Tag Archives: Nathan Shepherdson

Nathan Shepherdson wins the Josephine Ulrick Award

Let me be the first to shout out a huge congratulations to Nathan Shepherdson for taking out the 2013 Griffith University Josephine Ulrick Award with his poem, Selling Meaning in Negative Space. I received this exciting news at the same time I peeled open the first box of books containing Nathan’s latest collection, The Day The Artists Stood Still [Volume One]. The book looks and feels like an object of beauty… truly fitting for the astounding work that lies within the pages. Here’s a pic to show you what I mean.

The Day The Artists Stood Still

And don’t forget, you can pick up a copy of Nathan’s new book at the launch this Saturday, August 24 as part of the QLD Poetry Festival session, Dancing in Abstract. The session will be held in the Shopfront Space of the Judith Wright Centre of Contemporary Arts from 4:00pm – 5:00pm. Hope to see many of you there!

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An Accident That Thinks: Lee-Anne Davie interviews Nathan Shepherdson

Nathan Shepherdson has won the Josephine Ulrick Poetry Prize twice (2004, 2006), the 2005 Arts Queensland Thomas Shapcott Award, 2006 Newcastle Poetry Prize and 2006 Arts Queensland Val Vallis Award. His first book, Sweeping the Light Back into the Mirror (UQP 2006), won the Mary Gilmore Award in 2008. In 2008 also he released what marian drew never told me about light (Small Change Press) and in 2009 Apples with Human Skin was published by University of Queensland Press. In 2012 Nathan collaborated with print-maker Julie Barret to produce the limited edition, concertina fold book, clouds in another’s blood (light-trap press) and in 2013 he will release his fifth collection, The Day The Artists Stood Still (volume one).

Nathan will be launching The Day The Artists Stood Still (vol. 1) @ QPF 2013 in the session, Dancing in Abstract (Saturday 24 August, 4pm. Shopfront Space).

Shepherdson

I was introduced to you, Nathan, in 2010 following the success of your third work, Apples With Human Skin, and I am amongst many who are in awe of the talent you have for giving words their own breath. The use of space and suspension around your words just adds to the physical and philosophical dimension of your poetry. Where have you drawn your creative inspiration?

In the simplest sense poetry is a form of thinking. Things occur and the decision is whether to write it down. Even unwritten it’s still poetry. The choice pertains to its physical form. It’s a big question, and not easy to elaborate. It’s a bit of a mantra, but essentially it’s a reductive art, so the elaboration is part irony, part head scratch. For better or worse my brain seems to operate in a visual way. So as the images form as words the words also become another set of images. So your allusion to space and suspension is very important to me. Mostly reading is a silent act, but the physicality is internal. One breath invites the next – and reading what you’re writing or what others have written can transform you into a machine for language. I want to be used as fuel for this process. For all the minimal aspects of its language, poetry makes the highest demands on the space within the page. This space allows the thoughts to approach the words, almost as objects – a few words can jell together as a static object holding a magnetic field. You take your bearing then turn the page. So in some ways the smaller poems demand more space. One face instead of the crowd. In Apples I was fortunate that my editor Felicity Plunkett backed this idea of one poem per page. It was questioned by UQP, but I convinced them of the physical punctuation of turning the page. Obviously this is not always possible, and I was very grateful to UQP for the latitude I was given. As to the philosophical dimension, I guess there’s something going on, but it’s difficult to say what. Perhaps it’s a quest for perfect self-contradiction. The consistency rests in being at odds with yourself. Where possible remove the ego and then try and re-trap it by direct confrontation, sleep or even sabotage. With any art what is attempted won’t necessarily be what is achieved. Things can come about via different gradients of failure. I accept failure as part of the process. After all you need to be defeated to complete a work. I know when a work is finished, but sometimes it’s just as much relief as satisfaction. So when you look at the words on a page, it’s like a photograph of the wreckage. Does that mean the editor is a mortician? Octavio Paz said something like “we are an accident that thinks”. I can’t do better than that really. To be there you can’t be here. Thinking is somewhere else.

