I’ve Moved!

Hello!

After years of tinkering with WordPress I’ve decided to be a bit more professional and finally created my own website. It’s still in the early stages at the moment – it’s mostly a CV of published work – but the plan is for it to become a kind of online scrapbook of working ideas, experiments, poems, visuals… I’d just really like it to be an inspiring place for lots of experimental poetry, so as I’m testing and discovering new things, hopefully other writers and poets can take something from it too.

Anyway, enough waffling. The website address is https://www.matthewhaigh.net/

Thanks for visiting!

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The Emma Press Anthology of Aunts

A poem of mine features in this celebratory anthology from The Emma Press, launched this week. The anthology has poems covering all kinds of aunts, both real and fictional, from historical to crazy to heavy metal-loving. Beautifully designed and edited, it’s full of high-quality work and it’s a real pleasure to be in such good company.

My poem covers a few bases; it’s a eulogy, a marker, and an exploration of memory all wrapped up in the classic Sims games. It looks at the things we leave behind that aren’t always physical. Here’s a look at the cover:

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The anthology is available direct from The Emma Press website.

Beauty in Games

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This screen-cap from Journey is a prime example of how incredible the worlds of games can be

In the wake of the Coin Opera 2 Kickstarter project, I wanted to try to articulate, maybe through a couple of posts, what it is I find so wonderful about games in general.

It’s difficult to tell people who see games as a frivolous waste of time exactly what it is about games that have the capacity to be so enthrallingly beautiful. I suppose if it could be surmised in a sentence, it wouldn’t be so special; the best things in life seem to inhabit spaces whose periphery words can only seem to settle on like little moths, but never penetrate. Hence, why a whole book of poetry about the subject is such a good idea.

In my mind, a really well-crafted game is a kind of modern ancient artefact, a self-contained pocket world. It’s like spying through a keyhole and finding a forest on the other side of the door. It’s a dream that you can interact with and inhabit at your leisure and make sense of. It’s the beauty of ice caverns and palaces in the snow and spooky woods and mysterious monoliths and everlasting sunsets. It’s the ability to visit a favourite moment and re-live it over and over.

I’m not talking about the types of games that gain all the publicity. Games in which you are a soldier trudging through some war-torn village hurling grenades into houses and shooting everything in sight, to me, are not the true spirit of gaming. They are devoid of imagination. They have no tools to set your heart on fire or make your insides leap with the exhilaration of wonder, as they are simply grim renditions of the already grim world they replicate. The kind of games I have in mind can make you cry with their atmosphere, soundtracks and stories.

Take for instance the fairly recent indie game, Journey. You play a cloaked figure that awakes in a sprawling desert. The game does not tell you anything. You simply wake up, the camera tilts in the direction of a distant mountain on the horizon emitting a brilliant light from its summit, and you assume, without words, that this is where you’re supposed to go. And so you ski and leap and twirl through the sparkling dunes, occasionally meeting other cloaked figures along the way.

These figures are controlled by other people currently playing the game online. You have no way to communicate in any known language with each other, but you can each emit a series of musical bleeps and trumpet calls and gibbers. The two of you may set off together, side by side, frolicking as you journey like a pair of love-struck budgies.

The final segment sees your character caught in the flow of a constant up-draught, your scarf and cloak billowing as you soar higher and higher up the mountain, all about you a confetti of similar cloaked figures being buffeted up through the azure sky, as the orchestral music sweeps you along in its majestic arms. It’s as if you’re ascending toward heaven.

With cinema increasingly churning out the same stories and ideas re-packaged, with little choice between superhero movies and uninspired horror, it really is in computer games that the beauty of dream and vision is starting to find its wings.

Sprites

As readers of this blog will know, hopefully, I have contributed to the brilliant Coin Opera 2, a bumper book of poetry inspired by computer games, from some of the UK’s (and farther afield) finest poets. The only stalling point now is raising funds so that the book can be printed. The editors are in the middle of a Kickstarter campaign, so please consider backing if you have either an interest in computer games, poetry, both, or neither but want to read something dazzlingly creative!

All of the contributors have been rendered as Neo Geo pixel characters, and appear in this stunning image:

contributors

My own sprite is below. As my poem is to do with Shadow of the Colossus, I’m equipped with a bow and arrow (which, quite coincidentally, would be my preferred weapon of choice were I an intrepid adventurer/ hunter type character). I’ll be posting more about Colossus and computer games in general over the coming days, but in the meantime, do consider donating whatever you can afford to the Kickstarter campaign!

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Thank you!

#26 The Naked Space

When unclothed in a familiar, yet foreign, space – for instance
your place of work (let’s say you work in a large,
modern office) – the space, its furniture, is also your body.

The keyboard keys are inverted nipples,
the pivoting desk fan a highly excitable, chill face;
while the clawed armrests and wheeled feet of the vinyl chair

in which you sit suggest some tough, lacquered carapace
welded with sweat to your spine, as though you grew, pink and raw, from it,
the more movement accruing greater jewels of sweat.

The bare foot’s pad, on clashing with hardwood floor, alone
notices the machine-like thrill bubbling beneath the oiled veneer –
the chitter you make at sitting inside a womb of your own self.