The Familiar Reaches

Selected Poems 1985-1996 & Photographs 1998-2004

Geoffrey Mark Matthews
 The Familiar Reaches
Selected Poems 1985-1996 & Photographs 1998-2004
Geoffrey Mark Matthews

Sunk Island Publishing

 CONTENTS

Touch stone ... 2

Greenwich Reach 3
Subterranean Submariners 4
Imagines a photograph 5
He wears scabs and scars ... 6
This is the low-which day ... 7
In the Bar Mirror 8
Fishing by Kite from a Lighthouse 9
The indecisive wind ... 10
Cragside 11
Place and Recollection 13
Archaeology 14
Persistence 15
Alchemy 16
Design 17
Rain 18
Paintings for Rats 20
Seduction 21
A dry leaf... 22
Blindness and Knowing 23
To Lose the Sign for that Which is Lost 24
After Bacon 25
Police Helicopter 26
Reprise 27
War Grave 28
Darkness, War, Synchrony 29
Vet 29
Oates 30
The Moon Ship 31
Crossed Lines 32
There are places ... 33
Flatlander 34
An Audience of Smiths 35
Keeping House for Major Dick, My Queen and the Little Ones 36
Derrida, Derrida, Derridum 38

All poems and photographs copyright © G M Matthews 2004

1
TOUCH STONE...

Touch stone in this

time and spellbound place

which familiar is it that reaches

from water
salts
et cetera
to the blind side ?

2
GREENWICH REACH

Gold blade
splintered on the river's skin
at sunset
the foreshore
a glinting reptilian
moult
pierced by metallic junk
and unweathered stone
appearing like
gravel
in a wound

across this
three swans glide
sideways
backs to the sun

in the mid-distance
a police launch cuts the tide
against the light
a meaningless patch of bloated grey
hangs from the bulwark
a recent suicide

3
SUBTERRANEAN SUBMARINERS

When I walked this path behind the winter

a balding lady split her head on the ice
I remember
when I walked this path behind the spring
high water brought the barrier down
and a burnt corpse to the steps
I remember
when I walked this path behind the summer
officers' cars decorated the queen's vista
I saw skin caught in the vintage bumpers
I remember
when I walked this path behind the autumn
the college reactor waste
was railroaded
through "nuclear-free" Lewisham

in all that dream-memory

the bald lady was burnt from inside
bulldozed and buried

4
IMAGINES A PHOTOGRAPH...

short breath down a park bank glancing

halts
stares
crust of a smile medievally cast at/beyond
the wisp of distant grey
suggests Billingham
binned cod supper
scavenged
clenched in yesterday's news
SPUD FAMINE - FISHERMEN BEACHED

gull swoops
flails an arm
snaps at a gawker
ya focken Inglesh barshtet

ice shadow cries

falls to his arse
shoulder
and dream-eyes promenade a seawall in Devil's Island

5
HE WEARS SCABS AND SCARS

He wears scabs and scars like a

butcher wears ribbons and brass

he bares his presence

bare arms
articulated muscle
the duck-footed strut
undisguised cock arrogance

6
THIS IS THE LOW-WHICH DAY

this is the low-which

day from terror
I watch them cork-heads melt away our livelihood
and plank it
bold on their backs

the worst
would be pick
between upright fences
seek
out
the tender shadows
as if
flash illuminated by prejudice
or crippled by
all mine s

closed eyes blink open

to friends frozen in gaol
and wishing notice
slagging shuts up in the air

I can’t be here
they blame me

this is the low which day

numb cheek

7
IN THE BAR MIRROR

The glazed intent of a lizard feeding

no fear of retreats
neither wet nor dry

the skilful
sticky-tongued
plucking off
of anything straying too near

in the humid night

cotton-print moths
taunt and test until
exhausted
I trip and lunge
back to my cool
hole

8
FISHING BY KITE FROM A LIGHTHOUSE

Posed with the problem of living here

my love is a wrong word
the pocket lining is patched
with bright wallpaper
pristine linen
whiskey
and so much soft porn
every day the canvassing pirate
drums at the door
like a ghost giving up the word
glossy junk breeds on the doormat
entrancing the wood-lice
and shouting abuse at my peace of mind
no rest in sleep
the slipshod dreams
trace packhorse promises
from dump to daylight
and then the clutter wears me out
with all the ease of a ring-pull