Currently, on the QPF website, is a conversation with Rachael Briggs, winner of the 2011 Val Vallis Award followed by the 2012 Thomas Shapcott prize, and her feelings of winning back to back prestigious prizes.  How did you feel Nathan having also won both literary prizes back to back in 2005 and 2006, but in the reverse order of Shapcott followed by the Vallis?  How has your success in these poetry competitions influenced your poetry to date?

I was very lucky for a few years there. The ball (or full stop) started rolling in 2004 when I was fortunate to win the Ulrick Prize. (One of the judges was Tom Shapcott in that year). My work had never appeared in journals. I’d probably sent out two things in 20 years. I’d never given a reading. My mother died in 2003, so I guess that jolted me into taking work out of folders and doing something with it. I think that was a subconscious yardstick. The manuscript awarded the Shapcott Prize was Sweeping the Light, which consisted of 72 elegiac poems about my mother.  Of course without the vehicle that is the prize, those poems may still be in a folder. For a poet who had no idea how any of it worked, I ended up with a book in the pipeline, and with Bronwyn Lea as my editor at UQP. I was naïve, but that experience was invaluable. Bronwyn was very generous with time and ideas given my lack of pedigree. She is very astute, and unsurprisingly has a delicate editorial eye. The book was all the better because of her involvement. As a result of that period I got to know Tom Shapcott personally. Without doubt he is one of our finest poets.  You learn a lot in a short period through the contact and presence of someone like Tom. His knowledge not just of poetry, but of music, art and life is vast. You just hope to soak a bit of it up.

The history of the Shapcott and Vallis awards is probably known by many, but is worth repeating. Matt Foley was a minister in the Goss Government. He is steeped in the poetic tradition. He came up with the idea for the two awards. The consequences in what words have seen the light of day has been palpable. The fact that the Shapcott prize is a manuscript prize cannot be underestimated. It gifts the poet a full survey of a body of work with a leading publisher. Is there a better opportunity for unpublished work in Australian Poetry? In all modesty, I’m very pleased to be on the shelf with such a quality group of poets pre and post my own success.

With the Vallis Prize I guess it was a kind of reverse order to what might be expected. Perhaps (as in Rachael’s case) you would think an individual piece might pick up a prize before a manuscript. But naturally I have no cause for complaint. The piece awarded the Vallis prize was very different in content and context to the Shapcott material. That work ended up in my second UQP book so there’s a circular relationship of sorts there. I never met Val Vallis, but he lived to a great age of 92. He went blind in his later years. Again I feel fortunate – because Paul Sherman made a point of reading the winning work to him each year while Val was still alive. My poems in that sequence are perhaps a bit baffling, but for their part they were given due consideration and credit as part of a ritual designed by Paul. Paul very kindly related this process to me in a letter, with a congratulatory notation from Val. I’m very pleased to have this, something that provides connection however small. Poetry is the perfect vehicle for tenuous connections, that’s where the capacity in its imagination resides.

So you can see how anecdotally none of the above could exist without those awards. However the writing was about the writing. With or without the awards those poems would still exist. The awards allow the passage of the internal to the external.

You never cease to be evolutionary with your poetic projects, having produced four collections with a fifth on the way, and enjoy collaborating with spoken word artists and artists of other mediums.  Can you tell the readers about your concertina fold book, clouds in another’s blood, and how the complement of collaborating with other artists has worked for you?

Clouds in another’s blood was written at the invitation of Angela Gardner. In the year I won the Vallis, Angela won the Shapcott; that’s how we met. So there’s another tangible between the two awards. Angela and her partner Kerry Kilner had formed light-trap press. Their idea was (and still is) to produce very high quality poetry publications in very limited numbers, built around the idea of putting the work a particular poet and artist together. She asked would I be interested? After a long deliberation of half a second I said yes. (Angela is also an artist, so has both streams flowing as a matter of course). There is a wonderful tradition between the two art forms. With any project of that sort I prefer to produce new work that at least attempts to cater to what is being proposed. However this is an inexact science, so you just hope that something lands in the right field. I see it as three-way collaboration. No such thing as a two cornered triangle. The artist Julie Barratt and typesetter Janine Nicklin did a wonderful job. It’s beautiful to hold in the hand; and its concertina format allows the 32 poems to roll around like a horizontal spinning wheel when you read it.

