Our blogs

Regular news and insight from our many poets, writers, educators and facilitators

09 July 2023

Posted by Tabby Hayward

Time - 4.48 Psychosis

In the last workshop of term and to finish up the theme of time, we looked at extracts from Sarah Kane’s extraordinary play 4.48 Psychosis as inspiration to write about ourselves or a character at a specific time which is particularly significant to us/them - and to try and be as experimental and bold and ambitious with form as Kane is in 4.48 Psychosis, not feeling limited by constraints or expectations but able to experiment with space on the page, moving between poetry and prose, lists, questions, even numbers!

--

Tess:

13:15

The time I was born.

Was I born at this particular time for a reason?

Does it hold any significance to me?

Or to who I am?

Or to why I am?


Perhaps it was just the time and time is time and that is just now my time.

Because it was the time at which I was born,

Does that mean I age every day at that time?

Or grow every day at that time?

Or become more me every day at that time?


Am I reborn at 13:15 every day?

Am I even aware it’s 13:15 every day?

Am I bothered that it could be 13:15 at any point every day?


Perhaps I cook at 13:15

Perhaps I eat at 13:15

Perhaps I relax at 13:15

Perhaps I read at 13:15

Perhaps I write at 13:15

Perhaps I meditate at 13:15

Perhaps I work out at 13:15

Perhaps I study at 13:15

Perhaps I chat at 13:15

Perhaps I drink at 13:15

Perhaps I watch at 13:15

Perhaps I Zoom at 13:15

Perhaps I cry at 13:15

Perhaps I smile at 13:15

Perhaps I live at 13:15

--

David:

Albert walked out into his garden and stepped inside the old Oak tree stump at the bottom of the garden. He emerged a few seconds later. He could hear shouting and Horses galloping, the sound of metal on metal. 

The smell of death lingered in the air. There was fighting just over the brow of the hill, brutal, bloody. The odd sound of musket fire. 

Albert had stumbled upon the English Civil war. He crouched down eager to not be seen, checked around him, that there wasn't anyone close by. As gunfire rained down around him, he quickly stepped back inside the Old oak stump and back to 2023. 


2.47am

A sound never heard before

A cry that pierces the room

A constant, so sudden, so very new

So small, so delicate, but large formed lungs

A dimly dark room and everywhere else on the ward silent,

Apart from the occasional footstep, getting louder, then fading, falling silent

You feel like a giant compared to their delicate frame, they seem so furious to have

Been woken from where they came

So you are now responsible for everything including their name

No more tears, you're safe and secure, loved for every second

You are truly adored.


PreviousNext

Archive

Back to blog

What's on

Find out more

Our projects

Find out more

Our films

Watch now

Headlight Press

Find out more

Latest news

03 September 2024

Newsletter - Autumn Part One

News and Opportunities for Writers and Writing*New Course* Writing as Spiritual PracticeHow do we talk about, and write about, that which is beyond language?...

Read more

Our blogs

Regular news and insight from our many poets, writers, educators and facilitators

Find out more

Resources


Why not get in touch?