Archive for November, 2007

wrote it standing up

i am trying to be more rigorous in my pursuits. &
it’s not really a ‘right now’ sensibility. the summary
ideas are all over the place & need collating. i keep
finding toy-guns all over the house, but, i feel relatively
sure that i don’t write ‘workshop poetry’.

i am browsing through:

Australian Classics: 50 great writers and their celebrated works by Jane Gleeson-White

Creative Writing and the New Humanities by Paul Dawson

The Incoming Tide by Petra White

what will come of it all?



so after a few days at the aawp conference i’m going to link to a few of the papers, those i heard in person that got me in (some papers are not online however…)

Dominique Hecq: ‘Writing: A question of doubling the absent’. Dense & compelling ideas based in Lacanian theory. I quote Paul Magee ‘It only feels totalizing because it’s correct’.

Keri Glastonbury: ‘Writing the self: sense and sensibility’. Keri went to the same high-school as me, & now considers blogs & zines as material for uni students’ reading lists.

Patrick West: ‘Is Near To . . . and is . . . Distant From: Exegetical Manoeuvres in Janet Frame’s The Carpathians’. I haven’t read Janet Frame, but anyway, there’s something in this paper.

oh yeah, john howard is gone too. good. i associate him with this: staying at home with our money, secure in homogeneity, rather than getting out & doing what’s right.

i once suggested in an undergrad class that an apology to dispossessed aboriginal people could be a powerful thing, a representative statement that doesn’t admit ‘we’ did the bad things, but, well, also admits ‘we’ did. most in the class did not feel this way. it was one of the first times i’d heard the apathetic ‘why should we?’ response. it correlates with the newer ‘why change?’ view. rationalisations can make laziness very easy, & they, in turn, very easily become deceptions.

i support kevin’s new government & hope i don’t see reason to become critical, at least not too soon.


skeletor profundis

tell me about
the loneliness of
good He-Man…
is it like the loneliness
of evil…huh..?


enamel earth station: poems 2007

i’m doing it again. strictly 30 signed copies @ $5 each. of course if you want to swap chaps, that would be cool.

it is what is says – poems written this year. thanks to emma & nathan for the title ideas.


at home

she won’t sleep much so i lie her on my bed, & i lie next to her with the laptop. then she rolls around, tries to grab my nose, kicks at the computer. then she sleeps. so i’m just here, in the darkened room, preventing her from rolling to the floor. there’s a million other things to do.

i know, i’ll post something else, soon.



great launch yesterday. andrew denton was downstairs, but it seems he didn’t come along to buy fourW 18. anyway, Susan Lever did a fine job introducing the book, & there were readings from the following writers:

Jill Jones (who was awarded the Booranga Prize for best poem), Joanne Burns, Graham Wood, Les Wicks, John Egan, Andrew Purches, Kate Waterhouse, Lesley Walter, Michael Crane, & David Hope.

contributors who couldn’t be there will get their copies as soon as is possible; overseas contributors may have to wait a little bit longer. if you want to buy the book (& who wouldn’t…) you can go here. we are upgrading the ordering system but at the moment you will have to physically send a cheque. this is silly, i know, but… there are hurdles…

fourW is away. hooray, no more public speaking, at least for a little while.



yes, ‘…he found himself transformed in his bed

into a giant insect…’ because most changes are

sudden, despite a slowness often hidden. our concerns

are still to get up, get dressed, get to work. loud crashes

cause anxiety (if not terror) behind the doors. deviance

from routine is an activity of terror. i find gregor to be

nothing if not rational.

chief clerks deserve lectures they are the difference

between power structures you can use & real

‘difference’ that is forever. terrorists. people

of all varieties want to come inside when you are late,

when you have, for instance, documents that are required

(officially). do you ‘…help the family to bear the

inconvenience…’ you are / were bound to cause them?

i didn’t ask to be born, but i keep my family

in a stultifying leisure. you know the drill.

what is a man’s purpose if not to break from type

to kill the son & thereby revitalise himself? imagine

a job, a uniform, a voice with words in it…

‘…a misfortune such as had never happened to their

relations or acquaintances…’ this particularity might

be placed as a universal. but your own change makes

others no longer human. lesser & easier. equations

can be cast aside: they are not faces nor warm.

a lightness & tranquillity with gregor’s death. who

really craves exact details when there seems to be

grete’s pulsing human body, a final image…



keri glastonbury tells me she is the new poetry editor of overland.

i have to say, this will surely be a good move for the publication.

why not send her some poems?



ran the car into someone’s tow-bar the other day. a strange bit of brake in my car just stopped working (it does something with fluid). all is okay, only a bent bumper. but it just goes to show that any sense of mastery or control you have can be easily unseated by random stuff. it never pays to be confident.

one of the plugs came out of my right thong as ‘cricketed’ in the backyard last night. it hasn’t happened since a year ago, canoing around tuross heads. i stepped in the shallow mud to rescue our vessel & felt helpless. such are the links.

i’ve been sketching today for the cover of my next chap. i am no artist, but this will not stop me.

fourW came into the world on saturday. not many writers there to read, but lots of champagne was some recompense. alan gould launched for me & did comment on the books scope – ‘writers from ireland living in poland who choose to publish in wagga’ etc. but he slipped in a mention at the end of some of the poetry’s ‘opacity’, which he thinks there is ‘too much of these days’. i like that he spoke his mind (spoke his mind?) & couldn’t really take it to heart. i don’t want to fathom it all. not yet.

this saturday it’s sydney. i’m driving up & back in the same day. & not much looking forward to this.



a sidelong jolt whipped me to the backyard a morning
promising love & ennui & it’s just speckled pink one big
lie silhouette rabbits leer so long in the pasteurised air
whispering sturm & drang ideas like they’re free like their
numerous as quarks: re-organise the detritus of living the
shards of peg the off-cuts of pebbled ornamental gardens
the remaindered potato plant spawn make it into a more
concrete textual message make it say some thing perhaps
‘there was absolutely no reason to do this’ large like death
on the steaming ground but ha the kinetic power to be
exorcised on such an exercise it would equal something plus
something over another quantity & do words demand a
fealty like that i was thinking later through the water-
smashing shower-curtain floundering exercise-machined
aspic-arse-wobble clock-movements hoping no more jolts


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