David Byrne said something to the effect of “there’s no point in collaborating if you end with what you would’ve done anyway”. I agree with this idea. You either have to stretch or contract your usual self to be at the service of what you’re doing within a shared context. A few years ago I wrote some micro pieces for Arryn Snowball which he absorbed into a series of paintings. Arryn pushed this to the point where the words are almost illegible. But they work. Whether you can read the words or not, they’re still there. It’s an open process. Subvert or illuminate. It goes the way it goes. Whether the result ends up as a diagram or deepest abstraction, the trick is to wear a blindfold and let intent be the driver.

In 2010/11 I produced a series of works for Alun Leach-Jones, six of which we chose for use as the basis for a suite of screen prints entitled The Philosophy of Objects (printed by Marnling Press in Sydney). I was amazed with what he came up with. The text and images are side by side on the same sheet of paper. Yet the images he produced were not illustrative at all. Alun went about it all in a very meticulous way, injecting his own responses into the words. A bit like slicing a psychological onion as fine as possible. The pungent translucence. We were both surprised with what the other came up with. Without Alun’s invitation neither poems nor images would exist. They become each other. Alun is a massive reader of poetry. It’s a primary tenet in his make-up as an artist. It goes beyond the thought. He believes in the inherent capacity for art and poetry to fit together. I agree with him totally.

While I’m more comfortable with the art/poetry collaboration, I’ve also done some work as writer and reader that involves music. Sometimes in a more casual way with people such as Leighton Craig, Sandra Selig, Eugene Carchesio and Ian Powne. Then at other times in a more structured way with Pascalle Burton and David Stavanger in the Outlandish Watch project (from QPF in 2011). I’m not quite as confident in this area, but really enjoy the process. If the opportunity ever arose it would great to work with a composer on a song cycle. In general collaboration is rewarding because it gives you the opportunity to break down the singular self.

You’re about to release a new collection, The Day The Artists Stood Still (vol. 1).   What has been your inspiration for this particular work and what are your plans for more volumes?

Again as good fortune would have it this book will be published courtesy of an invitation from Graham Nunn via his press Another Lost Shark. As a by-product of what I’ve been talking about above; I written a dozen or so sets based on different artists I know. (Some as friends, some as acquaintances). The poems are mostly short, what I call lingual drawings. They were produced between 2008 and 2013. In a way they’re discourse based; with many coming from an overflow of energy after writing the collaborative pieces for Alun.  My conversation is with the ideas within their work, rather than direct interpretation. Given that they’re written for each artist, I hope that something of their work is discernable, but as poems they also need to be able to stand by themselves. For reasons practical and aesthetic we decided to split the pieces over two volumes. The first to be published this year, with volume 2 coming out in 2014. There’s a wide range of artists, different ages, early to late career. The personal connections, or at least respect for the work of each artist evolves into a silent curatorship of words. Which is interesting for me, because I can’t imagine these artists would ever end up in the same exhibition with the way the contemporary art world operates under certain aesthetic, economic and intellectual camps. I was not trying to address that idea in writing these poems, but it’s an intriguing aside. They’re part dialogue, part homage, and maybe part collaboration – although ironically without consent from the other party. If readers have made it this far into the interview, they’ll no doubt realize I’m an art obsessive. There is no surprise really as my father Gordon is a highly regarded painter. He has been a very powerful influence on the shape of my creative thought. It’s a pleasure to know artists of a certain generation like Gordon, Alun Leach-Jones, Madonna Staunton and of course on the word front Tom Shapcott. Art itself may come from or be about the moment, but for the artist it’s a long haul process. These artists keep milking their minds and skills in order to continue living in their work. As people and as artists they’re wonderful examples. No matter what the fashion – a blank piece of paper will always be a blank piece of paper. Whether the line is written or drawn doesn’t matter.

