Moving
August 5, 2014
On Sunday I did something I’ve never done before, and moved away from the microphone to perform a poem, which I had memorised. No fiddling with glasses. No piece of paper. (Both were there, in case my brain melted, but I managed without.) Speaking of melting brains, here is an ice sculpture of Douglas Mawson, melting in the comparatively tropical Canberra sunshine:
This sculpture, and the perfomance, were part of a wonderful event called the Winter Festival at the Portrait Gallery in Canberra. An ekphrastic competition was held, where we had to respond to a photograph in writing. The writing ranged from non-fiction memoir, to short stories, to poetry. The judge was Paul Hetherington.
Thanks to my poem (and the obviously impeccable taste of the judge) I now have a gift voucher for the Portrait Gallery bookstore, as I was highly commended.
Recently a novelist of my acquaintance, Kaaron Warren, detailed her haul of booty from winning a voucher for the best fiction book published in the ACT. She bought books.
I may well buy an item of personal adornment. A new beret or something, as one can never have enough headgear. Ask Douglas Mawson.
No poem today.
UPDATE: Michelle Brock was the poet awarded first place. Thanks to Kathy Kituai for jogging my memory.
Lizz Murphy at the Hub
July 28, 2014
That sounds like an ad for a jazz singer, at a club drenched in twilight like cheap cologne, where the sax wails like a lonely cat.
But it is not. It is purely informative, telling you, dear reader, that I edited the hub post for Tuesday Poem this week, and that it features the said Ms Murphy with a most beguiling poem. Press this feather and read:
Here is a photo of Lizz Murphy and myself in front of some wool, which bears absolutely no relation to the poem. She is the one who looks intelligent.
Tuesday poem: iPsalm
July 24, 2014
Sweet god of Twitter
keep me succinct
but not too avid.
Deliver your goat
from all foul trolls’
machinations.
May the words of
my blogs,
the firstworldproblems
of my speech
be acceptable
to your on-line policies.
O great moderator
#amen
P.S. Cottier
So here’s a poem partly about Twitter and Facebook by a person who resolutely refuses to do either. Twitter seems to bring out the inner thug in too many people, and Facebook, with its voluntary marketing of each person by each person as a commodity, is just sad. Although one of the books I have been involved in has its own Facebook page, admittedly. But that is a commodity, albeit a poetic one.
Blogs, of course, are inevitably saintly…
The following feather, dropped by a visiting angel, will take you to New Zealand and you can contemplate the wonders of technology as you fly there. Or not. That is entirely up to you.
This poem is appearing on Thursday, rather than Tuesday. Sorry for that.
By rights I should be in Sydney, recovering from the launch of The Stars Like Sand, but I was too sick to go. Rest is what I need right now.
I hope those who attended enjoyed the launch.
Tuesday poem: (haiku)
July 16, 2014
sick at the beach
lungs sandblasted
holidays towelled
Continuing the slightly whingey tone that my usually vibrant and witty blog has exhibited lately, I had a week at the beach and I was too sick to swim! I am still sick and on actual medicine! I have not been able to go to the gym for ages! You can’t keep good Aussie germs down, it seems. They are positively marsupial in their popping up when least expected.
I dragged my benighted carcass into town on Sunday, and ran into photographer and person about town Geoffrey Dunn, who asked me to open an exhibition he is having at The Front Gallery here in Canberra. Intriguingly entitled ‘Two Tens and a Tomato’, it includes work by Geoffrey and visual artist and poet Marina Talevski. They have mixed poetry, photography, sculpture and installation into works exploring the written word and visualisations of poetic elements.
I am popping down to the Gallery tonight to check it out, so that I can hopefully say something coherent tomorrow at 7pm.
Hanging out in town with a sign saying ‘Will launch for drink’ has finally paid off…
Here is a photograph of me taken by Mr Dunn. Unfortunately my magic parasol did not keep the germs at bay. Must ask for a refund. From the makers of parasols, not from the photographer.
For comparatively germ free reading, click this feather:
PS Cottier 
