Videopoetry, filmpoetry, cinepoetry, poetry-film… the label doesn’t matter. What matters is that text and images enter into dialogue, creating a new, poetic whole.
Streamschool (Patakiskola)
poem: Zsolt Miklya
director: Péter Vácz
background: Kati Egely
narration: Piroska Molnár
music: Yvein Monq
English translation: Joseph Wallace
2012
The Vimeo description reads: “A little girl has an adventure with water as she travels from a small brook to the sea. A tale of growing up based on a Hungarian poem.” And Péter Vácz adds that “The film was made in (MOME) Moholy- Nagy University of Arts and Design in 2012 as my BA graduation in Animation.”
One thing I can say about my own animation students: they are dedicated and make great illustrators. That’s because they are pushed into honing their craft. Some of the best work I’ve seen comes out of film schools. It’s fresh, interesting, and ambitious. It’s always good to see a young artist present their thesis. In my opinion it usually turns out to be among their best work. Such is the case with Péter Vácz.
Streamschool (Patakiskola) is a beautifully rendered work of art. The combination of tactile materials such as plastic and cloth adds to the sweetness of the piece and depicts childhood as an exquisite journey. The music-box effect flows stunningly as well as the gravelly voice of the narrator, which reminds me of a loving grandparent. His use of stop motion (Dragon Stop Motion software) reminds me of the claymation that was very popular during my childhood, and continues to be so. Also, I like the fact that Péter posts the process of his work. Not every artist is this generous.
All in all, Péter Vácz is a serious technician and an amazing craftsperson. It’s good to see that one does not out-weigh the other. I checked out his other films, which are just as charming and a lot of fun. As a bonus, here is the making of Streamschool.
I have Googled the earth and I’m tired of paradise. This city is home. I am its key and broken door.
Coventry-based poet Antony Owen performs his poem in this 2015 film by Adam Steiner (director), Brian Harley (camera and editing) and Alan van Widjgerden (sound), which kicked off a poetry-film project spearheaded by Steiner called Disappear Here. Last year they raised enough money from a crowdfunding campaign to produce a whole series of films exploring the Modernist/Brutalist superstructure of Coventry Ringroad: 27 in all, from nine writers and nine filmmakers. The launch screening is on March 16, and although it’s free, registration is required.
This sounds like a truly commendable use of film to bring the perspectives of poets and artists to bear on pressing local issues (which are also global issues, capitalism being what it is). Here’s a blog post from last year that explains what they hoped to accomplish:
The challenge of Disappear Here is to bring together artists of different stripes, some more experienced practitioners, others up and coming and hungry; native Coventrians and people who might be coming to the city for the first time and seeing it with fresh eyes; expressing the human aspect of what is so commonly seen as an inhuman structure, another one of HRH Charles’ “concrete monstrosities” – by way of contrast, witness the faux-Kensington banality of his ideal housing estate, Poundbury – but it is also fair to say that few near-monolithic concrete structures inspire such intense feelings of love and loathing.
But there is a positivity to the project. As much as it is anything, Coventry Ringroad is an archetype of reinvention. Each time the same A4053 road, but every journey around it different. It is the eye through which Coventry is (notoriously) seen, and can be seen, from above and below; a looping horizon where tarmac sea and brilliant blue sky meet and form a sinew of shuffling perspective. […]
Coventry is an ex-working-class city, chock-full with post-industrial grit from crumbling fire of red brick, after many of its 70s, 80s and 90s industries successively closed down. As such, the city has become an affordable and welcoming haven for artists with a burgeoning community of creative and socially-conscious practitioners – there is a story to be told there. I think the people and the city’s physical attitudes speak to this, guarded but protective. As both defensive wall and encircling stranglehold – the ringroad echoes this taut insularity, but also provides us with a blank canvas for reimagining public space. I think this push/pull reflex makes for an interesting tension as to how we define a city and its search for its centre.
Read the rest. According to the Disappear Here Facebook page, there are plans to tour the films across the UK after the premiere in Coventry.
Another compelling short videopoem from Conceição Lima (poem, reading) and David Shook (video, English translation) filmed in Lima’s native São Tomé and Príncipe last month. The back-flipping children in the opening shot are a perfect counterpoise to the still statues in the succeeding shot, all in service to the text’s central paradox. Are the proverbial “feet of clay” truly a liability, or perhaps instead a sign of groundedness?
The Vimeo description notes that the poem appears in the collection O País de Akendenguê, and that Shook is in São Tomé on a National Endowment for the Arts Translation Fellowship. I’m not sure how much NEA money has been spent on poetry films over the years, but I’m guessing very, very little.
TV broadcasters’ cliches are literally dismembered in this riveting videopoem by Canadian-Australian poet Ian McBryde and videographer Martin Kelly.