blue-lipped the last of summer’s waves
Monthly Archives: February 2012
The Australian poetry community lost one of its true characters this past week…
Foundation editor of haiku journal paper wasp, driving force behind Post Pressed and internationally recognised haijin, John Knight, passed away after a long battle with cancer.
Like his friend and colleague Janice Bostok, John was a great support to me in the early days. At paper wasp gatherings in the old State Library of QLD, John was always there to provide incisive critique and share his wicked wit and love of life.
His published verse includes Wattle Winds: an Australian haiku sequence (Paper Wasp, 1993), From Derrida to Sara Lee (Metro Arts, 1994), Extracts from the Jerusalem Archives (Sweetwater Press, 1997), big man catching a small wave (Post Pressed, 2006) and Letters from the Asylum (Sudden Valley Press, 2009). It is a body of work that I hope continues to be read long into the future.
I will be reading a poem in his honour tonight at Riverbend Books, where I am sure, there will be another star in the sky, shining down on the poets as they gather on the deck.
John, may that last wave carry you forever…
mackerel sky and
now the wild geese are calling
into the sunset
– John Knight (1935 – 2012)
from the collection ‘big man catching a small wave‘
Frog spawn hides in the swell of
summer time. The perfume of taipan
cools behind your ears. In this light
everything looks like it is washed
with egg. Rain floods out an alphabet
of worms. Your laughter scares butterflies.
The ribbon of my arms cannot reach. Truth
be told it should not. I fear this space:
the bloom and bite of your lips.
In this false Spring we are going
out in short sleeves our coats in the car
and stockings curled up in the sock drawer
we know the cold can still come back
with its primer paint colors and winter
shadows looking like headstones
especially the wings of a red tailed hawk
here early, picking off the younger birds
who do not know the difference
between episodes and seasons
and for a few degrees of warmth
February has but a handful of days left, which means Summer is also all but gone… It is also time to say goodbye to our February Pin-Up Poet, Ross Donlon, but never fear, he will be hear in Brisbane before the month is out performing at Riverbend Books and SpeedPoets. And he is also running a workshop while he is in town, which is what we got to talking about this week.
I wanted to ask about the workshop you are running in Brisbane titled ‘Catching Poems’. What can participants expect to come away with at the end of the day?
Yes, I’ve begun to call my workshops ‘Catching Poems’ picking up on what someone said – I forget who, ‘The world is full of poems. They just need an edit.’ The class will be writing poems to begin and reading poems aloud in the last session.
I have a couple of mantras I put on the board and one is by Frank O’Hara : ‘Follow Your Nerve’.
So the aim is to have the class come away with a number of drafts from short bursts of intensive writing following some ideas and stimulus and models I supply. Ideally there will be ‘useful lines’ or ‘useful passages’, even a ‘useful phrase’, they they can then take home and build into a finished poem from the exercises.
It is not a class where poets will be pondering and mulling for an extended period of time and chatting with me. Others are put off or lose concentration with that muttering, I think. I do ‘go around the class’ and invite poets to read their ‘best bit’ be it a phrase, or line, or sentence or pasage – more as the class develops and poets become more relaxed. So, if the class goes away with, say 6 ‘useful bits’ in 6 different kinds of poems to work – that’s what I’m after.
I was at the last launch of a major Australian literary journal. There were six readers, including me, but an observer present said that only three of us could be understood. The rest were too fast and / or indistinct because they were too far from the mike. Diction is helped if the pace is right. So I think this is a useful skill to learn whether for reading poetry – or at your wedding!
So in the last session we will do microphone technique and reading for an audience where each person reads a poem they have chosen (not their own) using the mike. I will model what I do, then it’s likely each poet will go through their poem a couple of times with me offering some advice.
In sum, I hope the class will take away: some useful drafts / some new poems and names to follow up / some ideas about reading technique.
I’m also happy to do a Q and A if there’s time about my experiences as regards publishing or reading or anything else about writing and reading poetry.
There are still places left in the workshop, so for those lucky enough to be able to attend, here are the details:
Catching Poems w/ Ross Donlon
Join award-winning Victorian poet Ross Donlon for an all-day session, giving poets ideas to catch and edit poems as well as tips and practice on how to read for public performance. This is a hands-on workshop using both formal and more open structures, so poets can expect to take away a number of drafts. There will be time for writing and sharing. The afternoon session will also include tips on mic use and public performance techniques with flexibility for other interests which may arise from the early session.
Ross is published in both newspapers and academic journals and has read at festivals both in Australia and England. He has won prizes both for the written and spoken word, including the Launceston Cup, premier spoken word event of the Tasmanian Poetry Festival and the Wenlock Festival Poetry Prize (U.K.) judged by Carol Ann Duffy, English Poet Laureate. His latest book, The Blue Dressing Gown and other poems, is published by Profile Poetry.
When: Sunday 4th March 2012
Time: 10am – 3pm
Where: Room 1.A, State Library of Queensland
Please contact firstname.lastname@example.org for further information or to enrol in the workshop.
At Haberfield Demonstration School
I was with the boys in our group
at the meeting place, a peppercorn tree,
eating lunch inside the shadow.
The peppercorns’ bright, spicy scent
remains in memory
the way it stays on fingers with the stain.
Soon I would be ready for the Big School.
Boys were separated from the girls’
asphalt playground of rectangles, circles and squares.
Boys played wars up
and down a sloping paddock beyond the classrooms.
We heard the cries a continent away.
Suddenly the talk came to fathers and what they did.
As turns edged around the circle like a clock
I discovered that I could not speak.
What was it that could I not say?
The bell saved me as I was falling.
A huge part of who I thought I was
had avalanched, as if a shelf dropped
from a mountain.
