Recently I’ve been joining my husband, who is a cinematographer, on film shoots – learning more about what he does, having a go at directing as well as carrying heavy things about the place for him. Who knew the sheer amount of stuff it takes to get a great shot? There’s cameras and bags of lenses and heavy long crane things, I even spotted a 5 kilogram weight on the last shoot!
Anyway, I’ve enjoyed it and it has allowed me to really understand his process a lot more. We talked this over the other night and he told me how pleased he is that I am closer to what he does. I suggested that he have a go at creative writing, to remind himself of the process that I go through as well. No sooner than I had suggested this, a beautiful poem showed up in my inbox, by him. It is the first thing that isn’t technical he has written in years. I’m now amazed by the fact that I am married to a brilliant poet! Here it is.
How The West Was Lost.
The clouds rolled in, the sky shone black.
The distant hum became a muffled whimper.
The tap tap tap roared and shook the roof of the tin box under which I looked.
The cold drew close and the trees fell still,
Life faded into darkened wholes.
The glass fronted houses grew warm yellow tones,
Through small shafts that pierced the unending night.
The children ran through glistening puddles with a rainbow tinted sheen.
As old men cowered in doorways and whisps of smoke danced down the cobbled streets.
The hopsy smell fell just short, wanting more.
The East was last to be taken by the cold unending grasp of nature’s circular path.