Our resident poet Nigel Parkin gives us some SHOCKing sonnets, pulse-pounding poems and horrifying haikus.
Motion Sickness and the Poetry of Steak: A Free Verse Celebration of David Cronenberg’s THE FLY
He is Brundlefly, of course
Right from the start
With his bug eyes
And his twitching
And his buzzing bursts
Of manic energy.
And like the film
Hes ready to show off,
Ready to whisk us to his pad
To show us his pods
As soon as possible.
The figure we first encounter
Is Cronenberg at the Hollywood party –
The mesmerising outsider
Full of electric, eccentric
Danger
And brains BRAINS!
YES! we want to go with him
Were locked, hooked, gripped
We cant take our eyes off him.
He stares at us
From out of that giant screen
Warning us we may be
In a mainstream cinema
But hes going to show us things
Weve NEVER seen before
Wouldnt DREAM of seeing!
Are you coming?
And the music
The MUSIC!
SWELLS!
And SWIRLS!
Its LUSH!
OPERATIC!
INTENSE!
A man and a woman
Have only just met
And already this music
Is making us aware
Theres tragic romance
In the air.
He suffers
From motion sickness
Of course he does!
The roots of his destruction,
The sickness that will
Be catalysed
By the ultimate motion
Are already there
In his mind
And his body.
And soon he will feel them
In his FLESH!
Oh yes!
There is much talk
Of THE FLESH!
This is CRONENBERG
After all!
And the FLESH
Is powerfully present,
Tingling, aroused
The moment were near
His pods –
The mechanical manifestations
Of his MIND!
Veronica seductively removes
Her stocking
As an offering
(A sacrifice
A test
A temptation)
For teleportation
And there are sparks!
And flashes!
Brilliant surges
Of heat!
And heavy sounds
Of RELEASE
As doors click open
Sucking air
And spewing steam
STEAM!
And Brundle takes
Veronicas hand
And leads her to the pod,
To the threshold
And through the steam
She sees
Her stocking,
The dressing for her skin
Smoking –
Disturbingly reprocessed.
It begins.
Things move
At the speed
Of Brundles
Brilliantly
Boiling thoughts.
A baboon is turned
Inside out
In a bright red
Goulash of guts
And Brundle
Taps furiously,
Feverishly
At his computer
In an inspired rush
To reach the heart
Of the poetry
Of steak.
In the meantime
Veronica
Crosses the threshold
Of her bathroom,
Pulls back the curtain
Of the steaming pod
Of her shower
And finds her editor.
I still have a key, remember?
He says, then asks
If straightforward sex
Can still be on the cards.
Youre disgusting,
She replies,
Little knowing
How terribly
Those words
Will echo
Later.
And so the battle lines
Are drawn.
Two men playing
Power games
With science and sex
And the woman who,
Unwittingly,
Drives them to destruction.
How can you have
Any fluid left in you?
She asks Brundle,
Exhausted,
Overwhelmed
By his desire
Once he is both
Man and fly.
And that,
Of course,
Is the point.
Hes all fluid now
Sperm
And blood
And slime
With corrosive enzymes.
Hes a leaking,
Squirting,
Popping,
Vomiting
Mass of collapsing
Manhood
A fly who
Dreamed
He was
A man.
Thats disgusting,
He says,
All too knowingly,
Apologetically,
As he spews
His acidic slime
Over a doughnut.
And hes not
Just talking
About the gross-out
Spectacle
Hes become.
Hes identifying
The being
Within
The one whose
Desire
To consume
Flesh
Knowledge
Power
Has given birth
To this disease.
Its like a cancer,
He says,
Suggesting
The whole thing
Has lain dormant
In him
For years,
Waiting
For its time
To wake
To grow
To rise.
And therein lies
The real terror
And cathartic
Beauty
Of this film
For those of us
Whove seen
Loved ones
Transformed
Reduced
Reshaped
By what can
Grow within,
The climactic sight
Of BrundleFlyPod
Hauling his mass
Of intestines
And cables
Towards the one
Who can release him
And lifting the rifle
To his pitiful
MANBUGHAMMERHEAD
In a wide eyed
Plea
For understanding
And mercy
Glazes our eyes
And tightens our throats
While at the same time
Filling our
Horror-loving
Hearts with joy
As we sing
The operatic
Delights
Of outrageous
Sights
And absurd ideas.
God, how we
NEED
Films like this!
Because life
Is a bloody,
Beautiful,
Painful,
Freakish,
Frightening,
Arousing,
Thrilling,
Sickening,
Hilarious,
Aching,
Desperate,
Delirious,
ESSENTIAL
Party
And there we are,
Like Brundle
In the opening scene,
Eyes burning,
Full of adrenalin
Eager for
The next stage
Of our adventure
To begin.
