okay, the final launch of fourW twenty will occur this saturday, 2.30pm, at Gleebooks. to be lanched by peter minter, with talk & idle banter by the likes of editor david gilbey, & myself.
but, of much more interest (that is if you are interested in all things ‘different’) my band will play our debut gig next weekend. friday 4th december, 8pm, bass bar, wagga. the band is a two-piece featuring my lovely wife on drums, & me on guitar.
& it’s over. Alas there was no fanfare, no elaborate celebratory drinks nor victory speeches at the fourW launch in Melbourne, because, to tell you the truth, the awesomeness of the original idea had faded somewhat by then.
Nevertheless there must be some vain boasting. Just a few words. Nathan Curnow vs Derek Motion. I won. Take that. I seriously am the victor. It’s like, pretty good to be the best.
Now there was going to be a detailed count here, wherein we would tally up all the votes & eliminate the multiples, also the bloggers’ own comments, but thanks to one of Nathan’s supporters – the mysterious ‘bean’ – I don’t think such a thing is necessary. Let’s just leave the count as is, & say it was a close thing. I narrowly escaped from this battle with a win: 86 comments to 81.
What needs to be said here? Well, firstly, this battle was always meant to be fun. I have to stress that Nathan & I are good friends in real life; we are not poetic enemies, with each one of us trying to sabotage the other’s literary career in any way possible (to the person who seemed to think the part about Nathan not giving any money to charities is true – I had hoped I’d injected enough overblown exaggeration into the post to make it clear my main technique throughout was irony. I will now stress this though: I have never seen Nathan light a cigarette with a pre-polymer $50 note. I have never seen him answer the door to someone from Oxfam. Although these things may have happened (you must decide for yourself whether you think they are probable) I have never witnessed them. I do not know).
& also, there is no such thing as the $20 Nathan keeps insisting I owe him. The true story is as follows. Nathan was a guest of the Booranga Writers’ Center, this much is fact, & while here we covered his expenses. During the residency Nathan performed two poems at an Albury festival dinner (he was supplied with dinner & wine). Afterwards many in the crowd wanted to talk to him about how good his performance was. Nathan complied. So much so that he didn’t want to leave. I retired to the hotel, possibly around midnight, while I suspect Nathan stayed on & talked about what it’s really like to stay in a haunted house until even the cleaners had left. This must be the point at which he purchased a Chicko Roll & beer. Even if we were American I doubt any small-claims court in the land would order me to repay Curnow this $20.
I digress. The battle was Nathan’s idea, but I was not caught off-guard. We talked about it beforehand & I thought yes, why the hell not? Like cutting a poem into a canola field in 100m high font, then sending 1000 sheep through the letters, then flying a hot air balloon full of literary critics over the poem to interpret its meaning, it’s It’s not something I’ve done before. & you know, I thought people might talk about the thing, start reading our blogs…
To reflect: very soon I started feeling uneasy about the battle. The comments did come thick & fast, but many people were taking the thing seriously. A theme I noticed was ‘why?’ Why can’t there be two poets out there writing blogs, & more to the point, shouldn’t there really be more poetry blogs? What damage is this battle actually doing to online literary culture? I wasn’t sure how to answer this. I still am not.
Tiggy wondered whether the competition was a ploy for Curnow to close down his blog, a method that would help create ‘publicity’ for the act, something we all know as his trademark. This did lead me to think the same thing - Bel mentioned Nathan had been talking about shutting the blog down a long time ago. But, after thinking about this, I have to say I think Curnow’s purpose wasn’t to simply commit blog-suicide, but to simply reinvigorate his online activity. It was a test. Are there really people out there reading you? Do people want you to keep blogging? It’s something it can be hard to know at times.
On both sides we had real supporters. Many chose to make their votes null & void by voting on both posts. Even if some read ambivalently, people are reading our blogs & are interested. But then many also seriously considered the issue & voted according to whose blog they thought should continue. I did want to engage with all the comments here – there are some really interesting points made on both blogs – but it has proved too big a task. Eventually though, the real issue arose. How far was I willing to go to win this competition?
Both of us took the first step of advertising the battle on Facebook. We threw up links to our individual posts, & did it a few times over the first few days. This of course brought in a number of commenters. But I knew there were more people out there. I also knew that Nathan’s Blogger blog required commenters to have a google account, whereas my WordPress set up does not. Surely people will leave a comment if I just ask them?
So I made the devious move of going through my email contacts, & sending a group message to all writer types. I know this is something other writers do – send messages about opportunities, launches etc to all writers in their email list. But this is the first occasion I’ve ever been moved to do so. From what I can gather from Nathan, he thinks it a devious step. I’m not so sure. I do know though that as I work at a writers’ centre, I have quite a large contact list of writers. I thought I could win this based on my networking reach.
