Showing posts from May, 2005

What punk rock goddess am I? (that's better)

Patti Smith

what punk rock goddess are you?
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Which major Romantic Poet am I? (oh dear)

You are William Blake! Wow. I'm impressed. Not
only are you a self-made artist and poet, but
you've suddenly become a very trendy guy to
like. It's not that we doubt that you have all
your marbles, it's just that we're not quite
sure what you did with them to come up with
those terrifying theological visions. The
people of your time were nowhere near as
forgiving as that, and all your neighbors
thought you were a grade-A nut job. But we
love you, so rest happy.

Which Major Romantic Poet Would You Be (if You Were a Major Romantic Poet)?
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'... chase away your blues, for a while'.

Yes, Tim Buckley. But it sounds so blue, anyway. A real blue pleasuring, from one Sin City to this other.

The sun is out today. Our heaters are also out. Winter finally here. And I am possibly falling victim to flu.

In the mood for hiding inside amongst the warmth. With nothing to do, almost, this will be a rare bliss.

The previous post written after two of my friends were threatened by, it turns out, two rather under-prepared potential gay bashers near a pub in The Rocks. It seems these men couldn't cope with dialogue so gave up their enterprise. For which we were thankful but by which some of us, at least, were spooked as well as angered.

Annette and I went home as quickly as possible. And it was cold.

Life goes on, I suppose.

Friday night in the country of morons.

You can't help reflect on the lack of reflection in this place. Perhaps it's something to do with being afraid of what you might see.

I'm not interested any longer in mediocre entertainers, sports heroes and drug smugglers. Each to their own vocation, fine, but these do not interest me. Just as the poet interests no one else. One could maintain that notoriety or the fame game is the important thing. Or perhaps stupidity is the way. If that's the construction, I will not survive. Not on this island.

If I had a home, which, as a colonial, I don't, it is not here.

It is too late to discuss anything. The bars are closed, the minds are closed, the potential gay bashers are out and it is getting cold. Tomorrow is the same day as today. I had better make up the day after. But after what?

book launch schtick

Just a reminder about my Sydney book launch -

Friday May 27 9pm
Sydney Writers' Festival
Festival Club, Pier 4/5 Hickson Road, Walsh Bay
Jill Jones, Peter Rose, John Kinsella

Launch of two new collections of poetry: Broken/Open by Jill Jones and Rattus Rattus by Peter Rose, poet, author and editor of Australian Book Review - to be launched by John Kinsella, poet and Salt publisher.

Also on Thursday, May 26 2005, from 1-2.30pm I'm taking part in a poetry reading at the Festival.
Sydney Dance Company 2/3
Pier 4/5 Hickson Road, Walsh Bay
Les Murray, John Kinsella, Lutz Seiler, Tony Frazer, Martin Harrison, Jill Jones, Kate Llewellyn

Both are free events.

lazy sunday afternoon

Listening to new Lucinda live, which sounds pretty good, dark, gravelly and punchy. Good band.

Annette's birthday, lunch (oysters, fish pie, French rose etc), a walk, a little book by Octavio Paz - A Tale of Two Gardens - out of the specials bin.

I should be doing things but I'm not. This is what I'm doing, then I'm going to do even less than this.

let's get poetic in Sydney

Sydney Poetry Seminar 2005

Friday May 20 and Saturday May 21 2005
University of Technology, Sydney
Bon Marche Building, Room 105 (entry on Harris Street)

Friday May 20
19:00 – 21:00
Samuel Wagan Watson, Jaya Savige, Amanda Stewart

Saturday May 21
Poetry Discussions
9:30 – 11:00
Judith Beveridge, SK Kelen, Cath Kenneally, Jaya Savige
11:30 – 1:00
Michael Farrell, Jill Jones, Samuel Wagan Watson, Amanda Stewart
14:00 – 15:30
Pam Brown, Ken Bolton, Kate Fagan, John Tranter
16:00 – 17:30
Chris Edwards, Geraldine McKenzie, Berndt Sellheim, Patrick Jones

Saturday May 21
Book Launch and Readings
18:30 – 21:00
LAUNCH of ‘Let’s Get Lost’
a new Vagabond book by Laurie Duggan, Pam Brown, Ken Bolton to be launched by Alan Wearne

All Welcome! Free Entry!

The Sydney Poetry Seminar series is convened by Peter Minter for the Sydney Poetry Network.
The seminar and the Sydney Poetry Network are supported by the Literature Board of the Australia Council.

new jacket - seriously good poetry outfit

Jacket 27 is now on-line. Pam Brown is Guest Editor of this issue.

There's "Hundreds of pages of dazzling literature", including features on Anne Waldman and Jennifer Maiden, a heap of articles and interviews, and poems and prose from Adam Aitken, Rae Armantrout, Anselm Berrigan, Edmund Berrigan, Ken Bolton, Michael Brennan, Maxine Chernoff, Gillian Conoley, Laurie Duggan, Kate Fagan, Michael Farrell, Jane Gibian, Keri Glastonbury, Carla Harryman, Brian Henry, Friedrich Holderlin (trans by Maxine Chernoff & Paul Hoover), Paul Hoover, Jill Jones, Pierre Joris, Claudia Keelan, S.K.Kelen, John Kinsella, Noelle Kocot, Michele Leggott, Cassie Lewis, Kate Lilley, Geraldine McKenzie, Peter Minter, Jennifer Moxley, Eileen Myles, Ted Nielsen, Alice Notley, Ron Padgett, Lisa Robertson, Gig Ryan. Susan M. Schultz, Amanda Stewart, John Tranter, Karen Weiser, Susan Wheeler.

song's edge

the song woke up
upon the wide burn
from under a cover
of difficulty
of you with me

burning itself
day sheds
desire’s throat
pages stained with open-
ended nights

the song dreamed movement
where gravity is simple
that the end of work breathes
marking the air
of changes

difficulty blooms form
fishes, nevertheless, in light
that newspapers cloud
in any key
that one, the shutdowns

we cut to doubtful
who are we, codified
the day in our ways
the long movement
its obvious traffic

the song’s causes
the flavor and game
of that decrease
or to break itself
like paper

paragraphs burn gold
if we could
be burned, flowers
this art of layers
makes, avails

the song a refinery
lucky, fair, green
shadings awake
above, in us
parts to the edge

in amongst ... this

OK, it's been the week from hell, but I won't go into details. A 4am phone call didn't help. Farewells of various kinds. Stuff that needed completing.

So, just one poem.

Looking at you

Space runs over space stuck up with paste
Brown paste and through it the silver
Lines grate with gear, circumstances
Us all crowd, us all not know but
Space between the yellow line

As too soon and too far before
Dawn the house creaks out of slack
Sleep as if what is that? Still

Question of corners last night
How could I ever? Coming home

And on this very morn, tired, vapour
Cragging down mournful old steps
Tagging to work, grumble, coffay
Space that is grit, that is turned
Where would I land? Not space
Here where street crowd gander gait

Between, that small space
The only quieting space
Silver sleep circumstance awake.

autumn poem

Grot among root
Still thaw
But the chill
Crawls a glimmer
Dawn dark’s cold
Hasten and haze
Hill line’s blurr

Ground brown
Seed furred
Branch flare
Splay to orange
Ochre and flange
Year’s fit
Now for fire

Marrickville, 8am, 4 May