gertrude & smith (2008)

for Chet & for Simon

beautiful decay
afternoon, crusty____red
wine hangover not
a poet today what
mode are we in over
the road the bar where
a dead friend used to dj
‘back in the day’____where’d
the day go____?
bright artcovered laneways
aid breathing____should
get out here regularly
sit, eat on the street to
still your beating mind where
signs say enquire within____& yeah, maybe
you should _________begin


Below: corner of Gertrude & Smith streets; photo by acb.

those unheard

"at once it struck me, what quality went to form a Man of Achievement especially in Literature & which Shakespeare possessed so enormously - I mean Negative Capability, that is when man is capable of being in uncertainties, Mysteries, doubts, without any irritable reaching after fact & reason..."
- John Keats (Letter to George & Tom Keats)

"Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard
Are sweeter."
- John Keats, 'Ode on a Grecian Urn'

First Seven Sevens (2008)

(first ‘releases’ from a sequence of seven-line poems)


#1

‘There is no enemy.’
Remember how I howled, kicking the wind.
Untranquilised.
In at least two minds.
Magpie leaves a scratch
(As we know, paranoia’s just a heightened state
of awareness) on the forehead


#2

If one composes on the computer
waiting fragments of sky.
Partly cloudy, tending towards the loose.
Change direction just enough
so that you will not hit other people.
How one knows to keep away, into a symbol.
So, this is how to happen…


#3

We can always get more.
For reassurance.
Looking for something selfish,
read the field.
‘People prefer things over people.’
‘Glad I’m not dualistic
like you guys.’


#4

A word often repeated
is ‘interface’.
Conversant with.
Our heads lie before us.
(‘Drown inside’.)
I go hooded.
Meds.


#6

Where I come from, dessert
comes first.
Want to get the goodbye
out of the way, right away.

Adepts
spiritualise the cave’s belly.
Then hunger is a food.


#8

Another has arrived,
is a droid.
Felt him moving through the flat.

Blood dries in the ear.

Look, it’s late (territory)
I take it all back.
The tearful replicant.


#9

Where particles of the moment click in,
constellate,
description is slow.
(Nulls.)
A film, a photograph
were slow to revise it.
How to 'remember with'?

dumbfoundry

I'm now a contributor to the dumbfoundry blog, which provides updates (via links and quotes) on poetry news, poetry magazines & journals, poetry blogs, etc. I've always found it's a great place to visit if you want to keep up to date with strange happenings in the poetry world.

I'm hoping to throw some items on experimental poetics and 'technologies of poetry' into the mix...

Thanks to Ivy Alvarez and the rest of the dumbfoundry team for having me aboard!

Remix exchange

I posted a while back about potentialities for collaboration, and my fixation on the concept of the remix. As a longtime DJ and aficionado of electronic music, I'd like you to humour me on an idea which I'll call the 'remix exchange'. Basically, you take one of my poems and 'remix' it, and I'll do the same to one of yours. Sound like fun?

A remix in this context could entail anything from a gentle tweak/edit, to a fullblown overhaul, where the results bear little or no resemblance to the 'original mix'. Which elements of the original you use, and which new elements you introduce would be entirely up to you. Make it your own. Make it different. Make it danceable... or not.

Remixers can have free reign to choose from any of the poems available on this blog (including the 'found poems', which of course weren't written by me, but are words taken out of their original context and labeled poems). Be warned: you'll come across some scary monsters the further back through the blog archives you go. And I wouldn't necessarily expect the same free reign in return - naturally, you could nominate the poem(s) you're willing to have remixed. As a starting point, maybe you have something that's been gathering dust on your cutting room floor, or some abandoned poem that's left you at a loss? And by the way, of course the right to publish the remix would reside with you (I wouldn't want your name to be associated with something you didn't like).

And, what the hell, let's open this up to artists other than poets too: prose writers, musicians, visual artists, spoken word performers who shudder at the word 'poetry'... Whatever your chosen artistic platform(s), I'd love for us to have a crack at reworking each other's experiments, incorporating the source material as we see fit.

So, hit me up with a comment or an email if you're up for it...