This didn’t guarantee me victory though (did Nathan send a group email too perhaps, despite his aversion to the idea… hmm…), the contest was still very close. My finally ploy was sending group messages to facebook friends, 20 at a time. It took me about half an hour one morning. I realised that many facebook people miss the links you put up; some are not regular users. But a personal message will grab more attention. This was my final gamble & it got me over the line. As you can see, as the comments list goes on, you will find an increasing number of people who are not regular bloggers commenting, people who have probably never read my blog before. These people are all real, are all real supporters, but the morality of it all is cloudy – my cousins and primary school friends were not going to read & evaluate both blogs for literary merit.
But then what wasn’t cloudy about the whole thing? Where should we have drawn the line? Inventing quotes by the likes of Tara Moss & Marieke Hardy (I do at least know Tara was not offended). Was Curnow’s ‘I love Tassie – please vote for me’ too much’? I say no. This event was all about self-discovery. I think we’ve both learnt there is a limit to how far you should go to promote yourself (I did not go down the path of wearing a t-shirt with my blog address printed on it… though I have heard of one particular blogger doing that in the past…). We also were forced to think a little more about what we do as bloggers, & how much we value our blogging space & readership. I leant that I had no intention of giving up my blog. This was weird, because I then didn’t know what to do if in fact I did lose. The only answer was to propel myself to victory by any means. But I also think Nathan learnt he does have a large audience interested in his work (including me) & many of these people do find out about his activities online, or want to.
So, the conclusion. Nathan is killing off his blog. This had to be the outcome. I wouldn’t have had it any other way. Many of you may have already been thinking though, will the loser simply start a new blog, import all their posts, that kind of lame cop-out. The answer is no. There will however be a compromise. This is something that the winner has to allow the loser (or indeed something the winner can’t stop the loser doing). I discovered that Nathan has many readers, many supporters, & that indeed I enjoy reading his blog. His posts don’t come up that often, but I always read them through if it shows up in my feed. Dammit, I do want to know what journal is publishing his latest poem, or which fabulous spoken word evening in Melbourne he is featuring in. So the compromise is that Nathan now has a new web-presence, something that is not a blog, but is more suited to his activity.
Nathan Curnow’s myspace page will contain audio, video, & writing. I anticipate is will not lapse into the static ‘author page’ I am no fond of.
http://myspace.com/nathancurnow
By the way, I’ve had a myspace page for years.
http://myspace.com/derekmotion
It is extraordinarily static though. Maybe Curnow’s foray into Myspace will see me update my page, do something new. It is unlikely though. Typing space suits me. I type. Into the virtual space.
What can you expect to see on typing space, now that I have won this contest? Definitely not more of the same. Expect lucky reader prizes, limericks of the month, a snazzy flower theme, oodles of interactivity, forays into multimedia vodcasting, surprise guests, & more (or less, including perhaps none of these things. Who knows.) Just wait & see. Watch this space.
these things i shall be at very soon…
tonight: NSW poetry slam state final. who knows how this one will go. slammin has not been my thing until recently. i expect to have a good time, as long as i don’t start feeling any ’seriousness’
tuesday 17th:
Gleebooks, 49 Glebe Point Rd, Glebe
$10/$7 conc.
also on tuesday 17th, but in melbourne, is the launch of the always awesome Going Down Swinging (issue 29). i have a story & poem included, & just wish i wasn’t in sydney while it’s happening:
place me pondering a nose scratch
in the still dark hall inciting many futures
of regression (so having to sift the plastery
dust & dope-skitz of cobain alone, re-vaunt
his pratter) say for the lack of a large hat
lead on to the lit walls past midnight force
the vain reconnaissance of avenues near a
refitted butchers – girls secure abreast stunted
cherry limb – & question the emphasis on his change
do not trust in it insist on the classic
drunk of the primary boy, still high on
an authority of wit, not a reduced species
& yet the oft-gazed windows reflect street-
light over moon & defy your romance derivation
chunks of mountain piled from those smaller faddish
moments are sexual cliché – milestones on the record
as dumb gesture, a word or two in years
(a backseat to queensland & we ignite wildfire doubt)
again backward in every collection of collectibles & my
growing freedom a bic-casing blow-dart – all the power
of a spirit level – the choice okay my choice plotted as
a critical ‘outlier’ exposing for the others all
the reasons you eye people then look down,
always then, odd how approaches rage
still in wingding proportions, friends
stuck in period dress or perpetually thin
like models appliquéd to some important
magazine paper tooth weft knowingly touched to
i’d snorkel but for more cash though
feel uneasier because of the sad story,
my supporters are emceed to a hush,
impaled for quadrangle loyalty, divorced &
unknown, like in a dragon trilogy cordoning off excursion
interlocutors dressed in 90s hues we are awful
disconnected huddling in an omniscient narrator’s
white – all protocols hazy interference & striving
for goldfield souvenirs, reawakening,
you attend your assembled meditation
on craft, routine, & plan reunions, but
that scratch of reel-to-reel flicker
still & always a causal
netball skirt whistle
Lisa Robertson at the Harriet blog: ‘This word community is a common currency right now in poetry blogs and certain bars. Community’s presence or absence, failure, responsibility, supportiveness, etc—everyone is hovering around this word.