Nathan, I’m really looking forward to your performance at this year’s Queensland Poetry Festival.  Can you give the readers a teaser of what we’re likely to expect from you?

QPF is always an event. I feel part of it. I’ve had some great experiences there – with reading my own work, launching my first book, and being able to listen to and discover the work of others. It does alternate between exhilaration and exhaustion, (which I know you understand better than I as a former director of QPF). It’s an important point on the calendar for our somewhat marginalized art form.  My focus will be on the launch of the day the artists stood still. Generally the poems are sparse. The language is concise, with elements bordering on the aphoristic. Hopefully the words and images float off the page. In reading poetry to an audience, it’s about trying to wake the moment. It would be good if a few people are standing around the bed when that happens. Even in our own language we’re in a constant state of translation. Here’s one poem from the sequence absent landscapes written for Peter Hudson. It taps in to what the book is about.

V.

if birds

ever learn to paint

painter’s hands

will be found in cupboards

Interview with Lee-Anne Davie first published on www.queenslandpoetryfestival.com

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Book Launch: The Day The Artists Stood Still

Another Lost Shark is excited to announce the launch of its latest release, the much anticipated first volume of The Day The Artists Stood Still by multi-award winning poet, Nathan Shepherdson.

TDTASS circle sml

Here’s a preview of what Felicity Plunkett (poetry editor, UQP) had to say about the book:

Here in Nathan Shepherdson’s dazzling gallery of the impossible, a single thought can rip the nails from the floorboards. The poet curates an assemblage of the exquisite and uncanny, imagining the harvested wings of angels alongside ribs sucked and discarded, and splashes from a poetics of painting.

The launch will be held as part of the QLD Poetry Festival session, Dancing in Abstract, alongside Felicity Plunkett and Jon Paul Fiorentino.

Date: Saturday August 24
Time: 4:00pm – 5:00pm
Venue: Shopfront, Judith Wright Centre of Contemporary Arts

Copies will be available at the QPF Bookstore on the day and at anotherlostshark.bigcartel.com following the launch. We would of course, love to see you all there! This book will make your shelves much richer…

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Presence

It’s been all systems go here at Lost Shark HQ this last month or so… three books about to launch, the residency at Varuna and now this gem… a chapbook titled Presence that I had the immense pleasure of curating for Cordite.

presence_keong

Presence features artwork by Cindy Keong and new poems from Nathan Shepherdson, Pascalle Burton, Aidan Coleman, Louise Oxley, Ross Donlon, Tim Sinclair, Jean Kent, Jon Paul Fiorentino, Sachiko Murakami and Jacqueline Turner. Each of the artists responded to the idea of Presence in their own way, making this a unique reading experience.

Here’s a link to the chapbook… and please, spread the word as this deserves to be read widely!

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The Day The Artists Stood Still

I am on launch countdown at the moment… as many of you will know, in just 13 days, I will be launching Cindy Keong’s stunning debut, Same Sky and then on the last weekend in August at QPF 2013: spoken in one strange word, I will be launching Nathan Shepherdson’s latest collection, The Day The Artists Stood Still. It is exciting times!

I am incredibly proud of both of these books, so for now, let me leave you with an excerpt from Nathan’s poem, racking up dialogues on blue felt from The Day The Artists Stood Still.

TDTASS circle sml

7 – burgundy – solid

the body as always
is an unsigned contract
time-paid in percentages and reason
it presents as a mirror
fed on its own rivalled hunger
as it slowly learns
to pronounce life
through its burgundy lips
heavy with charcoal dust
and the insecure shadows
thrown out with unlicensed light
from a cannibal moon

art is a permission
reconstructing an entire anatomy
from one thought

*

13 – orange – stripe

frequently asked
to perform surgery on a metaphor
he often finds himself
putting stitches in an apple

and the orange thread
he so diligently uses
was sterilised in the sun
and has the breaking strain
of unique internal argument

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Predicting the future of publishing…

Publishing is an ever-changing landscape. Now with the merger of publishing giants, Random House and Penguin, the ground has shifted again. It is believed that the combined might of Penguin and Random house will publish up to 30% of all books sold in markets such as the UK. That is a significant slice of the pie!

