The artwork Poetry Net (I) has been shortlisted for the Sovereign Asian Art Prize. It is a text-artwork featuring the poem shown below.
The poem represents the sentiments of hundreds of migrants and refugees I have spoken with about how they deal with being without a home, isolation, crisis, social disconnect, shifting identities, and battling with a sense of 'otherness'. The poem is inspired by fragments of their prayers, mantras, advice, actions, sayings, aphorisms - These sentiments stood out as a shared human mantra.
The thread that binds
(c) Nicola Anthony, 2019
To leave home is to lose, and to loosen your soul
Frail hope is the thread, that is keeping us whole
Without choice we stay strong, we preserve, hold together
Bound in our beliefs, lullabies and wise oaths
But your mind comes untied, when you've left in your wake
All the places and faces that you had to forsake
Time heals all wounds - but some wounds become us
Unravel your self, find a jewel in the lotus
In this porcelain skin, some cracks remain open,
we must bear them, become them, love them and own them
Find meaning within them, to be finally free,
“Om mani padme hum”, rebuild gold joinery.
The past haunts our eyes, we’re all in the same vessel
Sharing fragments of memories, fears, hopes and blessings
Share warm bread and butter, and sometimes starvation,
find ways to endure, to survive isolation
Wish “Shalom aleichem”, “blessed day”, the Salaam
to those here again, seeking peace from this path.
Let’s imagine a future of hope for lost nations,
an oasis, a freedom, a sense of elation
Like magnetic north it guides us and spurs us
from port and to stern, across oceans to stations
This endless migration a turbulent fleeing,
Our tip-toes on eggshells, walk on without seeing
For how can you fathom your self not at home
not with your familiar, not where you were grown,
but endlessly lurching from limbo to holding.
Poised on a knife-edge in this to and fro
Lost, alone, homeless, even trust is erased
Locals groan with suspicion, disdain and dismay.
Uncounted statistics we’re inked on a page
But let none take your faith, your name or your sage.
And while every step counts, in the race to survive
in the margins your mind utters: “This is not life!
You're asleep or with God up in heaven or hell?”
Some hear Mother Gaia in soil or seashells.
“If you’re helpless, recall me”, she told me that once.
“In your heart I am present, in laughter I’m here”.
We all need an angel, to dislodge our fear
Our mottos and mantras drift under our breath,
tradition erodes and we need something else,
hold your amulet close and your rabbit’s foot near.
When the moon rules at night, dark truth crudely gleams,
A failed promise held tight pierced into your dreams.
Who are you? Who are we? Why are we an enigma?
Don’t reproach yourself friend, don’t accept any stigma:
Your story is theirs, we all hail from this Earth,
A throw of the dice destined each place of birth.
We dream of escape - yet we sail through regret,
count our time and our aches on a Rosary thread
Will we voyage for some days, or some months, even life?
When landing at last, there’s clear damage, despite
some looking to Christ, Allah, tweets or the Book
Who's now at the helm? You must be the one,
to advocate, anchor, respect yourself, run,
for nautical thoughts could carry us on
in directions we all have vowed not to steer down.
Diaphanous boats, now we must stay afloat.
Old and young whisper “Amen”, “O-M-G”...
Some speak of Our Father, chant syllables, “Ohm…”
and O-shaped mouths hum, oscillate, marking time.
Still we cling to our rocks, each of us oyster-like,
encircled by shells, full of courage and grime
Curl up in your hulls, in your cloaked, hidden worlds
shield kindred and clan, pray once and for all
Towards concocted boundaries we all feel the pull.
Outside your familiar, you gather new labels,
No sense of belonging, you find yourself empty
Assembling omens whilst crossing new borders
- of land and of mind - in some other’s shoes.
Dancing and singing, cooking and spinning
can shield us from mulling the ominous noose.
We make applications, while we look for a haven,
proofs and credentials, to harbour our children.
Leap hurdles of red tape: new walls to us pilgrims
Solve paperwork riddles, sign, stamp, validation
Some race to lose race, only then to collide with
intolerance, bigots, malfeasance and cliques.
But let’s not forget, some welcomed us here
They’ve empathised, hugged us, and helped us endear
ourselves to the nation, our new state of being.
When feeling less Other, no longer less-than:
we find wisdom to cede the unchangeable plan
and the courage to change the things that we can.
Dispersed in new places we’re wild scattered seeds:
some buried, some saved and some may not succeed
Shibboleth can trip us, and words can disown us
Inner voice don’t bemoan us - just save our souls please.
When we reach gilted shores, now our roots cannot take,
part of us still marooned in a faraway place.
The constant night sky reveals one saving grace:
We’re the same as before - but stronger, displaced.
Hold on to your truth, what’s within your own heart
and serenely accept, those things you can’t change.
Love will keep us strong: l'amour, liebe, dragoste,
Ahavah, pyaar (प्यार ), ài (爱), or rakkaus.
(c) Nicola Anthony, 2019
In the artwork, the poem is cut out of recycled translucent plastic films by hand and by machine, which I have repurposed to turning them into lace-like structures of text, which remind me of nylon fishing nets.