…It makes me realize that I have never seriously considered the referential potential of a pocket.’
He worked as a public servant & one day realised he loved her disinterestedly, as only a teenager can (one that has never read Austen yet harbours an irrational dislike of her works). He simply wanted to hold sweaty hands with her walking to a bus. Or soak up a minute left alone in her room pondering the undergarments that had been carelessly flung near a cupboard, instead of secreted away from the eyes of a boy. He was 35 but what the hell. He didn’t really want to discuss literature with her & surreptitiously find out what her coffee preference was.
.
.
then a hurricane ida path over football & a playschool video &
so suddenly all queues are wagging ‘authority influence’, coughing
behind hands, like it’s new mexico, searching out that soccer girl
or recognising the librarian we’re kicked out of kmart for shoplifting
(gretchen rossi’s americana infiltrates the canon), &
gemini to your virgo i’ll list restaurants where eating is optional,
don’t stop me this faux-sunny unemployment benefits orphan sunday,
this remastered marathon of precious movies, pepsi placements
& ‘bleach’ in a friend’s carpet-shed – creamsicle? -
(opinionless in the age of health care bill summaries (surreal amidst
a taylor swift monologue (the song saturday night) taylor swift is so 2009
the. quest. for. sphericality. elusive. i’m your department of labouring
.
.
The realisation made him happy because it allowed him to get on with his life in the public sector. He filed reports – high-level meeting minutes melded into the abridged polished things he was semi-proud of – & used the downtime not to dream up romantic idylls featuring himself & her, but instead to compose vain expositions on the tiniest of incidents he could summon. ‘Tripping over?’ someone said to him, someone unimportant, ‘That’s always embarrassing. But it’s not the worst. I tripped over this morning while waving to a colleague (not a friend) stopped at the lights in his car. I dropped a bunch of papers in the process, & had to scamper about retrieving them. Some went on the road; some into various patches of dirt, puddle etc. The colleague looked at me with a very odd look on his face, something I couldn’t quite define, sort of halway between disgust & amusement.’
Nevertheless, there was a purity in that moment. You’ve never ever felt as conscious of your self being alive in a world as during those seconds. She worked in a cubicle on the other side of the office.
she’s throwing a javelin that splits bumper cars of cloud
to flatline: broken arrowhead at the delta of a faded
scoreboard, beat by one apparent arc of sprinkler.
let’s create mind’s-eye footage of this, you & i,
so as to dent all future stillness. the pap of starter’s
guns & bare earth circling peppercorns fractally &
a concertina of parked cars & the ‘what’s
going on’ yelled by someone on the breeze.
i’ve seen a magic in the way others describe doors
today, forgotten about it, & zinced interest
all over this ritual. this now, sure & central
as your belly button; experience a
pliable sausage sandwich. solitude
came a long way to find us.
*Warning: if you are attempting to vote for me in the uber-important blog battle, go here & comment. Do not let typing space die! This header shall appear atop every post until the contest culmination. & every post until then will, in some way, detail my journey through this ‘blog-battle’. Will I grow as a person? Will I become less than before? What am I dwelling on right now? We shall see…
barbers-&-(co)
day one a year six of frenzies, the battle
passes me by my whole family a daze,
a bo derek mist splayed over c-block,
transcending stomach contortions.
she’s got a kill look. perverse dominatrix of the
bad-boys battened down headspace, maybe, but still.
we’re scrubbing desks & avoiding eyes.
spend time only with your own considered physicality,
surprisingly, come up with delusional tactics & steal
coils of magnesium. i might spurn my own sickness.
flip you for it. many of many are discarded;
some, later employed.
comprehension sheet.
token of affection.
Nobody will ever really know why explorers like Burke & Wills sought to break new ground. The point is not to know these reasons however, nor to research the actual stories of said explorers properly. The point is these guys were groundbreaking and their names are now famous. We all seek to parallel explorer’s feats in whatever field we operate in. You me & we. We want to find the new ground & then live there. We want to pioneer.
This is why I am pleased to announce here what is without doubt an Australian & worldwide first: a poetry blogging battle to the death.
These are the rules, proposed by the poet, playwright, flaneur, & sometimes-blogger, Nathan Curnow (& then carefully checked ny myself, of course):
The tally is of comments posted on our “Blog Battle” posts which remain up and open for three weeks (culminating in the Melb Four W launch). Thereby the competition shall be declared over and the winner annouced.