It’s not something that I overly worry about, as what I do with Another Lost Shark Publications is so very different to the work the majors do. It is however, important to keep in touch with what’s happening. That’s why I have been trawling the web for the year’s publishing predictions. Here’s two of interest:

Coliloquy’s 9 Publishing Predictions & Mark Coker’s 21 Book Publishing Predictions.

That’s 30 ideas worth letting rattle around inside your head!

And in Another Lost Shark Publishing news, I am currently in discussion with one of the most awarded and exciting voices in QLD, Nathan Shepherdson. Look forward to a more detailed announcement soon!

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clouds in another’s blood – the official launch

Nathan Shepherdson is one of the most innovative poets currently writing in this country and this Saturday (September 8), he (officially) launches his latest collection, clouds in another’s blood at Heiser Gallery, 90 Arthur Street, Fortitude Valley from 2pm.

The book is the second of the light-trap press ‘poetry- in-print series’ of signed limited edition, collectable books of original artwork combined with new poetry.

There are only 40 of these handsome volumes in print and after Nathan’s reading at SpeedPoets earlier in the year, there are now only 20 available. So if you want to ensure that you get to take a copy home, you can pre-order now by contacting Kerry from light-trap press at lighttrappress@gmail.com.

Here’s a glimpse of what you would be investing in:

and the ground
that is responsible
for this distance
is unable to remember trees
is held
under the clean pressure of snow

**********

What better way to wrap National Poetry Week… See you there!

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clouds in another’s blood

SpeedPoets this Saturday (May 5) is shaping up to be one hell of a gig, with a feature set from one of its founding members, Rowan Donovan and a premiere reading by Nathan Shepherdson of his latest work, clouds in another’s blood.

clouds in another’s blood is published in a limited edition of 50 hand bound, concertina fold, artist books by local publisher, light-trap press and is a collaboration between Nathan and print maker, Julie Barratt. Nathan’s work has won many, many awards and I for one am incredibly excited about getting my hands on a copy of this new collection. Here’s a few words and images from the book to give you all a first taste…

and the ground

that is responsible

for this distance

is unable to remember trees

is held

under the clean pressure of snow

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QLD Writers Week Feature #7: Nathan Shepherdson

It’s the final day of QLD Writers Week 2011 and what a great week it has been. We have explored the big sky country of Western QLD, felt the pull of the Brisbane River, looked into the dark corners of Fortitude Valley and tasted the salt of the Pacific as it hits the headland at Byfield National Park. And finally, we walk through the landscape of Nathan Shepherdson’s mind and into the majestic Glasshouse Mountains.

Words instead of geography

Am I the wrong poet on the right bus? I don’t consider myself a poet of place. Even as a general question it’s a difficult one to answer? An Italian friend/poet/translator Massimiliano Mandorlo recently asked me to send him books by Queensland poets. In the end I took the easy way out and sent books published in Queensland by poets living in Queensland at the time of publication. Some of the poets still lived here, some didn’t. Others lived here, but were not born here, and still had very strong connections elsewhere. Only a couple were born here and still lived here.

In Italy dialect is solidly built into the language, so regional traits can be very distinctive. Matt Hetherington tells me he can pick a Queensland poem because it often mentions mangroves. I’d never thought about this myself, but did find one example in my own work:

this mangrove seed
is a four page book
full of waxy definitions
of its own green

This verse comes from my Marian Drew piece. It’s not emblematic usage more botanical metaphor. (I’d been looking at a seed while watching my son swim at Mooloolaba). Tom Shapcott still associates and is widely associated with Queensland. His most recent book is called Marcoola. His head is an archive of facts and experiences relating to Queensland. He hasn’t lived here for over 30 years, but is one of this state’s best poets.

