Jane Lewty


I am concerned with echoes and signs suggested, those that hack into the real (memories) IN this work, in the matter, in sound waves through speakers. A device to give you the freedom to converse with birds, starlings, I heard myself say once. I
nodded, oh yes.




a signature edge of roofs
a trackless view
in the cutting of sky
all this all this you see I —
I need your help
that boarded-up place — the code club
early 90s rave meet spot
the “quiet terminus of self” I hear

I know I went there
because the man on the ropes was my friend.
anybody know anything?
or what I dreaming?




do you notice that running sound by your ears when all is quite row, sorry, raw
when you hold a seashell afore it,
it is caused
by a stream of warm air- ah from your body, that ruses, rushes, and that banging in
your head?
the sound of our heart and the blood, our arteries,
we’re of hard stuff, we are —
we are
from where children play distant
in the distance, rather
building, cutting out
breaking down, industrial with delay,
always, also, the moving drum
the slow crouch, the slow crouch
then, then —
then you jump a year
last 98 into 81 tracks
an hour of loud
oblivious and pretty much recent
from a time when movers
begot movers
audio conduits of our age, all
pentimento and songings, I’m
so sorry, but
you, too, in a previous life
would have been repeating and copying all about you




looking for that body
was I dream?
which club? on the corner
near the elbow rooms
quite a big place: the birdcage
it’s called heaven and hell now
didn’t it used to have another name?
a nightclub with windows
somehow not quite right, though
super sleuth or back to basics
where gatecrasher is now
oh the shame
oh the code club
break break alpha roger
copy and wait echo
same sky oh yes
keep this frequency mix
familiar bass-line night
they got me
little dive it was
shut down as it fell down
remember circus circus by the town hall, my
old friend how I look for your body
and what about that other place
on the tar road? the orion star
star star something was it called?
stands unused now
the name escapes me
big mill, old skylight, a gallery
with industrial doors
that, when opened
made you give sacrifice
I always wanted to live there

all hollowed-out
I bet for commerce now
those people have it
who made our skyline grade A
I wonder if they can still hear the beats in the walls
when it’s really quiet and late

all the good ghosts




the I.D. vocal lowering
and backwards heart version

but get here now a girl, I get it

be on your way, break-beat
alone with dawn coming up, yeah
and later lost in aerials

I dreamt a voice said: “it’s
not a mirror it’s a rare window like
this winter sees the first ever”




I am an edge going round my own head
in debate of left ear, right ear?
restricted tiny audio, though
only here in the absent (yes, absent, of light)
and recalled sound sources:
broken glass
fire, wildlife
buzz disc, bandsaw
2 oscillators, turntable,
ceramic speakers
soft rain, its tiny scrape
welders arcing
own bodies
a wall of
gutteral soak, general liveness
I lie not in the space
between past and passed-on
but along the split
in a canopy of somewhat noise
from way back in my old age
I dreamt a voice said: “dn’sing or d’ nsing, sssh
you’re over
mistaken, insider-out, all
screwed up, style hyper, backbiter, mirror mirror, on the –”