overcoming performance anxiety (3)

April 30, 2009 at 6:25 pm | Posted in poetry, writing | 11 Comments
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, like they were born into it, those flashes of light and the whirring of lenses, that walk.
The deed done he will return of course to his original skulking, a comfortable resource beneath the cloak that Takeshi had given him now the tribal facial tattoos which had appeared over night were well hidden beneath Bootsy’s sunnies twitch had upset the American tourists. The beard had become irritating. And he had no recourse but to revert to the razor.

The dissident.

April 28, 2009 at 6:53 pm | Posted in poetry, writing | 15 Comments
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Caliban’s whiskers, “Respect
the dissenting voice, descending.
I have fallen inextricably

into some tangled
maze of scented curls

beneath which hides a harp
only to find some secret silent place
to whisper, hmm, come here,

The difference between an attitude and an idea.

April 27, 2009 at 8:01 pm | Posted in australian poetry, podcast, poetry, writing | 12 Comments

It is not complicated. But it is something oft forgot, I think.
I have podcasted April here. (6 whole minutes)

Rites and Obligations.

April 24, 2009 at 7:12 pm | Posted in poetry, writing | 24 Comments
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wrote a poem, rota, huth
by rote nor arcane rite
‘how many metaphors must you mix’
he says sliding it into the coozie
and placing it gently on the bridge
at the lip of the grand piano.

there never was a musician
who didn’t flirt with arrogance a
claim, staked and
succeeded, succession,
one must have an exit plan
said F.

as soon as you enter the room
there will be an instinct
mistaken for perfume
Prague perhaps
a rain driven hustle
under streetlights and the
clatter of tanks.

Remember Greece retracing
Byron’s club foot Frankenstein
clumping up the hill under
the obvious influence of
various esoteric drugs,

realising Crowley was quoting
Rabelais and the joy of the sun
risen over the Aegean,

each moment a
gift you gave

had given

The Drunken Cartographer’s New Toy.

April 21, 2009 at 6:22 pm | Posted in poetry, writing | 10 Comments
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I do not believe in free rights nor the unrestrained unleashing of meaning. There was a time when beauty had purpose and the creation of beautiful objects was an honourable profession, he mumbles frantically twisting some device. Driving screws archemediate and there is a low cranking of chains on pulleys and various mutterings of discontent from the slavery.

One must begin with flawless stone and on that unshaped mass impose some maths, he intones, someplace else some lid opens and eyes peek out.

Some designed to

April 20, 2009 at 6:26 pm | Posted in australian poetry, contemporary poetry, memoirs, poetry, writing | 10 Comments
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deliberately upset.  But between that arrogance
of deliberate line and odd smattering obscenity
is some kind of allure or power to transmit ideas
like it or not, poetry has a point which is communication
not the mere chucking of abstract syllables
at a wall

lets begin with something fundamental, that there is common human truths these days is a radical proposition, and dare forbid you should express such things using rhyme and overt meter whose origin was memory, rhythm, seasons, language was made to record things. The ability to express oneself is accidental. It is a tool and there are some who prefer it blunt.

whoopla

April 18, 2009 at 4:50 pm | Posted in links, memoirs | 8 Comments
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But with tophat on, I was over at Geof Huth’s place the other day and on his sideboard discrete were honourareiums in a vase displayed with such an eye for detail and genuine respect. And Sumedh with perhaps the greatest self-portrait of all time,
a never-ending garden of delight
a place where vision is not sight,

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