Oh? (2008)

These trees are too neat! – we left them
where they were. Next, & forgetting 'the
endless text manipulates by fatigue', we
fall awake: city’s tough & blue. Boys on
the tram singing madeup unruly songs of
girls they broke, replete with names. Let
them be collected, like that will happen.
My jetlag was cranky. Bit you in the
ear, no message left. Now check for our
current location. Two rooms of
techno, we fall awake. News enters
through the mouth. The gods are back,
replete with names. Let them be
collected, endless text. We just
left them where they were. The digital
planet – which is that? Here we must
force ourselves to breathe. Oh, we’re
both writers here, soak this up while
raiding 'the commons'. Which planet is
that? Tough & blue? Now I'm confused. I
am not alone. We’re both writers raiding
the commons. Here, a handbook on
optics. Soak this up. These trees are too
neat! Are our bays radioactive? I’m now
confused. Hold down Ctrl when we get
ahead. Consider the difficulty of that
request. Codes for living in were quickly
devised. Neat trees are in our blood.
We must force ourselves to breathe.


Below: street art in East Village, New York City. Photo by Annamarie Tendler.

Found Poem #2 (2006)

(after
John
Giorno)

He
carries
the
long
staff
of
a
Buddhist
monk.
The
rings
on
the
staff
announce
his
presence
as
he
seeks
alms
and
clears
the
path
of
insects
so
that
he
will
not
trample
them.

Note: from plaque accompanying a statuette of a Buddhist monk at the National Gallery of Victoria – International Collection.

Found Poem #1 (2006)

(after
John
Giorno)

The
cool
/
creepy
thing
is
that
Sylvia
Plath
went
to
my
highschool,
had
classes
in
the
same
room
I
do.
When
some
one
I
knew
committed
suicide
the
administration
wanted
to
take
the
plaque
for
Sylvia
Plath
down...
I
was
ready
to
protest,
but
they
decided
not
to.


Note: as posted by grillparzerkarma on Bluelight, 27-11-2005.

For Ted (2008)

(after
John
Giorno)

Good
morning,
Ted
Berrigan
at
my
breakfast
table.
Wildebeest
bobbing
through
milk
&
muesli.
A
tome's
a
tomb,
tone
is
tone.
You
float
the
meaning
of
random,
don't
you?
I
have
always
meant
to
tell
you.
Figure
I
could
tell
you
everything,
hope
I'm
not
too
late.


Below: Ted Berrigan by Alex Katz.

Frame Lines

Some more publication news just to hand: my poem pollen will be published in the January edition of Frame Lines, which refers to itself as 'a non-profit organisation showcasing the best creative work - music, photography, illustration and much [more] from around the world'.

I have a lot of respect for what Sarah Nolan and the rest of the Frame Lines team are doing, and I'm sure you will too if you spend some time perusing the magazine.

Bambikino edition 9

The latest edition of Bambikino has just been released online. The 'physical' mag can also be picked up at Handsome Steve's House of Refreshment, and a few other places around Melbourne.

3 of my poems are featured: Charisma, drowse and chapel st. I love how Charisma has been formatted - some of the text wrapping opens up polysemy in quirky ways. There's also a cool piece by Monique Miller and images by Sudeep Lingamneni.

Thanks go to Cameron Miller for his excellent work on the mag, and to Chris Clarke for the original heads-up.

sonnet (2008)

for Monica

How we will do our usual thing,
Key it into the system of a day.
Children love patterns of any kind
But find it difficult to swim in pairs.
Ruthless, caffeine-blind, we shove
through galleries and museums.

The haunting moment of the song approaches:
The apples swell as they drink sweet water.
"We must renounce these traditions," you say,
"Lest our eyes grow dry with thirst."

I do not hold exits; I give you what I hold.
A poem: clothing pieced from detritus
Of this, most fragile of the perfect worlds.
Held together with a thread of breath.


Note: 'The apples swell as they drink the sweet water' : Pablo Neruda, from Sonnet V in Cien Sonetos de Amor (100 Love Sonnets).

the rules appear

"I also want to say that there are no rules. At least not at first there aren't. If you start with rules, you've really got a tough road. What I think is that you start with materials. You start with matter, not with rules. The rules appear, the limitations appear, and those are your limitations and the limitations of the material."
- Clark Coolidge, from Arrangement