Friday Night Karaoke with F.

May 21, 2010 at 7:00 pm | Posted in australian poetry, contemporary poetry, ekphrasia, genre isn't dead yet but it should be, performance, writing | 7 Comments
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Happy Birthday Albrecht Durer. They tell me you were also prone to crankiness inherent in the precision obsession being such a perceptive mathematician of perspective.  We are still enjoying your mass reproduction revolution collapsing the distinction between the low art and the high culture. I would clasp my hands and pray if I still felt that was an appropriate response to soldiers  advancing through the mists of time and various other ridiculous apparitions. These days, I measure lines of sight only in decibels.  Approximate the distance between the letters involved in, “It’s only typing,

Sillyness, willinilliness, numbers have meaning only in context, “why is it pouring rain”, slamming his glass down on the piano, get some perspective, son, Rousseau had tiggers too and the softness in their eyes as they watch us watch her rise. I’m only typing “the 736 bus will be 14 minutes late again” and I do, remember those blue berets must be on the manifest, oh hey presto, I remember Durer he said, fancy hatted fellow, now count me in,

I looked down at the keyboard and thought one two three four, you make me feel like

(Albrecht Durer (1471), Henri Rousseau (1844) and Leo Sayer (1948)  share todays birthday May 21st)


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Napoleon Hat, Long Johns and a Box of Chocolates

May 19, 2010 at 1:01 pm | Posted in ekphrasia, writing | 9 Comments
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It would be a relief to resort to jaunty nonsense and lurid wooden horses turning circles on an infinity merry go round or perfectly encoded details of a mundane life, ashtrays and nature poems described by one sleepy reviewer as ‘somewhat transportational’ but alas the responsibilities of leadership leave us oblivious he said disentangling himself from the inextricable, emergent. What wild rapids, grinning.

Perhaps we can reconstruct an empty architecture of nouns without verbs, less destabilising of the Takeshi Kitano Nexus, Sir? fers to the sound of ripples revolving round pebbles, sshhh, My life is very smooth these days, my job is easy and well-paying. I have a passport and two bank accounts. I am no longer concerned with the voluptuousness of time (which after all looks after itself as it follows its own tale) nor with vansquishing the inexplicable. Curvature, magnificence and innumerable immaculate details around the hallowed abundant atop however,

Pop. Not so much getting older as homeward bound, oh those tiptoe sounds how they remind of a maypole gyspy wedding dance… still enjoying the gigglest apology, my dear, buttoning his lips and reaching for his hat. Now what’s all this tit tatt, The Who Nexus? The What?

(Dance Of The Veils, Pablo Picasso, at The Hermitage Museum, St Petersburg)

“The Poet Busker” CD by Kiersty Boon, a review.

May 17, 2010 at 5:43 am | Posted in contemporary poetry, links, poetry, writing | 5 Comments
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There has been a tendency in the past to think of performance poetry as a separate and somehow less serious or valuable mode of expression than poetry printed on the page. This collection of eighteen poems performed to music puts that idea finally and firmly to rest. It is impossible to disentangle the intelligence from the emotion, the poems from the narrative, the craft and skill in the making from the emotional effect on the audience. It takes the listener on a unique and irresistible journey through a carefully observed, immaculately crafted landscape created through the exercise of a unique imagination on the modern world.

From the joyful celebration of verbal virtuosity that is Tiddly Om…

“Now some scholars may
get quite upstropulous,
if you bling up their
well thumbed thesauruses
with colloquialised
conjured up meaning”

to the fierce strength of a poem like “Fairy Steps”

“The trailer’s being towed for a blowjob on Sunset Strip
by a whore who pays her clients with her husband’s credit card,
While the begging question rolls in with the angry sky,
Just who IS paying for this crap?”

…you will be engaged, entertained and moved.

It is part of the responsibility of the modern poet to create an audience for poetry. This CD is a completely independent production, made using freely available technology and software, yet the production values are indistinguishable from commercially manufactured products. The collection is engaged in reconnecting contemporary poetry with an audience without compromising depth, range or complexity.

With all its intelligence, humour, courage and craft, “The Poet Busker” by Kiersty Boon represents, in so many different ways, the future of poetry.

And you would be foolish not to go and purchase it right now, here.

bouquet #3

May 12, 2010 at 3:15 pm | Posted in poetry, writing | 11 Comments
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Those who say that flowers have no sound have never heard the generousity of tulips in your smile nor watched the synchronicitous flight of gulls like white orchids at the whisper of your touch. They have not been released into the world of sunflower splendour or tiny blue delphinium delight nor set the direction of their dreams by the scent of apple blossom on a chilly night. They doubt the giggle of gardenias when I demonstrate my geranium brain again and are blind to that outrage of yellow hyacinth in the corner of your eye that warns of lightning strikes. I thought of them again this morning when I heard you laugh circus pink camellias into an azure sky and I hope that if they are reading this they experience now as I did then a truly gypsophila anticipation.

bouquet #2

May 11, 2010 at 2:40 pm | Posted in poetry, writing | 9 Comments
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now, in these wider cleaner rooms
with my mind released
from the bounds of daytime madness
with space
i can cling less desperately to
the gentle art of happy endings

from this soil
there is a grief grown
into the fabric of being
and it too is a flower
waxen yellow

perhaps that is courage at its center
and loneliness its pollen round which
gleeful bees gather voracious like
anonymous commuters at a car accident

but, in this act of fantasy, the heart
or this act of fantasy, belief
or this act of imagination, joy
a flower too is grown
into
the fabric of breath

Bouquet #1

May 10, 2010 at 2:54 pm | Posted in poetry, writing | 8 Comments
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I have breakfast eggs and
daisy tunes accordian style
have forgotten my intention
toes have a certain sureness though,
hello

Comfortableness I invented
wrapped in who with ribbons
made of clouds and balconies
hips will twist to questions though,
hello

Perpetual is variegated eternity
an heraldic tea cup filled
with brims and symphonies
shoulders warm with newness though,
hello

April frangipani curl, a tantrum drum
parsimony seeds in poppy cake
news reports of tonal change,
this tray is getting weighty though
and so,

The Speed Poets Gig

May 6, 2010 at 6:53 am | Posted in performance, poetry, video blog, writing | 20 Comments
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It’s a very different experience performing for an audience of people and standing around in front of a video camera waving your arms around. The former is exciting and enjoyable and unique and the latter makes me feel very silly.

I really must get back into exercising and eating fewer cakes.

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