GHOST WALK 2015
In collaboration with London based poet Tamar Yoseloff. All text © Tamar Yoseloff 2017 all images and soundtrack © Bill Jackson 2017
(from North Sea Drawings)
written by Tamar Yoseloff
A shooting star makes a sound like a scratch in vinyl,
like the night is a record you can play. Some songs
only make sense when they stutter on a note.
The air is heavy and smells of violets.
The sky is a graveyard of stars.
My eyes hurt from too much looking.
Once I saw the aurora from a dock in Norway.
Men were going about their business, hauling
great loads from one bay to another.
The aurora was nothing to them, it had lost
its wonder. It was green and strange, it swayed
to an unheard tune. It must be what people see
when they think they’re haunted, a light that moves
like we do, but has no form. When people come back
from near-death, they talk about a pulsing light
at the end of a long hall. I practise my ghost walk,
for when I need to haunt; I am all soft edges,
a silhouette caught on the horizon.