Showing posts from April, 2007


Of course, next month is the Sydney Writers Festival, and as part of it there's Poets Paint Words, which is curated by Peter Minter and Lisa Slade, who commissioned a number of Australian poets to write a poem inspired by a painting in the Newcastle Region Art Gallery collection. Their choice, not ours.

Poets involved include Luke Davies, Martin Harrison, Keri Glastonbury, Kate Fagan, Jaya Savige, Les Murray, Dorothy Porter, John Tranter, Judith Beveridge, Jill Jones, Peter Minter, John Kinsella, Robert Adamson.

The exhibition runs until 17 June and during the Writers Festival there will be readings by a number of the poets.

up the junction

Finally Mark Weiss's Junction Press has got itself a website. Now you can order lots of good poetry books online including New and Selected Poems 1961-1996 by Rochelle Owens, Stet: Selected Poems by Jose Kozer, and Mark's own excellent Fieldnotes.

new e-mag

The first edition of Mascara, an Australasian-based poetry zine went on-line recently, featuring poetry by Chris Kelen, Ouyang Yu, Yi Tang, Libby Hart, Cyril Wong, Keri Glastonbury, Agnes Vong, Cath Vidler, Nathan Curnow, Jan Owen and others ...

It was launched last weekend to time in with the International Love Poetry Hate Racism Weekend which featured transnational and multicultural poetry readings around the world.


A lot has been going on in my world for some while so I haven't been able to get near the blog. Thanks to Meredith and Ivy and others for good wishes. Things seem to be working out.

However, along with everything else, my main computer decided to fade in a major way three weeks ago. I think the fan has karked it. Oh well, it was nearly seven years old. I'm limping along with the not-so-young laptop.

Anyway, I'm hoping that next week will be clearer for me. I'm having a little bit of down time and intend to do some veging as well as some writing and reading.

In the meantime I will note some things I've been meaning to mention for a while.

today, in the midst

‘Midway along the journey of our life
I woke to find myself in a dark wood …’
Dante, Canto 1, The Divine Comedy - Inferno

‘I was doing all right,
and now I’m in the midst of it’
My mother, 6/4/07, a hospital, Sydney


evening’s quiet land
lowers a crystal blind

look at this surface
thin as dew

dreaming where I am
foam that damps tomorrow

that shines up crowds
and swims the river

a terrifying lucidity
making us whiter than hair

frost and iron

In the slow dark
this frost basin
is written, a bright month
of home’s dream-matter
enhancing the white
freezing bed of mine

We’re allowed daybreak
and the monkey’s cry
but cloud remains
along us folds the mountain
and 10,000 river banks
a boat where we are small

Autumn constellations rise
on astringent gardens
that eternal life is bitter
while the country runs
with the moon of war
the desert situation
encampments of silk and iron

That no-one will recall

Wind starts its function, and its sadness.
The compass staggers around edges.
The coast waits along its whipping walls.
My thoughts delay horizons.

The reef is sorry, the sand extravagant.
Other times are now confused.
Your laughter and its refreshment, o those matrices!
There’s no holding to account.

Is this my method that hammers
the distant rectangle of the separated?
These facts disturbing coolness, exaggerating
a certain way that does not make more.

Movement marries the smoky dolor
of the gyre, the extremity of years.
In sad inquest, tonight clusters thought.
Whale surface, south wind, a rogue swell.

That no-one will recall again these rocks
those times, the tides and agitation
of crevices and wings, the stretched jouissance.
What unravels the remain.