In search of poetry
January 10, 2013
Having just returned to Canberra from the beach, I can say that it is much harder to locate poetry on the south coast of New South Wales than it is in Canberra. Not at all in terms of inspiration drawn from scenic beauty, if your own poetry tends to focus on that sort of thing:
… and mine doesn’t, usually, but just in terms of finding actual poetry in printed books.
The local bookstores might have a volume of Shakespeare’s sonnets, but little else. The local library had a better selection, but I did most of my reading of poetry (and only poetry, with a little poetic essay thrown in) on-line. Resources such as the Australian Poetry Library and its American equivalent allow for large chunks of poesie to be swallowed, like a gull with the key to a fish and chip shop, when one is in the village that poetry forgot. Or that forgot poetry.
We really are spoilt in Canberra with a number of independent bookstores that carry poetry. How long will they remain though?
I realise that my sticking to a diet of poetry and only poetry has had the bizarre effect of making me not post any poetry on my blog for a while…I promise a poem next time.
A year of poetry. And only poetry.
January 1, 2013
I suppose the idea for having a year of reading no prose came to me after listening to someone say ‘nobody reads poetry anymore.’ Apart from being a tad tactless, when the person addressed is a poet, this comment made me think about the comparative weight that the novel gets in society, as opposed to the art form that places language itself at its centre.
Why not see how it would be not to read fiction or non-fiction for a year? Will too much poetry drive me mad? Will that madness be sadly obsessive, or downright Byronic? Or just moronic?
My Year of Living Poetically (thank you Mr Featherstone, novellaist extraordinaire) begins today. Let me clarify; I don’t intend to give up on news or blogs or government forms. I will read articles about poetry.
The Japanese have a form of writing called the haibun, where prose is illuminated by a haiku. I intend to have a year of poetry, illuminated by the occasional book review. Or funding application.
But no novels, no history, no theology for a year. This is my New Year’s Resolution for 2013, amongst more mundane things about haunting the gym and being more tolerant. I’ll be blogging about my efforts and experiences here. In prose, mostly.
We’ll see how this experiment in poetry goes.
Happy New Year!
Review (your fingers are getting twitchy)
December 20, 2012
Here’s a link to a new review of Triptych Poets Issue Three: http://verityla.com/peaks-from-start-to-finish-blemish-books-triptych-poets-issue-three/ in Verity La, an Australian journal. Tim Jones also reviewed the book previously, on his blog. Way back in November.
Spoiler alert: Mark William Jackson likes it!
Now, it may be just a tad late to stuff it into someone’s stocking in a Christmas related capacity, but why not make your New Year’s Resolution to read more poetry? I intend to read only poetry next year. But that’s just me. I’ll be boring on about that soon. In the meantime, your fingers are moving towards this link. They will press it. You will find that they are delving into your purse or wallet, and extracting your credit card. Somehow, your pesky digits enter your number. And in a while, the book will arrive, with three poets for the price of one. You will kiss your wise fingers, and run out to buy them gloves (should it be cold where you are), or to have a manicure (if, like me, you are a tad vain).
But you will thank your prescient fingers, again and again, as you read the book which Mark William Jackson describes as ‘just straight peaks from start to finish.’
I’m blushing as I paste in that quote, but modesty, they say, is a virtue. So it’s good to parade it.
Christmas. Good. Have.
Tuesday poem: Prayer
December 17, 2012
Prayer
Let me kill the cynicism
that dogs me, toothily.
Let cleverness die
just for today;
let me believe
with simplicity,
that hope was born
that hope is with us
that hope will come again.
Let me lie down in pillowy hay;
no more maybes and yets
and tired, half-hearted smirk.
Or better still, blow me, now, full-sailed
and squalling, billowing onto faith.
P.S. Cottier
May I wish all my readers a Merry Christmas, whatever their faith (or lack of faith).
And, to get away from simple faith and back to weird curiosity, note how two of the wise men in Jacques Daret’s painting seem to be talking into their sleeves, like security guards looking after a VIP.
For the last time this year, click this feather for further poetic gifts. It’ll all be happening again next year, from January 22nd.
Feet, not face
December 14, 2012
Shoes so cool that people say
could I photograph your feet?
Face up to yourself woman,
there’s a party happening downstairs.
Thanks to Sharon who liked the shoes so much!
PS Cottier 