So the question of place in my work does not have a simple answer. I am a poet living in Queensland, not a Queensland poet. (This question of course was asked by Graham Nunn who to my mind is a Queensland poet living in Queensland). I’m just as likely to be wandering around in a language or a landscape. I live at the Glasshouse Mountains. A remarkable place. Remarkable because of what they are and what they represent. If there is a place for them in my work, it’s to remind me of my insignificance. I accept that I am dust with a pulse and a temporary passport. It’s easier to witness something if you’re not there. We invent perception to invent ourselves.

Taking stock as at 9.08pm on 6th October 2011, the sum total of lines in my work describing the mountains is four. The lines are from i had a dream i was talking to Lawrie Daws on the phone:

volcanic cathedrals
encircled by the fossils of worshippers yet to be found
gargantuan punctuation
marked out in a sentence that reads the curve of the earth

This signals a type of failing in my creative process. The lines do not name the mountains. They have wonderful names – Beerwah, Ngungun, Coonowrin, Tibrogargan among others. Considering them as words instead of geography, they come from a different language, and my culture was an invading one from a different hemisphere. Now eight years after writing the poem I see a small syllabic crossover between Tibrogargan and gargantuan. The second starts where the first ends. This simple statement could apply to cultures, languages, time, individuals, or breathing. Maybe that’s where I am. Breathing too is a constant and enjoyable presence in my life, but I don’t necessarily need to describe it on a regular basis. The landscape I live in describes itself very well without my intervention. I’m pleased to be part of what I don’t belong to.

The four lines come from a long poem focussing on the painter Lawrence Daws. Perhaps in a splintered way I was supplanting my descriptive inabilities into his success? Daws has incorporated the Glasshouse Mountains into his work with profound skill and intelligence for over 30 years. However Daws acknowledges that where you are is also a metaphysical point of departure. Talking about his 1978 work View of the Himalayas from the Glasshouse Mountains, he says “This is my spot, from here I can look out and see the whole world, you know. That’s why I did (this) painting. This is a place where I can feel free to move in any direction, and react in any particular way. ….I like to be able to ramble mentally”.

In one way my poem was an attempt to understand the process of painting, but I couldn’t avoid what Daws painted. It’s not uncommon to record what something looks like, but it is uncommon to capture what it is. To work out what something is (in this case a landscape) you have to dismiss yourself in the presence of something that is virtually eternal. Daws understands the temporal nature of creativity and the thoughts required for its production. He had to become the chair he was sitting on in order to get the best view.

Lawrence Daws and Geoffrey Dutton were very close friends. Geoffrey Dutton also lived at the Glasshouse Mountains in his later years, near the base of Coonowrin. Here are the opening lines of a poem he wrote about that mountain:

Magma that froze
In the volcano’s throat . . .
Even geology
Turns into poetry.

Dutton moved here in October 1991. My wife and I also moved here in 1991. Unfortunately I never met Dutton. In his autobiography Dutton states simply “Working here is working in paradise”. Dutton obviously had a more straightforward relationship to this landscape than I do, as his beautiful sequence Moving to the Glasshouse Mountains attests. Perhaps either with brush or word you need to remove yourself from the landscape before there is any hope you will find (or attempt to find) yourself in it?

Twenty years later I’m still here. In geological time this is only a moment. In that moment I am still accompanied by my wife and now also accompanied by two children, four books and a dog. Inside my work-day train I am delivered to Brisbane by stainless steel envelope. I see a back-view of Tibrogargan from my house, and from the train look directly into its mythological face. The sky has it under surveillance. It’s a dark-stone mirror on which I reflect but in which I cannot be reflected.

Perhaps there is a fragment of Kierkegaard in my view when he says “Just like plunging a finger into the soil to recognise what land we’re in, I poke my finger into life: it has the odour of nothing.” I don’t see this as a negative. The magnitude of the cycle we’re a part of allows us no opportunity to compete with it.

So is the place where you are right now depicting your presence or your absence? Which would you prefer? Somewhere else could also be here if it consents to your invitation. The landscape flies over its own memories. You just happen to be in some of them. 

