Poetry on the Hoof: Resistance isn’t Futile

It was National Poetry Day on 2 October, so we’re celebrating it over a long weekend of irreverent, irritated and irate doggerel! Here’s ‘Resistance isn’t Futile ‘ to give you some encouragement on a Saturday if you’re faced with the prospect of never ending life admin chores when you could be out with your mates for those never ending Saturday nights.

I’m particularly remembering the work of Stuart Bastik: artist, thinker and occasional poet who sadly died in the summer of 2024. I worked with him and Maddi Nicholson (co-founders and co-artistic directors of Art Gene) during what became a transformational period in my life. As their project manager for many events, walks and talks across Cumbria, his approach to his life and art was sometimes engaging, often challenging but always unforgettable. ‘Resistance’ is the doff of my cap to one of life’s unique life forces.

Resistance isn’t Futile is inspired by the Borg of Star Trek infamy.  The Borg would take immense amount of pleasure telling their hapless victims that ‘resistance was futile’ and that they just better buckle down and be happy with their lot. Even if it did mean colonisation, subjugation and excruciating humiliation.

It seems we hear a lot in our daily lives why things can’t happen – whether this be in a street, in a business, in a school: in all sorts of places from all sorts of people.  Hearing ‘no’ so often suggests that resistance to any kind of positive social change is pointless: and in some quarters, the Borg are alive and kicking in the most unlikeliest of places.

People who tended to say ‘yes’ are were more likely to be people like Stuart. He inspired many of us to say ‘yes’ to the challenges, opportunities and sheer wonder of Barrow, its history and relationships with the natural (and industrial) worlds.  He reminded us that resistance to the ‘no’ wasn’t futile, that difficulties could be overcome and that apathy was a choice, not a biological or economic given. This poem summarises the aspiration of when faced with so many ‘no-es’, so many reasons not to do things, we need to find the ‘yes’ in a situation.  If we can find the ‘yes’, we can transform ourselves, our families, our communities and the world at large.

This piece was part of Art Gene’s 8 Words for Barrow-in-Furness competition during the first national lockdown in 2020. Inspired by 8 empty sky blue billboards in the town, Art Gene invited people from Barrow and Furness to enter their own suggestions for phrases to fill the space. From over 180 entries, 20 competition winners were selected by Stuart and Maddi Nicholson, and were presented in a socially distanced, outdoor artwork created by Maddi outside Art Gene HQ on Abbey Road in Barrow in 2022.

You can read ‘Resistance is Futile’ in our poetry anthology, There’s no such Things as an Englishman’

Meet Maddi Nicholson: joining our panel of judges for our Community Arts Writing Award 2025

We’re delighted to confirm that Maddi Nicholson, freelance Artist and founder director of Art Gene, a visual art charity and Arts Council NPO in Barrow-in-Furness, Cumbria is joining our panel of judges for our Community Arts Award 2025.

Art Gene’s research remit extends across a program of environmentally aware placemaking, socially engaged art projects, residencies, exhibitions, and education work focusing on the role and engagement of artists and communities in the revisioning of their social, natural and built environment. 

As an Artist Maddi produces challenging work for varied and diverse situations nationwide, video, cast iron and stitched works to huge paintings, signage and inflated and recycled plastic sculptures.

Works range from an inflated replica of a Barrow terraced house due for demolition, in ‘Going home from here’ which toured beauty spots in Cumbria, to a set of cast iron enamelled terraced house models, commenting on the lives of 18th and 19th Century working class women in Spinningfields Manchester in ‘a place lived’. 

Her Art Gene art works include the Roker Pods for Sunderland City Council: spherical mobile eco off grid pods on the beach and the prom, as café, education and events facilities.  The Peoples Museum on Piel Island, for Barrow Borough Council; including a cabinet of curiosities, repurposed engraved tables, beer maps and the islands of Barrow Map. Seldom Seen Maps and Mobile Apps walking tours for coastal areas of Cumbria and Lancashire. Razzle Dazzle bird hides as education resources with interior artwork interpretation for Cumbria Wildlife Trust. Walney Island Nature reserve, mobile App walking tour and non civic war memorial gate and sculpture for Natural England’s North Walney Island national nature reserve. 

A Toast to Stuart Bastik: the Seldom Seen of Morecambe Bay

I met Stuart in late 2013 when I started working with Art Gene as Project Manager and it didn’t take long to realise that I was in the presence of someone quite special: irascible, intelligent and sometimes a bit intimidating. He drove me around Barrow in Furness in an old jalopy of the Land Rover type which itself was to become a damp-free zone source of warmth, withies and above all food which nurtured us through the forthcoming years of tours of Morecambe Bay, Walney and further afield up the West Cumbrian coast.