9
THE INDECISIVE WIND

The indecisive wind

orchestrates the night's noises

the cars shush

I lie listening to them gain and fade

the guns crackle

the vixen cries

as rains sprays the window

I think of the silent things

the swooping owl

the scarecrow

the practice bomb drops

ten beats of a funeral drum

follow ten bursts of light

my dreams distract their exercises

their photographs miss the point

10
CRAGSIDE

A child hid among the rocks

and playing
with dreaming eyes
happened upon corpses
ripped and bloody
scattered through the conifers

Northumbrian outcrop
rifled retreat
he set foot upon the purchase
blasted crag to
distant dying fires
and made this place his

before his ordnance

twelve rooms became one hundred
fantastic
the tanks rumble and roll
disturbed both dream and flesh
in their night manoeuvres

not blind to beauty

he acquired the art of
Danby, Morgan, Carmichael and Train
nor immune to nostalgia
returned and returned
to the rock and the water's forces

kitchen hydraulics
lift and spit
drew head from Tumbleton
the library
has Swan electrics
the juice turbined below Debdon

fossil industries
from dams, pumps and reservoirs
through cranes, trains and bridges
to murder
second-hand
and a guiltless memorial

seven million trees

for as many men

11
PLACE AND RECOLLECTION

This history smells ermine

the blue blood of bible illuminations
in a library where
the stair spirals the wrong way

enter the first left-handed swordsman

complete with Doc Marten's
RIBA part III and
"GREEN" stamped on his forehead

He says
today
I think I will reinvent the museum
this quill
will be placed next to
a fragment of General H. Shrapnel
with the legend

In 1381 the people went to the palace, ripped

up the floor, took all the broken pieces out-
side and distributed them

I scowl
put the kettle on
and let it sing in the coals
grandad's stories of grandad

I make him
for a moment
fertile and immobile
while deciphering our common inheritance

12
ARCHAEOLOGY

The pile driver's pretty rings

shiver through the earth
tunnel air to ear

the past's simple plea is to be heard

I have secrets to tell

13
PERSISTENCE

In an architectural magazine I found a photograph of the most familiar

place I had never been to. I cut out its immaculate dehumanised likeness
and carried it everywhere with me in my wallet for a year. Every so often I
took it in the palm of my hand and held it up to the scene before me,
trying to locate its familiarity. In time, its edges became greasy and dog-
eared, the image lost some of its gloss, and gradually it began to seem just
too familiar in itself. Eventually, I had to wonder if the quest was doomed
and had been from the moment I slipped that untitled cutting into my
pocket.
Yesterday, just days later, I thought I had finally solved the
mystery. Returning, for the first time in fifteen years, to the school room
where it all began, I held up the picture at arm's length, turned and paced
about the panelled room, looked up at the portrait of Dodgeson then back
at the folding room divider, but ... nothing. Another frustrated hope. I
screwed up the curled paper, straight armed, dropped it, swinging my boot
and kicked it into the window wall.
I can remember standing in the corridor outside that room, against the
wall, in the din of 42 other new boys, wondering which class I would be in.
Later the master, Diz, asked each of us what it was our ambition to be. I said
something like, "I want to be an architect or an artist". It will be as true as the
picture.

14
ALCHEMY

Like obsessions
paper aeroplanes land in some funny places

as a child I made darts and gliders

and decided for myself
which flew best

I had a purpose – to achieve

the minute-long flight

every fold perfected

through the crafting of hundreds

in my mind
only one has never landed

15
DESIGN

Deed and belief converge

in the drawing
to bring about
desirable change

this is communication
benefits accrue

state the obvious

we can learn

16
RAIN

Wet square
surrounded by miserable dogs
silent budgies
and hot TV sets

in the monestial blue evening

one open window
admits the air
cold spit
and cold cold atmosphere
it crawls up the arms
across the shoulders
and into the dilated eyes
barely audible

humming a lost tune

which belongs
across the sheet of walls
street lamps and shrubs
inside
behind glass
in the front

17
in front of more glass
radiant glass

whisper found conversation

"as suicide is to murder, so this is to abuse-of-corpse"
it makes me laugh

cold
rolls its teeth across a mouthful of triceps
another blade of grass bends
water drips/dries on the hand
palm to back
back to palm
and so on
the neighbour has repaid a favour
become quiet

in the wall shadow

a rat is darting
silver
from wrapper to rag
feather to turd
much like me
in search of
sustenance

