Showing posts from January, 2008


Hermitude - Rare Sightings
Ricardo Villalobos - Fabric 36
Bonnie Prince Billy - Master and Everyone

... and some Led Zeppelin, primarily to do with a project I'm writing, but enjoyable anyway.

review - and a mention

Barry Hill does the rounds with two recent Australian poetry anthologies. A mention of JJ amongst the other new and notable.


Thread the light
that goes out
leaning on the door


What doubt is there
about the sky?
Is it the blue?


Quartet for the End of Time, Messiaen

Gaspard de la Nuit, Ravel

Triple Concerto, Piano Trio Op.121a, Beethoven

... and the rain


of sound, syntactical
manoeuvres, dictions


look at the sun
along the off-white
afternoon over my shoulder

speaks through heroic ideal
shivered beauty

lashed by cold light
your questions
lip air

go out
fall to ruin
walk ordinary matter

afternoon | currawong

it wasn't quite as ...

....................................... there's precision in the bird's cry

the valley sucks it up

....................................... it's welcome, you don't know its meaning


poet wanders the page

chasing a trail through poems
fugitive ghost
phantom presences aura

what is noise in the poem
the subjective relation to others

what is important in a poem

at the edges


I’ve left my attitude with a slew of energy
the dope in me ducks, sure tastes bitter

A familiar song - we shall never part
Remember the verb that got away

Forget your sex, taste then lips
along the off-white, apparel falls away

Petals bruise my hand
after a wave of wild correspondences

No page entirely contains my wandering breath
Even the air is a strange grain

You must slip stealthily into the ventilator
the dollar will be normal after that

But, wait, don’t press my buttons, cast them aside
Let's shut up and dance


"A Poet is the most unpoetical of any thing in existence; because he has no Identity — he is continually in for — and filling some other Body — The Sun, the Moon, the Sea, and Men and Women who are creatures of impulse are poetical and have about them an unchangeable attribute — the poet has none; no identity — he is certainly the most unpoetical of all of God's Creatures. If then he has no self, and if I am a Poet, where is the Wonder that I should say I would write no more?"

John Keats, Letter to Richard Woodhouse, October 27 1818


that things refuse to side
and ground walks away


Rising with air, breath's desperate ages
loud music carries all its times
with smoked out clarity as well

Nerves flower out my bare need
knowledge, I found skin, and underneath
day slowly wears, moved by turn

And clouds don’t ‘need to know’
and being moves a new overlay
out here the valley, goes how



a poem is
it passes


I = wandering new trails

and then the ongoingness

a trace
at the point

a poem
differentiates itself from

of experience
the fragmentary or

journeys and photography

Tomorrow Annette leaves for regional Victoria (via Canberra), taking the long hot journey by car, so she can be around for the opening of her exhibition, The Romance of Death, at Horsham Regional Art Gallery.

As well as 30 photographs which she took in Paris cemeteries between 2004 and 2007, the show will include some poems I wrote on the theme during that period. We have also made a chapbook to accompany the exhibition including a hand-printed photo on each cover, plus the text of the poems on the wall, and a number of others. Here's one poem.

Works & Days

These unexpected masterpieces
statues and companions
balconies of angels
linked by cement and passions
the falling autumn

The lost genius of air
still penetrates
broken stones and other works

As on any street
the guarantee of beauty lies around
the crystallised dust
empty bottles
dead chrysanthemums

Mutability is no harder
than stained marble
a pile of petals

Cimetière Montparnasse

If anyone is around that area of the country over the next two…