********************

Postscript

In the best tradition of self-contradiction I felt dissatisfied with the fact I had only written four lines about the Glasshouse Mountains in twenty years. The mountains are an important part of my daily life. I do walk around them as an adjunct to either creating or resolving certain (or uncertain) thoughts. So I used Graham’s question as challenge to respond. Taking stock (again) as at 11.01 am on 8th October my Glasshouse image repository has increased in size but is still small. The following work was written yesterday. . .

 
what odour in light (glasshouse triptych)

I

what odour in light
before it was stone

a handful of mountains
purchased before memory
when clouds carried new water
or reconciled invented gas
into chemistries of licked chance
folding all as if soil
was a fresh conglomerate
of egg whites and lava
in a sunset beneath the earth
where red would not be abandoned
within an endless speech
of unmeasured violence
a temperature is set in space
with enough breath
to rehydrate an ocean
and recognise the brittle grey
where energy sufficiently departed
allows the footprint of an insect

on its death
a mountain
extends it death

and to this point
is complete time
found in a leaf

II

in what magnitude
is landscape a skin
grafted to an eye

words made over
in the wrong language
before which
i present myself
in order to be expelled

this is the place
we lift up rocks
looking for tongues
in the hope
of never finding them

i followed their names
back to the mountains
but knew without question
they would not speak to me
if i spoke to them

a mountain
has the luxury
of hiding
in its own form

and this lungless family
knitting tears into creeks
have suffered our thoughts
into farmland

III

tear holes in space
until bones
fall out of the seasons

mountains sing
in a voice
only fossils will hear

trees will burn anyway

when an ant
finds food
it finds itself

on rhyolite & trachyte
shadows divorce the sun
until they’re in love

we murder absence
with our presence

we crawl into a cave
and find silence
dining on flies

thoughts are mortar

the lifespan of an apostrophe
depends on its ability
to abbreviate more than words

landscapes occur
in the memory
of a climate
without memory
is evidence just
conceived in the fact
that it is here
following itself in to
chasing itself out of
regenerating graves

this language
is an introduced species

the mountains move
when we’re asleep
whisper their faces
onto elastic maps
that will never exist

nathan shepherdsonoctober 2011

********************

Nathan Shepherdson has won the Josephine Ulrick Poetry Prize twice (2004, 2006), the 2005 Arts Queensland Thomas Shapcott Award, 2006 Newcastle Poetry Prize and 2006 Arts Queensland Val Vallis Award. His first book Sweeping the Light Back into the Mirror (UQP 2006) won the Mary Gilmore Award in 2008. In 2008 he released ‘what marian drew never told me about light’ (Small Change Press) and his most recent collection, Apples with Human Skin was published in 2009 by University of Queensland Press.

 

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SpeedPoets gets Primitive

Sundays are for celebrating and today I am shining my shoes in anticipation, as at 2pm Brisbane legends, primitive motion will be dropping their casiotone grooves on the SpeedPoets audience. Described as playing, ‘disposable snippets of flayed cosmology’, primitive motion, rumble and shake in the coolest possible way and to take things into the realm of ‘the ridiculously good’, Nathan Shepherdson will be joining Leighton Craig & Sandra Selig on stage, for a one-off collaborative live jam.

If you are not familiar with Nathan’s work, here’s a snippet of his brilliance:

↓     the venom prays to its simplicity as it kills you
    sets clouds loose under your softening fingernails
    producing the type of smile drawn on a tree with a knife
    you have more than one enemy
    and i am more than one of them

read the full poem - words coat the object – in issue #7 of foam:e

And here’s a little primitive motion to get your Sunday moving:

And if that’s not enough, winner of this year’s Val Vallis Award for an Unpublished Poem, Rachael Briggs, will also be hitting the mic for her first Brisbane feature set.

So come on down, bring a poem for the Open Mic… get primitive!

SpeedPoets – 2pm to 5pm – Brew (Lower Burnett Lane, Brisbane City) – Entry is gold coin donation

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