His premature passing this summer left us wondering about so much promise, still to be explored. This poem – The Road to Barra – is dedicated to you, Stuart, as thanks for all your inspiration, challenge and yes, those slightly scary moments too.

The Road to Barra

Heysham High Hopes

Wind farm blade, wind farm blade,

Everything you want from a

Wind farm blade.

We’re all going on a beer hunt Stuart!

From hanging town, brief encounters,

To Holke hang out, submariner sheds,

Spot the jogging bishop with a mitre on a Sunday!

We’re talking rhubarb triangle with legs to spare,

A mammoth onion off the old green road.

They’ll split the atom here Stuart, in the years to come,

There’ll be lock downs, sirens,

Ever Ready for us, the pervasive threat.

Heysham 1, Heysham 2

It’ll be a football score Stu,

In the years to come, when we get home.

One goes down, the other goes up.

Two little boys Stu, that’s what they’re like,

Seismically protected to Gas Mark 7.

But there’s no more time for:

Haff netting salmon

in the skinny dipping Lune

Cos we’re heading out to Barra Stu,

Prepping for the Somme,

And all her sail in her.

Wind farm blade, wind farm blade,

Everything you need from a

Wind farm blade.

Arnside’s Hunter Gatherers

It’s a long way to Tipperary,

A very long way indeed Stu,

You’ll be needing your khaki trousers,

and a hat to shield you from the blaze.

Hats with fascinators fascinating,

Travel hunters hunting and

Health and safety instructing:

Don’t forget your shorts.

Don’t forget your sun cream.

Don’t forget to write son,

We’ve got your Grand-dad round at Christmas

He’ll want to see you standing.

Arnsider, Tamesider, 

Wearsider, Humbersider,

Scouse lads! Manx lads!

We’re all in this together lads

Cockney lads! Toon lads!

Even Beverley lads

 walk on the Kents Bank waters!

Climbing over ledges,

Diving down in gorges,

Geo-physical, geo-logical,

Geo-temporal, neo-natal.

Headline shock,

Culture block.

Road up ahead,

Detour to the Humphrey Head.

Wind farm blade, wind farm blade,

Everything you earn from a

Wind farm blade.

Furness Fears

Grange over the sands,

Wind over the waters,

Steam over the causeway,

Fog on the time and we lose our way;

Lights up ahead and we shield our eyes

From the light on the horizon.

Don’t be daft Stuart,

It’s just the moon on the river

No need to stress, no need to sweat,

It’s just another brick in a wall.

No dark lions in the wardrobe,

No more air girls on the dole.

Ulverston oh Ulverston,

You still hear your sea winds blowin’,

You still see the dark coal glowin’,

You clean your gun and dream of Ulverston.

Last wolf in England,

First turn on the left,

Water catches fire.

The air stops breathing,

But we dig deep down for leading lights.

Tractors turning, gas flame burning, submarine yearning.

Wind farm blade, wind farm blade,

Everything you covet ‘bout a

Wind farm blade.

Barrow In Furnace

Cor strike a light! Blow me down!

If ever I cross this side of town

I’m dead, I’m gone,

A shadow of my former self.

The nuclear dump,

The ever-present hump,

Of the guy in the trench,

Standing doubled over the stench

Of the lads in the earth

And the girls in the air,

Waving, waving farewell, adieu, auf wiedersehen,

To their boys on a train sliding into town.

Pink Shap granite, Pink Shap granite

Archaeological dig in bullet rich sand.

Turbine, turbine,

Slicing up the seas in a frenzied fit of

Fission, fusion,

Grasping the cushion of a nuclear safety net of

Caste iron furnace, caste iron furnace,

Grenades to launch ten thousand ships to pieces.

It’s just a rumour that was spread around town

By the women and children

Soon we’ll be shipbuilding

We’re all in this together Stu,

It was like this way back when

Digging our trenches into the heat of the night.

Guided by your lights across the barren lands.

Your trig towers point to trig points in the ground.

Your landing lights in the estuary guide us by.

Your staging posts act as halfway stops mid river.

Your tools of empire help us navigate this wilderness.

Wind farm blade, wind farm blade, 

Everything you ever loved ‘bout a

Wind farm blade.

I’d say RIP Stuart but I can’t see you resting anywhere easily; there’s far too much wrong in heaven that needs fixing!