Poetry reading Monday night (tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow…)
November 1, 2015
I have been asked to lead off a new series of poetry readings/discussions about poetry/general poetic hi jinx (the lesser known relative of the execrable Jaja Binks). Details for Canberrans/people with private jets who are not Donald Trump:
That Poetry Thing That Is On At Smith’s Every Other Monday @Smith’s Alternative, Alinga Street Civic
An Evening With P.S. Cottier
7pm, $5
That’s this woman, escaped from the psychedelically besmirched attic.
I am looking forward to being quizzed by JC Inman, fellow poet, about what inspires me and why I do it, and a myriad of other matters. There will be music! Hopefully composition on the spot! And then I will read for twenty minutes or so.
Do come along and keep the poet in fete money.
(I have an awful feeling that rugby may be mentioned, too…Josh Inman has some New Zealand blood, I believe.)
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And, if you are seeking a Tuesday Poem, please press this link: http://cordite.org.au/poetry/toil/a-hard-poem-to-market/ That will take you to Cordite Poetry Review. This issue is on the idea or theme or prompt of toil, and is edited by Carol Jenkins.
Read the works of the other Tuesday Poets by pressing here.
By late Monday, I will be far too happy (I hope) to type.
Tuesday poem: Budgerigar redux
October 26, 2015
Budgerigar
Ten million green commas punctuate blue sky,
quick breaths of swooping wonder, multiplied.
Water-hole is your target; liquid rope pulls you
and the whole emerald sky is diving,
as miniature bodies scoop down to pool.
Your individual markings have taken you
further than native flight; outside the Louvre
I saw you, cold, trying to break in, as pointillist
as Pissarro, but so acrylic in your finish.
Proud but damp escapee from French balcony,
regretting the lost seed and the found liberty.
Plump and fresh, I have heard you were good eating,
a winging fast food charred to a turn;
as far from stringy battery chook as fingers in the fire.
Most know you singly: whistling in cages,
bowing and bobbing, rattling plastic mirrors.
Driven mad you ring and ring chink-chinky bells
or make love to that hard, hard-to-get reflection.
What joy to see you
just once, as you swoop,
one stitch amongst the tapestry,
a blade of grass in feathered turf carpet,
magically landing,
transforming dreary waterside
with that fallen sward of Eire.
Swift dragon of twenty million wings,
fluorescing with your simple, beak-filled joys.
P.S. Cottier
As to the redux, this poem was posted here once before, a couple of years ago. But it deserves a new airing. The photo shows my new budgie, more pastel than the wild bird’s near-emerald. He was bought with the seeds of poetry. I am now spending my life moving his cage around and letting him out in safe places, away from my dogs.
His name is Chomp.
Next week I promise to use words that rest on a thin perch of ideas, as the last twos paras were totally and tragically Facebook. Status: idiotic.
In the meantime, fly your way to New Zealand. (She inserts something witty and slightly patriotic about rugby finals. There is a poem to be written about that, but not here, not this week. Though ‘The Ode of David Pocock’s Calf’ has potential. I’m seeing Victory born from its swelling pregnant muscles.)
Tuesday poem: A parachute of avocados
October 19, 2015
A parachute of avocados, plunging through dipping air;
fifteen seconds to wonder if persimmons would have been a better choice;
five seconds to understand the grounding nature of vegetables;
and you plant yourself, scattered red nasturtium, sprinkled on salad of lawn.
P.S. Cottier
And they say that salad is good for you! I think this weirdness started because I was thinking about how silk-worms (from the cocoons of which parachutes can be made) eat mulberry leaves.
I read somewhere that the plural of avocado can be avocadi, but that’s just ridiculous. And if anyone points out that avos and persimmons are fruit, not veggies, I shall have to use the word ‘pedant’. Just sayin’
Possibly less surreal imagery has been posted by other poets. Read the works of the other Tuesday Poets around the world by pressing here.
You could also colour in the balloons in the picture light green, if that sort of thing is your cup of guacamole. Now I’m off to construct a helicopter of carrot sticks.
UPDATE: Thanks to Helen McInlay for noticing that I had spelt nasturtium incorrectly! All good now.
My life in crime, or a Thunderbolt from the New (England)
October 12, 2015
I had some exciting news recently. My poem ‘Criminals who are no longer criminals’ was awarded first place in the Thunderbolt Prize for Crime Writing, run by the New England Writers Centre. The poetry judge, Les Murray, liked the clarity of the poem’s descriptions, which is particularly cool given that the poem deals with a group of ghosts. These are the ghosts of people convicted of crimes now repealed, including homosexuality and witchcraft, and I wrote of them meeting outside courts.
Chair of the New England Writers Centre, Sophie Masson, interviewed me and the interview can be read at her blog. I talk about the inspiration for the poem, which was the way we (meaning Australia) deal with asylum seekers. Also about what sort of poetry I like, and further details of my life of poetic crime. There is a link to the actual poem, at the Armidale Express.
As usual, Old Book Illustrations provided the perfect image, seemingly dealing with the process of composition.
I am now off to buy a budgie with the winnings. No Tuesday Poem from me. Unless you chase the link above, that is.
UPDATE:
The poem can now be read here.
Tuesday Poem
October 5, 2015
Today I edited the hub at Tuesday Poem, based in New Zealand, and posted a fascinating prose poem called ‘Before’ by Janette Pieloor. Read Janette’s poem by pressing here.
PS Cottier 