Paris Rosemont: Artistic Statement

Paris Rosemont: 4 Performance Pieces

Commissioned by Randwick City Council for Created at Blenheim House 2023

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Kintsugi

 Commissioned by River City Voices for the world premiere of Slam Messiah, 2022
(inspired by Handel’s ‘Hallelujah’ chorus)

LIFE: you cannot break me.
When you send your fiercest
floods, the waves will crash against
my iron fortress self—smash
……….and smash and
………………smash me again;
I am numb to the pain.

When you send your raging
fires, I am a crucible—I shall transform.
When I am good and ready, I shall fuse myself
back together. Stitch the devastation
in me tight shut: born again with golden
threads of hope.

When you send your wars, I will lay down
my sword and pick up my pen to attest
to the sins. Through music, art and poetry
we bear witness to all that is horrid
and all that is Great. We make beauty
of pain, until we are restored again.

Each time I am smashed by life,
little parts of me disappear—swept
up in the dustpan. I come back
slimmer and trimmer with each
reincarnation, each new model
taking up less space
in the universe.

 Am I beautiful yet?

When I am smashed again
it matters not—for I am no longer attached.
Detached from matter, I become
one with the universe—free, at last.

As I emerge
from my flaming chrysalis,
transformed by all I have endured,
I realise: I am
who I am meant to be right now.
I glimpse my reflection and it dawns—
no matter
what form I have taken, I have always been
beautiful.

I matter.

We matter.

Kintsugi is the Japanese art of lovingly repairing broken pottery with gold

**

Neon Slipstream

~For Darcy

You are much smarter than I was
…………………………………………………………………………………………….. at your age. Advanced species
…………from Gen Alpha digital
…………………………………………………………………………………native plugged in through umbilical
……………………cord wired from birth to absorb streams
…………………………………………………………….of coded data transmitted through
…………………………………………a series of 00000000s and 11111111s whizzing
down the slipstream of a dizzying neon

…………………………………………………………………………highway of knowledge, your attention frag-
…………mented into multiple split-
………………………………………………….screens bombardment of information vying
………………………………….………………………………….…………………for space in the impression-
………………………………….…………..able spongy terrain of your saturated brain
s……… w……… o……… l……… l……… e………  n ………….. to excess until it can hold no

more – bloated in the bathtub………….. 
.……………………….……...…………………………..as water trickles over the edges –
..……..careful, or the dam will break
.…………………………………………………………………………and you won’t be able to control

.……………………………………………………….…..the resulting

n

n                                                        s                                          a                            i.

                                          t                            u                                          m

……………………………………………………I stage an intervention; unplug you.
Still, you dream in binary
.…………………………...………………………..……..a sequence of alien black and phosphorescent
...……..green illuminating the infinite
.…………………………………………………screen in your mind. Little Alpha
.…………………………...…………………………...…………………………..your ability to regen. astounds me.

.…………………..When life hurls End stones.…………………………..
…….….in your path, you respawn your way through
.……………………………………………………………………………………..the Biomes in this game of life.
.…………………………....The world is in your pro-controller hands.

This fossil cannot keep up with the speed of your processing power.
I smile sheepishly when the first thing you ask is Have you tried switching
it off then back on again? I think I’m getting too old for this game.
I think I’m ready to power down.

 

…………………………………………………After a quick rebirth, I will regen.
………….new and improved.
…………………………………………………………….Commencing in…
…………………………………………………………………………………………………………3…2…1…

Press START now.
Press START now.
Press START now.
Press START now.

  

This poem was shortlisted for the Hammond House Publishing Literary Prize 2022 and first published in the anthology of shortlisted works, titled ‘Changes’.

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Of Mortals

                                           

 

Ticking a box on a too-bright screen: is that all it takes to confirm
humanity? Try telling that to the child whose               footless
shoes wait on standby at the front door, ready for the                             trigger
of the big, red emergency button: evacuation procedures his mother
has taught him.                       Run—as fast as you can.                                     Don’t look back.

 

 

Signs of humanity? Try explaining that to the mother staying
behind, standing her ground, saving her monster
………………………………………….of a son—from himself.

This firstborn she regrets
having not relinquished to Rumpelstiltskin
when the time came for recompense. Cursed
for having loved this child too much.                              No love
………………………………………………………………………………………could save her now.

The child grew. Folk had never really known how his mother had ended
up wed to such wickedness.                                           Whispers
were:                         she hadn’t any choice in the matter.
’Twas her fault for walking under the bridge alone at night;
              she’d been warned about trolls, after all.

Quietly accepting her lot in life, when she bore
their first child, she was besotted
with the bawling bundle of beauty.

But as he grew, he began to mirror

                                                        

This poem won Highly Commended in the Short Stories Unlimited Poetry Competition 2023 and was first published in the digital anthology, titled ‘Leaving Home and other stories’

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