Skeletons, spooky noises and poetic confessions set the scene for a gothic-themed evening for young writers at Story Factory in Parramatta.
The writers took part in an after-school program at Story Factory for eight weeks and wrote poems inspired by the work of 19th-century American writer Edgar Allan Poe.
They then presented their work at a poetry murder mystery night held as part of a new literary festival, Parramatta’s Lit!, and the Sydney Fringe Festival.
“The interplay between poetry, gothic literature and the Parramatta community shows us the unique power that young people hold in reimagining literature in their own world,” said Philip Wilcox, Special Projects Manager at Story Factory.
Students wrote a manuscript in which they imagined that Poe had lived and recently died in Parramatta.
They created original characters with compelling motives to kill Poe, fleshed out the story with suspicious diary entries and poetic confessions, and decided how to showcase their work to an audience.
“We had so much fun because we were actually a part of the work, not just witnessing it,” said Tanya, Year 7.
The students took charge of the set design, and Story Factory’s Parramatta Centre was transformed with smoke machines, unsettling soundscapes, excerpts scrawled on the walls, and tables laid out with case files and cryptic riddles.
“I really liked how each clue was set up as a proper exhibition,” Tanya added. “When we started they were just programs and paragraphs, but then it really came together.”
While the students began with different ideas for the project, they were delighted with the end result. Kaarthik, Year 10, said the program allowed young people to express their own ideas and have the opportunity to listen to others.
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“The Ibis” (a rendition of “The Raven” by Edgar Allan Poe)
By Kaarthik, Year 10
Once upon an evening wondrous, as I stared into those whites so lustrous,
None the more a blabber of beautiful words as leaves on bonsai –
While I merely nodded nearly napping, as her voice kept rapping
As of my eyes delightfully dancing, dancing for her deceiving lullaby.
“I can listen forever,” I whispered, “on the river her deceiving lullaby –
The ecstasy of these moments I cannot deny”.
O, I recall it was noon in the bright winter of June;
And each ibis drew wreaths with the grassy green dye.
Eagerly I longed for another visit; hoping I would never miss it
From my forgetful archives forget it – forget it with adrenaline on the high –
O how I would never want to forget it with adrenaline on the high –
Etched the ibises in my blue sky.
