Thursday, January 06, 2005

a nice day

There’s a lung in the corner
of the room, just behind me

The building lives
it’s not very good at it

Limps along corridors
pushing its glassy stare

It grows with us
we lie in its pockets

The carpets stain
and the teeth lifts crunch

We have spent a century
escaping the body

Outside is a fine day
if we could reach it

Monday, January 03, 2005


This news item from Ananova has probably done the rounds, proving it's a mad world.

Women strip off for poet
Twenty eight Chilean women took all their clothes off in the middle of a busy road in Santiago to pay homage to a poet. The women posed in front of the house where famous poet Pablo Neruda used to live. Photographer Rene Alejandro Rojas took the picture, called Munvich, which means naked in Viking. [see the Ananova item for the photo] Mr Rojas told Las Ultimas Noticias newspaper: "We did not have a permit so they had to take their clothes off very fast and then put them back as fast."

I must speak to my Chilean friends about this one.

Sunday, January 02, 2005

some lovely ...

work from US poet Sheila E. Murphy. A visual poem which crag hill's site alerted me to.

Saturday, January 01, 2005

is this a worry?

How about Kafka: The Musical? No, it's not Hollywood, or even Bollywood. It's Zadie Smith (whom I've never read or felt interested in reading - a lesson here?)

haiku larfs

Gosh, I'm not that bored with the web. I laughed along with Ron Silliman, reading about David McAleavey's Huge Haiku. A real nice paradox, amongst other things. McAleavey's poems are quite chunky, however, and a renga can be long. I like it that Ron laughed. He always seems so serious to me over here. Maybe I read him wrong.

Am I wrong, also, in thinking there's a bit of Japanese-ish about? A different head space, maybe. What the image means. When I think haiku, I think sound. I wonder why.

still grey

I don't mind chortling alone
clouds change all the time.

Talking to yourself is the first sign of talking to yourself.

Moving right along ...

pink and blue

The colours of jim behrle's site have changed since last I looked. Almost summery - but isn't it winter up north?

skybright always likes the blue
our skies haven't been
today hot and grey

methinks they protesteth ... it's too much

I thought I'd become bored with the internet - indeed, still partially am - but some noodling around caused me to come across this review by Sandra Gilbert of a newish (yet another, sigh) anthology. It's British and apparently contains an editorial diatribe by Scots poet, Don Patterson, against the 'postmoderns' (whoever they are).

Gilbert says: "Paterson in particular is frank in admitting that the writers he and Simic showcase in New British Poetry are united by a commitment to what he calls "Mainstream practice" — a way of writing verse which he's extraordinarily anxious to defend against what he rather dramatically calls "the threat currently presented by the Postmoderns and their general ubiquity." Indeed, most of his introduction to this anthology is taken up with what he himself describes as a "badtempered" discussion of the kind of poetry — avant-garde, "Postmodern" or "LANGUAGE" poetry — that he refuses to represent in the collection."

I've seen this kind of argument before in relation to any stance that isn't conservative, and wonder why the mainstream, the Right, or conservatives (what you will), become so exercised (or 'extraordinarily anxious') by what they call, and clearly is, a minority. I could say 'save your breath guys and just get on with it' but that's a little naive. I could make a 'totally 80s' comment, 'it's all false dualisms' But, far more insidiously, it's letting the mainstream sloosh over anything else that's possibly more interesting, definitely oppositional, sometimes more silly, often more engaging, sometimes, well, 'different' (if not 'noice' or 'unusual').

By the way, I like some of Patterson's work. I don't care what stream he's in. As Gilbert points out, Coleridge and Wordsworth (and Shelley) got a right drubbing from the establishment a coupla centuries ago, and people were jailed for their opinions. Yes, dark political times! Which is the main reason I mention it.

what about white boards?

Gotta be worried about those zombies.

what he said

Mark Young at pelican dreaming.

re-posting something that got lost

underneath rain

filmy days
unravel the vagabond
a thin winter moon

needing a place for repair
memory flocks
landscape is a similar

I never am
you are provisory
extremity, windows

stars can’t resist gravity
method is the question
exhalations in patterns

feel the countdown
smoke in the street
walk to the graffitied rivers

go ahead in spite of time
too many rockets
paint burnishes my eyes

drive straight
unpack ourselves
constitute our life

to the land of mornings
covered in song
I choose myself

stopping above
a thousand dark cares
a line burns

how to help

Donations can be made to:

  • PLAN 1800 038 100 or

  • CARE Australia 1800 020 046 or

  • Australian Red Cross 1800 811 700, or post a cheque to GPO Box 9949 in capital cities.

  • Oxfam 1800 034 034 or

  • Medecins Sans Frontieres 1800 788 100 or

  • UNICEF 1300 884 233, 1300 732 240 or

  • World Vision 13 32 40 or

  • Australian Foundation for Asia Pacific 1800 007 308,

  • Save the Children 1800 760 011 or
  • listening ...

    A Silver Mt Zion, He Has Left Us Alone but Shafts of Light Sometimes Grace the Corner of Our Rooms.

    I’m liking. It’s harrowing, so not ‘enjoyable’ in any happy sense. Haunting piano and strings.