The poet who receives the most comments on their blog will bask in validation, knowing that it truly confirms their poetic worth, the relevance of their practice and their place in Australia’s literary canon (the variety of commenters will also be taken into account too (so you big fans out there can’t simply comment 100 times, Australian Idol like, to ensure your favourite wins)).
In turn, the loser must abandon their blog FOREVER.
So, what can I say to make you support my blog & not Curnow’s? Well attacking others is always a good way to make yourself look better. I happen to know Curnow personally, so I think I have to now take this opportunity to reveal a few facts about him. Firstly, Nathan often claims to be related to New Zealand poets Allen Curnow & Wystan Curnow. Why does he do it? He thinks this will somehow open doors for him. He once said to me – in a private conversation he asked me never to repeat – ‘If just a handfull of people mistake my name for that of a famous Kiwi poet, & then buy my book about ghosts, the deceit will have been worth it’. Is this the type of artist you want out there blogging with impunity?
& furthermore, Nathan uses his literary ’skills’ to get away with even more reprehensible acts. I have in my posession notorised documents proving Nathan does not give money to any recognised charities. None at all. I was at his house once & someone from OxFam came knocking. Nathan answered the door, & rattled off what could ony have been a pre-rehearsed story about all the charities he does support, & about how there had been a terrible car accident that had recently left his wife with two broken legs & many medical bills. The farce ended with Nathan giving the doorknocker the names & addresses of four unsuspecting friends, people he claimed were ’sure to have lots of spare cash’. After closing the door Curnow lit a cigarette with a pre-polymer $50 (he has a desk drawer full of these & keeps them for such occassions) & laughed in an evil way. I just couldn’t laugh with him.
& finally, we shouldn’t let a vitriolic character assasination end without referring to the ‘poetry’. Is Curnow’s work popular, accessible? Nathan was at Booranga for a residency last year. During that time he wrote one new poem. (I believe it to be only one. Two weeks worth.) We had a workshop during this time, the type of thing where you bring along a new piece, read it, gain feedback etc. Nathan read his Booranga poem in due course. A young girl – possibly 16 or 17 – said after hearing the poem that she ‘didn’t understand any of it’. Her words struck a chord, because where at first I was thinking I was missing something in the poem, & that I should be looking for a deeper meaning, I now saw the the truth. There was no deep meaning in the poem. It was completely incomprehensible.
& it’s not just the everyday folks that have problems with his work. Simon Patton reviewed Black Inc’s ‘Best Australian Poems 2008′ recently, & he spoke not too kindly of Curnow’s piece. I did think ‘Those Adamant Shapes’ was a fine poem indeed, & I also know Jaya Savige thinks so too, but after reading Patton’s comments I changed my position. I may be paraphrasing very liberally & maliciously, but I believe in this review he categorises Curnow’s style, his way with words, as a ‘veil of sameness’. So. Boring & incomprehensible. A winning combo?
But then what should the poet-blogger really be blogging about? I know for sure it is not the blatant mundane ephemera that Curnow holds up as a shining example of his talents, Thar. It’s just ludicrous. When I think of the best blog postings in the universe, my mind naturally drifts to such posts as blogging / ethers / anti-coterie / installment 1, or cool as a criteria, or the poetic masterpiece i’ll wait in the car. Just compare these things with Thar. Nuff said.
So, all you need to know is your comments matter. Just comment. You don’t have to say anything at all profound. Just let me know you’re out there. (By the way Nathan I think we should disallow the counting of anonymous comments. Fair?) Despite all I’ve written, this will possibly not be too easy. Curnow tends to succeed at things. He has published a book, won some grants, had a few plays produced… Whatever low things he has to do to get the comments, you can be sure he will do them. Only you can stop him. Comment!
Since Curnow posted a little bit before me there has been some time for the online community to have their say. Let’s finish up by looking at a bit of the breaking commentary:
Marieke Hardy (literary semi-celebrity & noted semi-pioneer of the m-book): ‘I am following this contest. Derek Motion follows me on Twitter, & now that I know about the battle, I will most probably also follow him.’
Tara Moss (author & snake afficianado): ‘The facebook dance-train is crap. I am not interested in such things. I hope Derek Motion dances on the ashes of Curnow’s blog.’
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Kyle Sandilands (living epitome of ‘gaffe’): ‘Nathan Curnow has tuckshop lady arms.’
Kevin Rudd (PM): ‘I’d turn gay for Derek motion.’
(Ps. Comment!)
got my copies today. my poem seems to read better by simply being in a book. it did look weird in its original incaration, crammed into a little box in the arts page of The Age.
the poems are in alphabetical order, mine appearing just before les murrays.
i haven’t read the book yet, but if moved to do so i will post later indicating what i think of it.
published by black inc.
