that today - or tomorrow, depending on yr time zone - is the last day for submissions to The Hay(na)ku Anthology, to be published in 2005 by Meritage Press.
Friday, December 31, 2004
poles apart
poles apart contains a selection of our collaborative work, both published & unpublished, plus some 'each for the other' pieces. Included are excerpts from The Oracular Sonnets, Karl Marx' Rubric Journal & The Sketchbooks of Hieronymous Bosch. Available through lulu.com.
Thursday, December 30, 2004
The Fifth Book of Peace
The bookshops of Rockhampton are not places to browse in. They're where you go if you want to order something in - though I did find a copy of Bob Dylan's Chronicles on the shelf. The only copy I might add.
Where you go to browse are the newsagents, who bring in remaindered books by weight. "Give me a couple of hundred kilos of popular paperbacks, &, say, fifty kilos of those larger-sized ones. Oh yeah, & a tonne of sports books." Books appear which would otherwise never come within 700 kilometres of Rockhampton.
I picked up Maxine Hong Kingston's The Fifth Book of Peace in such a bin a month or so ago, for a fraction of its original price. She's a writer I've liked ever since I found The Woman Warrior in a similar chance fashion in Sydney, maybe in a second-hand shop. I started reading the new book a couple of days ago, & was struck by an image a couple of pages in where she describes rushing back to find her house burnt down in a firestorm in the Oakland-Berkeley Hills. "Someone once told me about a child who lived at the time of the burning of a great library. He caught pages of burned paper, and read Latin words."
I suppose what made this image so poignant for me was the recent fire at Michael Rothenberg's home in which he lost his books & his archives. When I returned to writing a few years ago Michael was the first editor to encourage me & give me a place to publish. I mourn his lost library.
Where you go to browse are the newsagents, who bring in remaindered books by weight. "Give me a couple of hundred kilos of popular paperbacks, &, say, fifty kilos of those larger-sized ones. Oh yeah, & a tonne of sports books." Books appear which would otherwise never come within 700 kilometres of Rockhampton.
I picked up Maxine Hong Kingston's The Fifth Book of Peace in such a bin a month or so ago, for a fraction of its original price. She's a writer I've liked ever since I found The Woman Warrior in a similar chance fashion in Sydney, maybe in a second-hand shop. I started reading the new book a couple of days ago, & was struck by an image a couple of pages in where she describes rushing back to find her house burnt down in a firestorm in the Oakland-Berkeley Hills. "Someone once told me about a child who lived at the time of the burning of a great library. He caught pages of burned paper, and read Latin words."
I suppose what made this image so poignant for me was the recent fire at Michael Rothenberg's home in which he lost his books & his archives. When I returned to writing a few years ago Michael was the first editor to encourage me & give me a place to publish. I mourn his lost library.
SOFTBLOW, Stylus & Singapore
SOFTBLOW is a relatively new poetry e-zine out of Singapore. It refreshes rather than bringing out issues, keeping about eight poets on the "front page" & an archive of those others whose work has previously appeared. So far the majority of contributors seem to be non-Singaporean & include MTC Cronin, Catherine Daly, Simon Perchik & Lewis Warsh.
The latest issue of Stylus features Singaporean poets, & includes an interview with Cyril Wong, the founding editor of SOFTBLOW.
The latest issue of Stylus features Singaporean poets, & includes an interview with Cyril Wong, the founding editor of SOFTBLOW.
Asian-American Poetry
"Some people like to collect open-toed sandals. Others like to throw boomerangs at wasps' nests. I happen to like to read Asian-American poetry (using the most expansive definition possible here.) I've read A LOT of it, more than anyone I know personally. In fact, I doubt that there are that many people in the world out there who has read more than I have, but if you think that you have, by all means, let's talk! I'm starved for conversation about Asian-American poetry. I started a whole blog about it, for goodness sake! (And as we all know, starting a blog is clearly a cry for help.) Like I keep trying to convince my bedroom mirror, I have a life, you know."from Asian-American Poetry, a new blog started by Roger Pao.
Wednesday, December 29, 2004
& in one of those
strange acts of synchronicity, the The South-East Asia Earthquake and Tsunami blog, the SEA-EAT blog for short has just paid a "next blog" visit to Series Magritte. This multi-authored blog contains extremely extensive news & information about resources, aid, donations, volunteer efforts & links from both sides of the Indian Ocean.
