Showing posts from April, 2005

and found poem

forgetful hands long shadows fold unfold - as pointed out to me by Patrick McManus of Raynes Park. Thanks, Patrekur.

this is where I'll be today

Vagabond Press launch of three Rare Objects: Elizabeth Allen Forgetful Hands Jane Gibian long shadows: haiku Jill Jones Fold Unfold To be launched by Judith Beveridge poetry - music - slideshow - wine Sat 30th April 4pm Berkelouw Books Leichhardt 70 Norton Street Leichhardt contact and orders:

some skin stuff

skin memories don't resist aversions among their oil and flowers touch causes pain it can in textbooks and fusty discourse be explained this on that the tightness of the world how stuck are hands this was nothing about being held they roll you up to night careless winnowing the season sighs outside don't explain autumn slows the dark and gone

i felt much better after

... reading that poet Thom Gunn "taught at UC Berkeley for more than 30 years. A nondriver, he commuted by bus, often using the time in transit to write." This from an article by Edward Guthmann in The San Francisco Chronicle . I have tried to learn to drive a car. My attempts, I suspect, were the universe's way of telling me I should stick to walking. I wonder if there are other non-driving, footpath hugging poets out there.

the book in my hand

1844710416 Originally uploaded by ruby street . Not only is this the cover of my new book but I have now held it in my hands. It will soon be available in Australia (I'm told three weeks) and I will be launching it at the Sydney Writers Festival in late May. And it is available through Salt's on-line shop as well, and other on-line bookshops. I've been re-reading it, partly to check for any boo-boos (none so far, cross paws, except for a small omission), and to reacquaint myself with the book as book. The front cover photo was taken by Annette down at La Perouse. She was down at the same place again last week, this time with her medium format camera when she took a pic of the same place, but it's quite a different shot. I like this one still. Here are some kind comments some people have made about the book: "Jill Jones' poems are trusting, human and exact. They anticipate possibility, the invisible, sometimes abrupt edges of comprehen

building up in nz

The Fugacity anthology is swelling on-line, all the way from Wellington, New Zealand. Take a look, lots of cool poems from many places, and thanks to Mark Young for sending out the alert for this.


the night doesn't crumble even with the heavy load you're not a guitar you only have corridors after a meal and only one leaf is lost in the telling harbour harbour you're no that story either there are other pains old ones you thought excised they still ride you so that water dark can keep to its story each day something missing speech falls through holes there's iodine, salt but no, no not the harbour that's a crossing on creaky wheels sky spins ever so slowly paths pick out all the between-ness that sings too holding the cracks it doesn't crumble city stares itself forever all its fuzzy little points the water's deep forget the sharks are tomorrow's gamble you're not a drum you're alive edged alive, called alive underground gets the circle vinyl blue, silvered steel the wolves and cats ignore you he picks a nose on the night line can get bored flesh can be entertaining somehow you emerge with the rail song not crumpled not particularly safe bu

i've been travelling

The hums of motels So everything sounds like rain or the palm wind off Timor or Arafura. You stop the triune blades white step into the air-con's tune. Everything falls from the ceiling even fluoro runs down the wall. It's as far from heaven as you can get amongst the humid hip-hop air up hauling concrete steps. There's smoke and gasp somewhere. You've seen this movie what infernos! you're on the run! But there's nothing to chase you down no bulldust, no crocs, leaping lizards only the phones and the voices you've made back home. Like the fortune cookie said: 'you dial it up', now deal the circle that rain washes away. You can dust up again tomorrow. Night's hums are mechanical, electric while brother rain wets the seconds and sister storm sings, not little tune a bigger pattern, atmosphere deep past beige blue curtains and the sweat. It's animate, breath and thunder. Let sleep decide! At least the walls are white and the wrapper says 'cl

me hay(na)ku elsewhere-like

The Chatelaine herself, Eileen Tabios , recently asked after one of my ha(na)ku poems, many of which appear regular-like on this site. So this paticular one now has another life over at the April edition of Babaylan Speaks . I'm sharing the poetry space with poets such as Ernesto Priego, Chad Parenteau, Rebecca Mabanglo-Mayor, Glynda Tejada Velasco. Go and see if looks different to when it was hanging round Ruby Street.

a new translation

I've just posted a translation of one of Li Po's most famous poems at latitudes .


Vagabond Press invites you to the launch of three Rare Objects Elizabeth Allen Forgetful Hands Jane Gibian long shadows: haiku Jill Jones Fold Unfold To be launched by Judith Beveridge poetry music slideshow wine Sat 30th April 4pm Berkelouw Books Leichhardt 70 Norton Street Leichhardt contact and orders: