Tuesday poem: Rapunzel’s lesson, and trans-Tasman co-operation
October 1, 2012
Rapunzel’s lesson
And after they have stopped swarming up
massing like armoured lice, itching, pulling…
What then?
Nothing in this world in free, she said, dear
mother, before she died, like all mothers
in this castellated world.
And she was right. After the long climb
they ask for my hand. Hair, rope-pulled,
then hand, for life.
I’ve learnt. I flick my golden ladder
and watch them free-fall, moat-wards,
screaming, motes of shiny dandruff.
And then I comb my hair.
P.S. Cottier
‘Rapunzel’s lesson’ was highly commended in The Bridge Foundation poetry competition, October 2009.
In an exciting development (well exciting for me, anyway) Tim Jones and I will soon begin editing a book of Australian speculative poetry. As you all know, that’s science fiction, fantasy, horror and magic realism. It will be published by Interactive Publications of Queensland. The book will contain new poems as well as previously published works, so watch out for the call for submissions and further details, dear fellow Australians of a poetic bent.
I am looking forward to working with Tim, who I have only met electronically. Amazing what a little Tuesday Poem can bring about. As he has previously edited Voyagers with Mark Pirie, he has the runs on the board, speculatively speaking.
So the little fantasy poem above is a tribute to Books Yet to Come.
Tim Jones
I spent most of the weekend at the Conflux science fiction convention in Canberra, where I met some poets who I will spank with Rapunzel’s hairbrush if they do not submit to the anthology.
They have been warned…
For further poetry, press this raven’s feather. Never say nevermore, chickies.
Launch
September 21, 2012
Last night Paul Hetherington launched Triptych Poets Issue Three, and a good time was had by all. I enjoyed Paul’s comments, although I became quite alarmed as he emphasised the way I use ideas in my poetry. I had had one or two drinks and could feel the few remaining ideas in my brain rapidly taking leave through my ears, their little wings stroking the lobes as they took off. It’s the sort of situation where you just nod and smile.
Fortunately I read first, before the last idea fairy had flown to a more fertile and curly cortex, throwing a look of disgust over her fickle shoulder.
J.C. Inman (Josh) gave an energetic and charismatic reading.
The launch was quite interesting in that it brought together people with their roots in the slam poetry scene, and those whose emphasis has always been on the written word. There were lots of people and I think we sold a few books too.
Thank you to Paul Hetherington. I would love to read what he wrote, as I am always too edgy at launches to take everything in. Thanks also to Paperchain Books, and all the people who came. Here is the MC for the evening, Lesley Boland from Blemish Books.
I bought myself a Where’s Wally? lunchbox as a souvenir. See, I really am an intellectual… I also have an idea for my next book’s title. A lady said that I was quite well-dressed, for a poet. Well Dressed for a Poet could be a goer. What do you think of that for a title?
If you would like to partake of the book, please head here, and Blemish Books will assist you in your noble endeavour.
No Tuesday poem from me!
September 17, 2012
I am fully focussed on the launch of Triptych Poets Issue 3 on Thursday evening.
(Manuka, Paperchain Books, 6pm.)
So please see me as NASA, pre-launch mode, all nervous nail-biting and tapping. Although I hope I am somewhat less daggy than the average NASA scientist. (No offence. I’m sure some of them are totally gorgeous, comb-overs or thin ponytails and all.)
Regular readers will notice that I have removed the sticky page introducing myself that has graced my blog since time immemorial. It seemed a tad dated.
But details of my books and how to order are now on the ABOUT page. So go there and buy!
And head over to New Zealand for a poetic fix. Unless you’re in Canberra, in which case, save it for Thursday. And enjoy wine with Josh and myself. And the luvverly publishers, Lesley and Greg of Blemish Books.
Sydney twice in two different ways
September 13, 2012
The first was on the Poets Train from Canberra. Four leisurely hours to take in the scenery, to read, to compose a poem (we read out our efforts every hour). Arrival at the beautiful Central Station where we read to ourselves again, and a couple of punters.
The next day we read at The State Library. Here I am doing just that, in a photograph taken by K.A. Rees. (Note the staring into the middle distance):
And that night we read at the Friend in Hand pub in Glebe, where a cockatoo, George, chats to the customers. I chatted to Martin Langford, whose vocabulary is much greater than George’s. (No offence George!)
And in between, I enjoyed all Glebe has to offer. Interesting food, cheaper than in Canberra. The big vegan breakfast at Badde Manors, for example. Lying on a chaise longue that was used as a prop in the film Moulin Rouge, writing a review. Drinking wine. Longing for the ability to stay in that fair city. Sigh. As usual, I found myself looking at real estate agents’ windows, doing very unpoetic calculations.
Then four hours back, dozing and composing on the Sunday.
And today? (That’ll be yesterday by the time I post this.) Up to Sydney again in 23 minutes by plane. Barely up before you’re down; the landscape something to get over rather than through. State Library again, where I was lucky enough to pick up a third prize in the Society of Women Writers poetry competition, judged by Judith Beveridge, for my poem ‘A brief history of fun’. Judith gave a wonderful seminar focussing on sound in poetry, and although her ideas are quite different from mine, I left feeling inspired. There was a haiku/ haibun/tanka reading. There was Mark Tredinnick, although I had to leave his PowerPoint talk early to catch the flight home. A fire siren test provided the ideal moment for slipping out.
Twenty-three minutes
Throwing steel through air
We scorch the sky
Now I’m in pre book-launch mode! Radio interview on Friday on local station ArtSound. But I am haunted by a most beautiful spirit at the moment.
A ghost called Sydney
Lithe warm and lively
Winding me back home
Home that is, to a city I have never lived in. And against whose inducements I must block my ears, and tie myself to the cold mast of common sense.
Also known as Canberra.
I’ll love it again in a few days, but I have to learn to do so again.
Tuesday poem: In the pub
September 3, 2012
In the pub
Wedges of moon
float in my glass
sky lemon stings
Vodka ice glass
nine tenths hide below
titanic kick
Poker beeps
sour head nods in shame
beer swims laps
Salt chips taste
absent smoke plumes
long since flown
P.S. Cottier
internal combustion
After a day where my car broke down, necessitating a service call to the NRMA and a tow truck, I think a drink or two is called for. At least I was wearing flat shoes today, so I could walk home after sending my daughter in a taxi to school! I’ll have to get stuck in at the poem mines to pay for the repairs. About 200 years’ poetry should do it.
Now, click this boozy plume, dropped by a bird that can’t remember what, or who, it did last night. Read some more poems, a few of which were written by sober people. Perhaps.*
*If New Zealand poets are the same as Australian poets, I am just being polite here.
And here’s the official launch invitation for Triptych Poets Issue Three, of which I am one-third:
come along canberra
PS Cottier 