18
PAINTINGS FOR RATS

Up there the stench is worse

believe me brothers
the back biting isn't real
its worse

they eat babies

roasted thirty minutes per pound

each autumn they stick cars in trees

and each spring
drop them on your head

the concrete tastes of lizard shit

and every other colour of it but blue
is smeared in your eyes
stuffed up your nose
and in your ears

they make your brain pulsate

and spit seed

II

Down dark tunnels

rocking to and fro
these slick kids
fall momentarily into torpor
glass eyes mumbling
if sounding off at all
hidden in the pink city noise
arse over pot
fag in throat
dreaming of desk time
and mainlining on visual display and
fax efficiency

and under the drain cover

in the executive bathroom
two black beads
wait for the lights to go out

19
SEDUCTION

The carpet submits to the pressing foot

as a fresh fruit to the enquiring thumb
and secure in a kind of knowledge
we succumb

20
A DRY LEAF

A dry leaf
rain-fixed
on the glass
glows amber
in the breakfast sun

on the path
beneath my tree
an unseen twig
is still
governed by gravity

a stray reflection
of your shadow
slipping
silently away

I reflect
on the leaf and the twig
with a tear

21
BLINDNESS AND KNOWING

I say that I see a rose

both flower and thorn
you say that you feel the sky
chill one cheek
and warm the other

the rose is to your nose

what the sky is to my eye
a sense of the surrounding

when we touch
are we that close ?

22
TO LOSE THE SIGN FOR THAT WHICH IS LOST

Hulls leading florist

who might worry to death the
posture of each leaf and
petal in a wreath

I felt I should tell him

he'd lost an apostrophe

23
AFTER BACON

The vidicon scans the

guts and gums of
an abundant frontier
its blue and pink mists cling alike
his cherished daughter
canters through dew-fall on the
harebell and willowherb

grey sky and a window scintillate

a precious harness
hangs
above
the stillborn foal and
the straw and
the wall
fade out

upon the bloody slab

a chesterfield
the narrator smiles and cries

fade in the grave

stone
and turn

24
POLICE HELICOPTER

Hearing the punch-ball

skirt the river sky
goes howling at the moon on horseback

an airliner crosses above it

pencilling north

this dog
learns the smell of jet trails

quarry ?

25
REPRISE

a dry leaf
an unseen twig
your shadow
a tear

26
WAR GRAVE

Flesh slowly sweats away in the sunken ruin

sinew still strings together the skeleton
and at this depth
bone is buoyant
this man
who made safe the abandonment
therefore rises
Lazarus
and hangs
awaiting due embrace

a prospector
pushes a shaft of light past sharp rust
following through
gliding darkly

a swill haze of silt and plankton

parts around every move

these eddies inform the space

carrying its custodian in behind
until
like a curious supervisor
he touches the diver's shoulder

on turning
a frothy skull grins its greeting from within the mask
a reflection
of the unexpected

27
DARKNESS, WAR, SYNCHRONY

Across the retinal landscape

the energy matrix of the spider
shot through with fear of
darkness
only three years old and already aware of
war
the state of war
an awareness which is a
synchrony
no specific battle has been fought
still
a cold front of energies cuts at my eyes
and impresses upon me
darkness, war, synchrony

28
VET

I wanted sleep
I slept

mother woke me the way she used to

took a hold of my big toe
and shook it

I rolled on instinct into a mantis-like stance

with arms crossed grasped the lapels
grip turned inwards
and pulled the fists through
blocking off the carotids

seven seconds
a blind machine

then l broke
oh mother
who did this to me ?

I said nothing
packed my stuff
and left

the wood is cool

the gun my food

the bears
the wolves
the snake
the fowl
crisp snow
wild water
I survive alone
amidst all these

29
OLFACTOR

Suddenly I recall
clapping footsteps on black rubber stairs
an intermittent
throbbing hum
a muffled whine
and that smell
a subtle blend of warm electrics
worn machines
anaesthetic gas
and airborne antiseptic

the braking train is filled with this green odour

I'm still terrified of dentists

30
THE MOON SHIP

The moon ship at platform 3A

is the 17.23 to
Worksop
Cairo
and Derrida South

31
CROSSED LINES

The station is always busy

all around
caps and cases cross
trolley trains bend and stutter
porters' arms flail
loud forecourt echos collide
with
re
repeated announcements
and travellers
stand agape before flickering VDUs
non the wiser

platform nine is grey

silent
and dirty
a pocket of stillness ignored

I ask the guard

why the train must wait for platform four to clear
he says
I'd love to use platform nine
but there's no point

