Sunday, June 23, 2013

Tuesday Poem - To the Reader by Dan Disney

To the Reader

If I were to burn a hole in the night my instruments would include starlight

and a magnifying glass. Once the hole was made big enough

I’d scaffold it … and then I’d crawl in. What would I find there? A cure for orphans

or the bored? An undiscovered number? Perhaps the perfect shade

of blue? Who knows. What I do know is I wouldn’t take too many people in

because they’d just fill it up.

I take you though. For sure. I would take you.



Here is another poem from Notes for the Translators edited by Christopher (Kit) 

Kelen and published by Cerberus Press - Flying Islands Books. 

 In his explication to possible translators Dan Disney writes - 'To the Reader' is 

composed as the freest kind of free verse.

Dan's most recent book is 'and then when the'  published by John Leonard Press.


Monday, June 17, 2013

Tuesday Poem - Air Variations in C & D by Jennifer Harrison

Air Variations in C & D

This is the cart my father did not drag behind his life
This is the cartel: the headless girl in Mexico
This is the carton of cigarettes sodden from Toowoomba flood
This is the cartridge in the chamber of my father's rabbit gun
This is a caravel, a poem
What is its lost oar? An empty marriage?
This is cash, a delicacy
And this is the delegate smoking a cheroot
This is the delay between loss and déjà vu
A delectation of swans, deliberating

This is drama and deceit
The same sink with different dishes
This is a backpack of dynamite, trees at night
This is Dominique Strauss-Kahn's defense
Cardamom for rice, rose-water in the desert
This is the moon on my dead dog's collar
What is definite? A claw? A door?

This poem is taken from the extremely interesting book called Notes for the
Translators collected and edited by Christopher (Kit) Kelen at Cerberus Press
– Flying Island Books. I have rarely found a book so fascinating.
142 Antipodean poets take time to explicate, elucidate (sometimes obfuscate)
the meaning and intent of the poem for a possible translator.
Jennifer's explication begins – This poem is inspired by the alphabet.

Jennifer Harrison is a notable Australian poet who lives in Melbourne. Her most
recent book is Colombine, New And Selected Poems put out recently by Black
Pepper Press.

Monday, June 10, 2013

Tuesday Poem - red heart my country by Eric Beach

red heart my country

can't help but examine all th faces at th station
and I have to admit I was eaves-dropping too
my how you've grown haven't seen you since creation
horse over in th stockyard's clopping through

nan with her grand-kid no-one's quite apart
we're all watching him keep behind th yellow line
we don't care there's no train yet – there's country heart
we've all had that feeling – that kid could have been mine

and I remember th first time I left on my own
suitcase tied with string and as heavy as patience
general consensus I was bringing down th tone
right on cue there's a siren in th distance

football team on th oval lifting telephone poles
late afternoon crickets pulsing in unison
I have to stop and scuff up some red dirt with my sole
new coat of paint on th pub it's shining

elm trees and a bronze horseman to our heroic dead
bronze akubra forever askew on his head
town clock says forget lunch we'll have dinner instead
and I'm walking th back lanes behind th old sheds
where my son used to hide and surprise me every time he did
where my son used to hide and surprise me every time he did

If you want to read more Tuesday Poems click on the quill icon at the top.

Sunday, June 2, 2013

Tuesday Poem - Metamorphosis by Paul South


I am the rat these days, inspecting this, having a nibble of that.
Disguised as a human, I go to work.
“How are you?” says my boss.
“Fine,” I say.
I have learned the turns of speech, digested talk of news, sport and
weather. Rats have strong stomachs and are very adaptable. But a rat
never forgets his place in the food-chain. The hand that feeds can also kill.

Sometimes I step into a trap. My boss's huge face looms around
the corner, says “What are you doing?” and I'm caught there in the
spotlight, a crumb still hanging from my mouth. I try to speak, but all
that comes out is a muffled squeak! My body goes limp, as if dead -
I think I am dead – then after a while she goes off again.

Then I go home, to the dark little corner of my world. It's nothing special,
but it's my dark corner, and I am quite happy with it thank you! But even
then my mind plays tricks on me; I hear things, a footstep, a word. I am
never really alone: I'm always being chased by things that I cannot see or
name. And there is no hiding from the fact that, sooner or later, I will have
to go out there again, into the open. I have to if I am going to survive.

My poor heart! I scurry about right under their noses, filling shelves,
collecting trolleys. This check out chick keeps checking me out. I squeak
a few words. I don't know what to do. I keep thinking, they'll see me -
they'll see the light reflect off my eyes and know me for what I am.
But they never do.

Time moves on. I get so caught up in what I am doing that I forget what
I am, and then I find myself being patted by somebody. I look up and
wonder how it is that I am here, that I am not afraid, here in the palm of
a human's hand.

Paul South lives in Melbourne and I have heard him read from his 'wise
and brutal' book (as Andy Jackson puts it in his blurb) – Rats Live On
No Evil Star. Lovely stuff, juicy.
You can pick up the book (a wise but not brutal investment) at a few shops
in Melbourne,like Collected Works – and there is an email address in the
front of the book so I suppose that would work too.

If you want to read more Tuesday Poems click on the quill icon at the top of the page.