I was an obedient child
but I ran home from school then to Nan,
my family skittled by a missing pin.
We sat on her bed and looked at photographs
and a face the size of a fingernail.
Bill. From the war.
She fanned out pictures like playing cards.
It was a summer’s day.
The bedroom’s lace curtains glowed in the heat.
Wind blew sweet scent from Peek Frean’s biscuit factory.
The bitumen noise of cars rushed down our street.
Back in 2010, I started working with Cindy Keong and Sheish Money on a show that would feature several of the poems from Ocean Hearted, live music and photography. We performed the show at QLD Poetry Festival that year and it still stands out as one of (if not) the best gigs I have ever done. Cindy shot countless photos over the months leading up to the festival and put them together as short films to be screened while we performed. This one is particularly important to me, as the poem was written for my Grandmother and showcases the picturesque landscape of Toorbul; a place that instilled a love of the ocean in me forever. I hadn’t watched this since the show in 2010, so it was a thrill to take it in all over again… Enjoy.
Snow Moon by Steven Carter, Uxbridge. Alba Publishing, Uxbridge, UK. www.albapublishing.com (2011) 48 pp. p.b. US$12.00/UK8.00 pounds. ISBN 978-095512544-7. Reviewed by Patricia Prime
Steven Carter is a retired emeritus professor of English and his book of essays, Devotions to the Text, was awarded the Eric Hoffer Foundation’s Montaigne Medal grand prize. Carter secures his position as one of the most remarkable of contemporary writers with his first collection of haiku and haibun, Snow Moon.
The haiku and haibun in this collection are expressed in plain language that nevertheless enlightens us with their lightest and deepest concepts. In his haiku, which are divided into three sections: Equinox, The House and October, Carter ponders and marvels over the various seasonal changes that take place during the equinox, the practicalities of the house, and the coming of winter. Each section is headed by a haibun and the final section L’Envoi, contains ten haibun.
In Carter’s individual haiku, his mode is accessible, sometimes surprising, as in the opening haiku:
our silences –
the right words
Carter displays considerable artistry in the haiku which sometimes jolts us out of complacency:
brightening the night
pale yellow moon –
and, at the same time, does not abandon the domestic:
careening moon –
of your glass of wine
This trustworthy voice is welcome over a broad spectrum of subjects, yet is tied together so that each haiku unfolds something different and satisfying. In the section entitled The House, for example, there are haiku about the highs and lows, the practical and the emotional – test results, the garden, the empty birdhouse, rummaging in the attic, unwritten poems and more. The first haiku in this section:
waiting for the test results –
on which side of the window
is offset by the nature haiku:
day moon on the lake
flying into its reflection
or morphs into an account of disease:
no one brings up
The final section of haiku, October, guides the reader through nature, landscape, seasonal weather, camping and the fireside. Here everyday occurrences and encounters enable the haiku to function as a catharsis to undercurrents that run beneath the poems, as for example, in the following haiku where we get caught up in the struggle that takes place in most of our lives:
behind scattered clouds
the coy moon
. . . regretting a kindness
taking early retirement –
no longer part of something
Carter’s haibun are indicative of his interest in the form and sustain a high level of achievement throughout, but I do have my favourites: “Over Lunch”, “Kite””Sawtooth Range” and “1991”. What is particularly good, and the mark of a fine poet, is Carter’s ability and confidence to take chances. In this particular book, the addition of “1991” abut a visit to Auschwitz places his haibun in the contemporary arena. Here is a short quote from the poem:
In a strange and terrible way, September is the cruelest month for Auschwitz – the skies are blue and balmy, the grounds and surrounding fields lush with flowers, grasses and chestnut trees. These landscapes make the facilities – gas chambers, crematoria, barracks, dungeons, the Wall of Death – more poignant, even unbearable. I saw more than one Fullbrighter throw up and return to the bus.
The care that is paid to language in Carter’s poetry is just as evident in his prose and it is therefore no surprise that his haibun are exemplary. His haibun “Sawtooth Range” is impressive, and contains many well-crafted impressions of the “bearded, long-haired, very thin” young man carrying a cross he sees on his journey through Montana. : His lips move slowly – I can’t hear him because my window’s closed – but I lip-read his words: ‘Don’t forget me.”
This is a very fine collection and an engaging, attractive and worthwhile book.
For anyone with even a passing interest in haiku, this lecture by Zen master Alan Watts is nothing short of enlightening. In fact, for any artist wanting to clear their head, Watts’ is refreshingly direct and profound. So sit back, empty your cup and drink in the wisdom.
Here is a poem from my morning walk…
without a thought
for tomorrow – dragonflies
in wheel formation
Time to flick the Friday night switch and light up your monitors. This week the three of us heat things up, with a surge of passion. And while you are reading, don’t forget to check out Cindy’s blog to view more of the photographs in this series and Ashley’s to catch up on how her ‘alphabet poems’ are progressing.
This is a soapy kitchen.
I mean the slick surfaces
wiped down rawness
chicken breasts split
on the counter
waiting for direct heat.
I mean the blue flicker
of a flame
a snake’s fork tongue
which rises. I mean slightly
alkaline scent of my sweat
mixed with perfume
dabbed at the neck
and the hollow
space by the collar bone.
I mean the bowl shaped part
kisses cover like a lid
your mouth this slick
taste of meat.
You walk in and I turn on:
the coffee machine purrs and
the refrigerator simultaneously
sweats and breaks out in goosebumps.
The dishwasher succumbs to hot
flushes and the button on the toaster
turns red and pops.
You are a walking calamity:
when you smile the mechanisms
in my legs bloop like boiling
custard and the valves in my heart
start to whistle. Your beauty
is a power surge; so unpredictable