Wednesday, 14 June 2017

Grant Jolly

Grant Jolly happens to be one of my favourite Poets. In addition to that, he doesn't only write but on July 16 he'll be opening his press called Manic Raven --  so keep an eye out!!! Moreover all the poems listed below are from Grant's book "Feed Him To The Bears" which is currently available on Amazon.


The Poet And The Artist II

There once was a poet and an artist. They fell madly in
love. The Poet wrote endlessly, spilling ink over
hundreds of pages; each sentence detailing the Artist’s
beauty in a new light. The Poet was broken and this
healed his mind.

The Artist worked on a never-ending portrait of the
Poet. With every single stroke of her brush, she slowly
pieced him back together again on canvas.

There once was a poet and an artist. They were broken,
now complete.

This piece is so unbelievably poignant, to be honest with you it reminds me of another one of my favourite poets Khalil Gibran. I just adore the relationship above between Poet & Artist, to me this reads as the ideal marriage between writing and visual arts. It's rare but can you imagine a hybrid human who is both a Poet and Artist a yin-yang if you will -- as I don't think one can have poetry without art and vice-versa they feed into each other. The day you meet your muse to draw all corresponding images to your poetry it will leave you feeling more than blissful. Especially if your muse can paint based on your writing – an incredibly symbiotic relationship that surpasses even inspiration itself. Can you imagine? That would be mind blowing for sure.


In Slow Motion

My memories melt
Like candle wax
As I stand in the shower
Charred lumps of darkness
Fall to my feet In slow motion
And my mind plays
Vivid flashbacks…
I don’t know how long
I’ve been standing here
But it feels like hours
And still
Your memory
Is on fire
Inside my head
Never fading
The rest of me
Decaying

To quote Haunted from the Love 'n Rockets “when the minutes drag...” we've all been there right? When times stand still and memories come flooding into our minds. I don't know what it is about past snapshots especially those filled with lovers from the days of old. It's the horrible memories that remain static as much as the blissful ones. I can just picture a man like Michelangelo's David standing tall in a shower of acid rain that slowly starts to chip away at his madness with a sharp mind as a corresponding partner.

Your memory
Is on fire
Inside my head
Never fading
The rest of me
Decaying

I wanted to cultivate a tactile experience with the section above – my hands kept tracing the words for a good 3 minutes. For certain the hand which wrote this piece was at a poignant time in their life.


Final Kiss

I sit there and watch
As you walk away
Your lipstick-stained cigarette
Still burning In the ashtray
Your perfume lingers…
I pick up the cigarette
Smoke dances
Around my fingers
I push the cotton
Between my lips
And close my eyes
Inhale
To taste
Your
Final
Kiss



Let me tell you a little story that happened to a friend of mine who was literally like the character in this piece. The interesting aspect of this poem is that we can flip the gender roles very easily as heartbreak is something that is conducive to all of us – normally there is the one doing the breaking and the one with a broken heart. My friend had been emotionally, mentally and verbally abused by her fiance. One night she found herself breaking up an engagement that was probably doomed upon the first “I will.” Needless to say my friend got her revenge when she let out 4 years of pain on him  -- all at once. Not in the similar fashion that Eric Draven's character did in The Crow this was all verbal, by the time she was done with him he was a pile of goo on the floor. Now, I do not advocate violence on anyone there is always a polite non ignorant way to express oneself and she did it perfectly.   In a similar fashion as this poem sometimes final kisses exist through inanimate objects over actually plump lips.