smooth
Near damp
As if your mother kisses have not yet dried
And your father gave you permission to cry
And then wiped your eyes
My love
You are still so easy to be loved
So my worry is not you
It is who you are loved by
It is I
eden
You have built a wall around your garden
I can see a tree and it is evergreen
Do you fear a fool may eat forbidden fruit and know your truth
I have long been a fool for you
My sweet
I know no sorrow
You hold no sin not worth knowing
It will not compel me to cover my body in fig leaves
I grow more nude in knowing you
Share with me you sowing seeds
I promise to tread lightly my love
Evermore
The Gods they punish me
I know they do for I love you
Despite
evergreen
I wished for you
And you for me
With cutlery we cut the tree
It took a decade to do
But we did so in excellence
Diligence
Decadence
Etching our names and numerals
The fallen marked our path
Connecting lands lost to man
Taken by waters
Coiled in the presence to kill
The sun fell on your shoulders
You led
My light
It is for you I pause time
It is for you I walk this line
6 - unseen! visuals
paintings by meg
illustrations by rob
7 - poems by rob
haiku
A cool spring morning
announced by the woodpecker –
awake in the world.
A ride in the sun -
crows descend on warm breezes,
in search of their food.
A passing sadness
that attempted to linger
broken by movement.
The dew wets my eyes,
as spring pollen, silently
remembers to fall.
My old truth is dead
from there to here I have passed –
new life emerging.
Wonderful crimson,
an injury to old skin -
he strains to hear us.
The heavy spring moon
is watching my eyes, leaking
as day turns to night.
The evening birdsong
on a breeze through the window,
whilst brushing my teeth.
ants and daffodils
Sunlit daffodils,
nodding their heads towards me,
remind me of how
time can oscillate somehow
and suddenly I am born.
Our tranquil night walks,
a sudden recognition –
you are more than the
sum of your cells or the hum
that your tongue takes for knowledge.
You are a pleading,
an architect of silence.
The ants we mimic,
filling cities endlessly -
the pulsing pierces ear drums.
Morning silence
I have lived at this wonderful cusp,
blessed by countless acts of love -
I only want for a way to
thank every eye that
has held me in its gaze,
to sanctify each smile
with palms pressed together, a silent prayer
for posterity,
for the next gesture born of love
and not fear for
they stand opposed and
basking in the breath of all bad deeds not
committed I fold into kindnesses,
emergent through unknown worlds
that brim with friends yet unmade and
suns yet unrisen -
to celebrate our unlikelihood,
our impossible chance to run in the rain.
STUMBLED STARTS
The land of desks and paperwork,
of mystery and gods,
in which I landed quite unknown:
to songs of bugs and frogs.
The floor gave way under my feet,
and through the void I fell,
udon noodles, late night walks
and visions straight from hell.
Gingko was a savior,
wept leaves before my heart,
as autumn sung its song of death
an ode to stumbled starts.
I think of every peaceful walk,
remember every friend,
and come home with an ounce of truth:
All good and bad must end.
8 - paris Diary
Two pages from a visual diary kept by Meg during her time in Paris.
9 - guest poets
empty plains - lumbeross
I awoke to the smell of
incense,
clutching my thoughts before
they escaped my tongue
to form a ceiling to be
clouded, intoxicating
I followed it
blindly -
soft waves, slow walks.
I arrived,
sat at the bowl as it scratched my throat,
weakening my grasp
I tried to walk away towards
the empty plains but I
returned to
you.
Cough, splutter, off colour,
talk, mutter,
silence.
Excruciating silence as I used my last
remaining strength to hold my tongue.
I slipped, let go, my thoughts rose above me.
A roof in the empty plains -
how could I leave?
golden cage - francesco
Those voices that craved
Silence and locked doors
Lie now scared of the plated walls
They dreamt of,
Mother gently kisses her child
Goodbye
as freedom yells her name from the wild
while the world watches still and wondering.
What a foul day to be leaving,
Won’t you stick around for another ride,
There’s a voice calling your name
Opening the gate of your new home,
You’re not homebound, kid,
Spinning in a golden cage
To the rhythm of a broken clock
To the echoes of the last ticks
Of your heart;
What a foul day to be running, my love,
What a foul day to go,
Won’t you sit down again
If you desire so,
I lost my way in the woods
To find you guarding a cave,
You sphinx, guide and devil
Holding my hand,
Holding my hand
To the grave.
What a foul day to be dying, darling,
Let me hold the light while you walk in,
Let me kiss you before the wind
blows you away.
One drink for the dead,
One drink for the road,
One drink for the journey you conquered
One drink for the one you begin,
While I roam and search
Holding a light
That no longer you can see.
reflections - mark
Did you look up when they first said beware,
did you take notice or even care?
As they died and the numbers continued to rise,
did you believe what you saw with your eyes?
It’s coming they said, wash your hands and prepare.
Too late my friend! It’s everywhere -
it keeps taking lives, now our world at a halt,
did our desire for too much make it our fault?
Nature looks on as we fight to survive,
will we remember, if left still alive -
our planet is shared, its wealth not our own,
the pain we now feel, the seeds once sown,
the ocean cooled down, the air grown cleaner,
is this one the lesson to make us live greener?
the embroidery - hannah
My grandma got as far as a butterfly,
two bluebells and a daisy,
then I guess she got bored
or ran out of thread.
Decades later my mother finished
the rest. A panorama
of botanical inaccuracies:
species belonging to separate seasons,
separate soils, planted
on one beige canvas.
I think we all need two funerals:
first the public unravelling,
then a quiet project we stitch
together in the evenings.
10 - nostalgia ii
Film shot by Rob between 2017 and 2019 - when travel photography was a realistic hobby.
acknowledgments
We would like to thank everyone who contributed to Inside, and to all our readers - we hope you enjoy reading it as much as we enjoyed making it!
submissions and contact
We are now accepting submissions for our Summer issue, with the theme "Outside". Please send any work to: unseenwordsandvisuals@gmail.com.
Alternatively, send us a direct message via Instagram: _unseencollective_
The deadline for submissions is 15/08/20.
We accept visual art, photography, poetry, short articles and fiction (under 500 words). Feel free to provide your name and social media, as well as any further information about your submission (title, inspiration, explanation etc).
We receive a high volume of submissions, so please be patient - we will get back to you as soon as possible.