Loud man pissing round the reading
with irrelevant comments,
dribbling self, reflected in a deep pool
of his own stewed past, steaming.
He is a true Narcissus,
but not so drop-dead gorgeous;
fungus mated with dead cat.
He smells of yesterday and loss.
He shouts his irrelevance
with every tedious joke,
every punch line a squib,
tarnishing the grey sky.
P.S. Cottier
Not the subject of the poem
A nasty wee poem indeed, based on a couple of True Incidents.
***
On a couple of more positive notes, I’ll be reading a poem or two at Tuesday night’s launch of Suddenly Curving Space Time and meeting Gerald Keaney, one of the editors for the first time. That’s at Smith’s Alternative (aka Smith’s non-Euclidean?), Alinga Street, Civic, at 5pm. There is a bar. I’m not sure if Hal Judge, the other editor, is in the country at the moment, but I will certainly find out.
UPDATE: This launch has been postponed as Gerald is stuck in Brisbane due to ‘freak weather conditions’. I think that means fog! I’ll give new details when I can.
FURTHER UPDATE: The rescheduled time of the Canberra Launch of the Suddenly Curving Space Time anthology of experimental poetry is 9.30pm – 11.30 pm on Thursday 21st July.
Secondly, the usually totally impeccable Kaaron Warren has inexplicably featured me as a guest blogger, chatting about how I refresh my wells. That is what they call a metaphor, I believe. Kaaron is seemingly aiming for a Guinness world record in having quite a few people write on this topic. Seriously, there will be enough material for a Real Book based on these jottings, some of which are very informative and detailed. Some of the contributions One of the contributions is, however, a tad frivolous and involves violence towards naiads.
Tuesday poem: Oppressing the gnomes
July 11, 2016
Oppressing the gnomes
The garden gnomes are downing tools
all over Australia, and whimsy is plummeting.
No more riding snails and pushing barrows,
or fishing for strangely ecstatic cod,
who gape for hooks in a pornography of cute.
The gnomes are turning nasty, attacking
the flamingos who continue to strut —
elegant pink scabs over the quirky lawns.
Gnomes piss on succulents and smear
foul gnome shit on the guinea pigs.
What do we want? they ask the air.
But they don’t know what to chant back —
their dissatisfaction is merely existential.
Even their industrial action raises a laugh,
with their crooked green caps slipping,
and their endless pipes twixt ruddy lips.
Their signs are egregiously misspelt.
Nome’s R Us is at least legible,
but the kerning is much worse than that,
and the punctuation speaks volumes.
Get back to it, gnomes, I say, imperiously.
Ply those forks, and play that accordion.
I bask in my elevation to exploiter,
swaying in a complacent hammock.
Surly yet amusing, the wee green men obey.
The ringleader rides a frog to the pond,
and casts in his line like a sigh.
P.S. Cottier
This is probably a weird commentary on the zeitgeist. Either that or the gnomes have been putting things in my tea.
Tuesday poem: (haiku)
July 4, 2016
Blue eye of the sea
flutters white eyelashes —
wet sand flirts
P.S Cottier
The poet vows that she will be nastier next time after an unaccountably pretty haiku
Tuesday weirdness: All I know about poetry
June 28, 2016
All I know about poetry
(Part 1)
1. A rural location can easily slip into nineteenth century pastiche.
2. Some people still worry so much about form that they forget the poem part.
3. Shouting is neither good nor bad, but thought is quite worthwhile.
4. Better Byron than Wordsworth (see 1. above).
5. Those who avoid politics like herpes are often boring —
except for your rare and surprising, Emily-grade genius.
6. Birds are usually to be avoided like the word ‘roseate’ —
why write a poem about a feathered poem inevitably more complete?
(Exceptions include galahs, budgies, swamp dwellers, vultures, and anything else.)
7. Even an Irish accent doesn’t guarantee a good poem.
8. Gatekeepers are attracted to the mundanely beautiful.
9. Bathos is easy.
10. Most people regard poetry as a weird type of embroidery —
at least you only prick your soul on it.
Everyday Canberra scene
Now I hope you have been taking notes. There will probably not be a quiz next week, but still…In another life I was a hideous teacher in an old-school school.
Project 365 + 1, or my involvement in it, is drawing to a close at the end of the financial year, which is purely coincidental. 30 poems in 30 days. There should be a law against it!
Anthologies
June 24, 2016
This week I received two anthologies in which I have poems. They are First refuge: Poems on social justice (Ginninderra Press) edited by Ann Nadge, and Suddenly Curving Space Time: Australian Experimental Poetry 1995-2015 (non-Euclidean Press) edited by Gerald Keaney and Hal Judge.
Switching between the two is an interesting experience. I have just started to read them both.
I especially like the ‘non-Euclidean spine’ of the experimental book, which is working its way through the binding like a space-worm. Well, what do you think makes wormholes?
PS Cottier 