Tuesday poem: The Coming of Age
March 25, 2014
The Coming of Age
Knock knock at the door:
Quiet and insistent.
Not Dickinson’s courtly Death,
taking me for a ride.
No, this is another visitor,
who doesn’t wait for me to answer.
But she leaves three calling cards:
sensible shoes, false teeth,
and a Zimmer frame,
subtle as the Harbour Bridge.
Still young enough, I chase Age
down the curvy street.
I throw the flat shoes at her.
I bite her with the plastic teeth
(puppeted in my hand, please note).
And the Zimmer frame?
It holds up my climbing rose.
How long, though, before
I cling, and shuffle, oh so slow,
with carefully engineered stride?
P.S. Cottier
I’ve been writing a few poems about age recently. This one was first published in The Mozzie, Queensland.
Age doesn’t worry me that much, really. So long as it affects me in no way whatsoever…
The Tuesday Poets have discovered the secret of eternal yoof. Press this feather and so will you. (Note: no promises will be fulfilled. But there will be poems.)
Tuesday Poem: The changing soundscape of public space
March 17, 2014
The changing soundscape of public space
Once shhh-surrounded
throttled by library snakes
now emboldened chat stretches —
bites the sluggish ears
of those who want purer air
in my day, we mumble
in my day we sat straight
whispering sweet infractions —
wrapped in official silence
muffled with a quieter wool.
P.S. Cottier
That poem was just commended in the Yass Show Poetry Competition (not the bush poetry division) on Sunday. I’m afraid I piked on attending the event, as I was exhausted. I had performed poetically the night before with a delightfully accented Texan, a poet who removed his skirt rather like the female members of Abba in their glittery prime, and a number of strangely assertive, neigh, militant horses.* So I had a good excuse. It was a wonderful night at the Word Co-op.
You could look at some photos here. I am the least cool person.
https://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.628597203875415.1073741903.128244673910673&type=1
*That wordplay is totally Roshelle Fong’s. She performed an hilarious and thoughful piece enacting various questions of animal rights, wearing costume horse-heads. Delightfully accented Texans sometimes perform under the name of Good Ghost Bill, and Ma Ya Ga Ng Re Ne’s soundscape explored the schlongier aspects of gender.
For further poetry, please touch this feather:
By the way, however exhausted I am, the organisers of this festival (called You Are Here) are far more tired. I hope to post a photographic essay illustrating the ageing of some of them. Here, for example, is a photo of one of them that I took last night:
What is this Transit Bar?
Tuesday Poem: My stalker (via link)
March 3, 2014
Here is a link to a poem by me called ‘My Stalker’, just published on journal Verity La:
http://verityla.com/my-stalker-ps-cottier/
I know this means that you have to click the link, dear reader, but it will take you to a beautifully designed and seductive on-line journal.
Here I am contemplating the passing of time…
Or, if you prefer, click this link, and see what poets in New Zealand have been doing:
Tuesday Poem: Café haiku
February 25, 2014
Umbrellas cup us
in upside down khaki
we sip browner rain
P.S. Cottier
That photograph is of the view of and from Tilley’s, which is less than a five minute walk from my house. When not trapped in the spider’s web of editing, I fly down and write there.
Here, for example, is a draft of this very poem, written at Tilley’s:
I had never thought before I started writing how the ‘U’ at the beginning of umbrella looks like an umbrella blown inside out. Small step from there to coffee cup, really. (And yes, I realise that those umbrellas are not khaki! Also that ‘in upside down’ is a little clumsy. But it reminds me of a blown umbrella, somehow.)
I am longing to be back with my writing routine, away from the exigencies of editing poets’ biographical notes for The Stars Like Sand. I am not really given to minimalism in poetry, and want the time to sprawl over several stanzas. I am sure the my fellow editor Tim Jones feels the same way in regard to wanting more writing time, although he seems to be involved in a myriad of other activities as well.
For me at the moment it’s edit, gym, drink.
Interspersed with the occasional coffee.
Click this feather and see if they make good coffee in New Zealand:
Belated Tuesday Poem: (maths haiku)
February 14, 2014
Slow fern uncurling
one two three five eight thirteen
Fibonacci green
P.S. Cottier
I am innumerate, but there is a poem about patterns in mathematics reflected (or enacted) in living things.
Next week I promise you a poem about algorithms.*
*The word ‘promise’ is written with fingers crossed. That makes typing difficult.
Click this feather, which no doubt can be read in a mathematical way, and see what the more punctual Tuesday Poets have been doing:
PS Cottier 