Hello again! Welcome to the fourth edition of ‘Zenrei’s Zone’, a newsletter dedicated to creation and contemplation.
I have been at home in the north west for a month now. During this time, I’ve been exploring my relationship to the places I grew in; lost fields, tadpoles, ginnels and broken humanhood.
Here is a poem about the street I grew up on - I wrote it thinking about the barbed-wire fences that scarred my arms as we clambered toward the hallowed grass of the earth as children.
Grass and ginnels
Sidney Avenue
Too far from fettler’s wharf
To be born free
The wind blew in grass that was
gannet
It was there that barbed wire
Trickled around the slats that
We would cross,
Christ’s widowhood
Watching,
Our blood obediently alike.
Children were concealed in brickwork
Brought in locally,
Furnaces fired and failing
Darkling fast flow
Near the marsh where march
The ides of past march.
Empathy & Eternity
I wanted to share an excerpt of the script for ‘Empathy & Eternity’, the short film about my father’s evacuation during WWII that I am currently working on. Greetings from Shropshire…
St Mary’s Church, Burford (Shropshire). Lychgate entrance to the church on the left.
“A resurrection gate, also known as a lychgate, coming from the Old English word for corpse, is a gateway covered with a roof found at churchyard entrances. In the Middle Ages, when most people died at home, the dead were placed on a bier and taken to the lychgate, where they remained, protected from bodysnatchers, until their funeral.
The lychgate kept rain off, and often had seats for the vigil watchers. Bodies at that time were buried in shrouds. At the funeral, the priest conducted the first part of the service under the lychgate’s shelter. As we enter through this gate, we enter into a story of resurrection.”
“It is by this churchyard of St Mary’s in a small corner of Shropshire called Burford, next to the village of Tenbury Wells, that my father George Evans was evacuated to during WWII. From the slums of Liverpool, he was transported on a magical journey to this place to live among the lands of Celtic conquerors and Cornwalls. He was given shelter from fascism’s thorns by the head gardener of the Burford House estate, Charlie Horton, and his wife, Edith. This is the story of their history and hinterland.”
The long-awaited path
I’ve been writing poems for ten years now. So much rises and falls in my life, yet words remain. Since I started writing to music in 2017, I’ve always joked with people that if/when I finally get into making beats, I’ll likely disappear.
It’s finally happened now - my brother got a beat machine and I haven’t come off it for around a month. I’ve now started sampling vinyls and I’m hoping to release a beat tape as soon as my skill catches up to my head, which seems comfortable in the clouds.
I thought it would be nice to share these things, incomplete, sketchy, beginner-like and unmixed as they are, to illustrate and share the journey I have started and as a form of accountability. Hope you enjoy!
Out of sight:
Loops:
I’ve Been:
Indigo Blue
Lastly, custom-made cotton tote bags and ‘Indigo Blue’ linographs can be made on request - both priced at £15 + p&p. If you’re interested, hit me up.
I’m still off social media. I don’t really feel like going back to it. So if you enjoy this, please share it with anyone you think may be interested in poetry, history and music. Thank you so much for your attention and interest.
Love,
Zenrei