32
THERE ARE PLACES...

There are places I have glimpsed from train windows

pivoting upon one distant point

desert quarry
a cutting
twice a work-place
small town
nightly
squaddies invade the market-place
corrugate field
the swirl and squeal of seagulls
following the plough
frost beck
the testing foot
black creaks white
grass stag-heap
the red dog runs
disturbing fine dust
just enough to matter

places
where I am not
but would be

passing through
so fast
or so slow
the names blur
the birds solidify

my England
bypassed

33
THE JOURNEY

Dark scars of land drains

flash through that narrow angle
of eye and horizon
a moment
an endless turning

I embraced her ghost in the aisle

intercity coincidence
I dreamt such a fine and delicate event
and we disengaged in a pico-second

in eclipse against the blue climate

I watch pendulum factories

time travel again

34
FLATLANDER

An aerial perspective
gathers through windmill blades
touching
as it does
invisible fox and pheasant

they
who see no further than their clean noses
who speak few words
softly
coldly
who turn to earth
at the threat of being put upon
live here
invisibly

so do I

35
AN AUDIENCE OF SMITHS

These wheels will not turn as they should

the wheat is flat and swirls
no bread for peasants here
the grain will go instead
to fatten some rich man's calf

36
KEEPING HOUSE FOR
MAJOR DICK,
MY QUEEN AND
THE LITTLE ONES

I begin by bringing in fire by hand

insinuating it into cinders
through old paper news and staves

I warm somnambulants
each a first person first and foremost
and demandants
deluded by their dysphasic fathers

I worry when my trekking back and forth

leaves trails of dust
that black a mother's knees
make her wish that boys were girls

When millstones collar every kneck

call me
I might want to dispatch something other
than epitaphs
carry more than useless coals

II

Too late in the day

each is receiving dishes and eating irons
gathering around a table of discontent
wearing glares and grimaces

I wear my pinny in defense

lay out the feast and wait

these close relations

as close as the pinnapeds
as alien as the pinnapeds

37
hunger first
for the entrails of some unknown enemies
or the flesh of their families
thirst second
for thick blood
or saltiness
next drown in sick
for these cannot be stomached
even by the sleeping and the confused
and last
shit
shamelessly
on all our heads

They make a meal out of another man's meat

and throw away enough to feed the world

III

I don't despair
but I sometimes envy those that do

38
DERRIDA DERRIDA DERRIDUM ...

Will the word `obsolete'

ever become obsolete ?
Will the word `datum'
ever lose its point ?
Will the word `forget'
ever be forgotten ?
Will the word `undecidable'
ever become undecidable ?
Will the word `cliche'
ever be overused ?
Will the word `different'
ever be different ?
Will the word `erasure'
ever be under erasure ?
Will the word `meaningless'
ever become meaningless ?
Will the words `invisible' and `inaudible'
ever become invisible and inaudible ?
Is the word `contingent' contingent ?
Is the word `ironic' ironic ?
Will the word 'question'
ever be questioned ?
Will the word `ellipsis'
be left out ?
Will the spoken* word ever ... ?

* to be printed as the word `written'.

39
The Familiar Reaches
available to buy in two formats:

eBook
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ISBN – 1 874778 06 X

Collector’s Edition
hardback printed book
individually made, assigned to the purchaser by name,
numbered and signed by the author
printed on 95gsm Huntsman Super White Cartridge (neutral pH) paper
linen stitched with linen covered boards and unique art dust jacket
edition limited to 50 copies
price £49.99 inclusive of UK shipping
ISBN – 1 874778 11 6
allow 28 days for delivery

Acknowledgements
Some of these poems have appeared in Harry's Hand,
The Echo Room, The Wide Skirt, and Sunk Island Review

Please confirm order BEFORE sending cash

Payments to: M. A. Blackburn

Sunk Island Publishing

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email: sunkisland@hotmail.com

40
Certain images live in me. Spoken of they take
on another life. No longer memories or the
seeds of dreams they become touchstones. In
the same moment they mark the places of the
uncanny and of the familiar.
Geoff Matthews – July 2004