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Projects

Poems on the Buses 2004

Endre Farkas & Carolyn Marie Souaid

In 1979, Tom Konyves, conceived and executed the idea of putting poems on the buses of Montreal. It was a bilingual project consisting of 10 francophone and 10 anglophone poets’ poems on the buses of Montreal.

 

In 2004 Carolyn Marie Souaid and I reprised the idea. Here is a visual record of this project. The idea behind the project was to use public space to reach out to people who normally would not come in contact with poems, to make poetry part of daily life, to have poems criss-cross the city, to make it a mobile art. 

audet.jpg
beausoleil 01.jpg
bolster.jpg
brault.jpg
brossard.jpg
daoust .jpg
desautels.jpg
dorion.jpg
farkas.jpg
gagnon.jpg
gold.jpg
konyves.jpg
lapp.jpg
martel.jpg
morrissey.jpg
norris.jpg
souaid.jpg
taylor.jpg
togane.jpg
Turcotte.jpg

Murders in the Welcome Café

 
Videopoem  2017
 
What is a videopoem? If you want to know the theory behind it, from which i have deviated, see the manifesto available at Tom Konyves. 
 
My notion of  "videopoem" is the merging the elements of poetry: language, sound, text with video not to interpret a poem but to create a poem.  To use video as a pen with which to write the poem. See examples of this genre by going to my videos in the video section of this website.
 
Usually a poem is written by an individual. It is a solitary process. Videopoems are, in my case, collaborative. In this poem it is created in collaboration with videographer Martin Reisch, actors Eric Davis, Katherine Turnbull,  and advisor and assistant director Carolyn Marie Souaid. 
 
Here is an excerpt from the text/dialogue and photos

Nobody, nothing, is who or what they seem.

They show up at your door,

in your dreams, in all sorts of disguises.

Lost souls of the night,

sometimes as a trick, rarely as a treat.

You figure because you give, you should get?

Not so easy my friend.

Love. Grace. A poem is not earned nor learned.

It’s a mystery found in the daily chores spring-cleaned.

It’s the voice in the shower singing perfectly of imperfect love.

It’s the hunger in the belly feeding the hunger in the belly.

It’s the human cry unheard by passers-by.

It’s you standing erect, staring at the sun, declaring

​

“Beware!”

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