The only way I can comprehend the enormity of the loss of life in the tsunami that swept the Indian Ocean is to picture myself standing on top of Mt Archer, looking down at the city of Rockhampton below & imagining all of its 60,000 inhabitants dead.
Yet this is a natural disaster, made more horrific by the speed at which it happened. But it is less than the death toll of Iraqis since the U.S. & its partners invaded that country. To envisage what Man(un)kind does to its fellow humans, I would probably have to be in a satellite looking down over the continent of Australia & imagining all of its 20 million inhabitants dead. & even that might not be enough.
We may not be able to stop the war in Iraq. But we can provide some help to the devastated communities in Southern Asia. Two Australian agencies seeking donations are Care Australia & oxfam. & there are others. kari edwards has a comprehensive list of U.S. sites at transdada.
Yet this is a natural disaster, made more horrific by the speed at which it happened. But it is less than the death toll of Iraqis since the U.S. & its partners invaded that country. To envisage what Man(un)kind does to its fellow humans, I would probably have to be in a satellite looking down over the continent of Australia & imagining all of its 20 million inhabitants dead. & even that might not be enough.
We may not be able to stop the war in Iraq. But we can provide some help to the devastated communities in Southern Asia. Two Australian agencies seeking donations are Care Australia & oxfam. & there are others. kari edwards has a comprehensive list of U.S. sites at transdada.
Monday, December 27, 2004
snakes alive
There are no land snakes in New Zealand. There may be some exotics in zoos, but I don't remember ever seeing them. So because you are unfamiliar with them you grow up on a diet of rattlers in Westerns, asps zapping Cleopatra & snakes in myth & scary movies & end up being shit-scared of them.
It's a fear I brought with me to Australia. & because I have yet to see a snake in the wild I am still afraid of them. I've seen snakes behind glass in zoos here, & loose in displays at local Shows. I found a shed skin when I went walking in the Blue Mountains outside Sydney when I lived there. Here in Rockhampton I once heard the cat yowling at what I thought was the tom next door, went out to shoo it away, found no cat but saw / heard something long & lizard-like slithering away across the dead leaves in the garden. Put it down as a possible sighting.
& yesterday the closest I have come yet, finding a dead snake on one of the pavers next to the path in the back garden. About eighteen inches long, but in two parts. Killed by maybe an owl or a kookaburra or perhaps even the cat, though if it were the latter I would have expected it to have been at least part-eaten. & I don't think the cat has the classical education to sever it in accordance with the principles of the golden mean.
It's a fear I brought with me to Australia. & because I have yet to see a snake in the wild I am still afraid of them. I've seen snakes behind glass in zoos here, & loose in displays at local Shows. I found a shed skin when I went walking in the Blue Mountains outside Sydney when I lived there. Here in Rockhampton I once heard the cat yowling at what I thought was the tom next door, went out to shoo it away, found no cat but saw / heard something long & lizard-like slithering away across the dead leaves in the garden. Put it down as a possible sighting.
& yesterday the closest I have come yet, finding a dead snake on one of the pavers next to the path in the back garden. About eighteen inches long, but in two parts. Killed by maybe an owl or a kookaburra or perhaps even the cat, though if it were the latter I would have expected it to have been at least part-eaten. & I don't think the cat has the classical education to sever it in accordance with the principles of the golden mean.
Sunday, December 26, 2004
Saturday, December 25, 2004
Friday, December 24, 2004
Thursday, December 23, 2004
My French is so execrable
that someone has asked me to post the original of my de Chirico poem below. Here 'tis
Giorgio de Chirico's Departure of a friend
Giorgio de Chirico's Departure of a friend
Time is clasped
in the hands of the station clock
even as the hands of friends
grow cold
in their final parting.
one shadow is the
form of two men -
& it is autumn.
living in the tropics
go outside
raise an eyebrow
break out
into a sweat
green ants
on the left foot
black ants
on the right
four varieties
of mosquito
monitor
yr blood flow
raise an eyebrow
break out
into a sweat
green ants
on the left foot
black ants
on the right
four varieties
of mosquito
monitor
yr blood flow
Wednesday, December 22, 2004
a favourite dedication
Were it not for Maurice Pilorge,
whose death keeps plaguing my life,
I would never have written this book.
I dedicate it to his memory.
Jean Genet: Notre-Dame des Fleurs
Tuesday, December 21, 2004
draining the adriatic
The irrepressible César de Oliviera, aka Super Sharp, silver medalist in the prestigious Prémio Lopes-Graça de Composição for 2004, has posted his ideal house plans up at Hauptwege und Nebenwege. Before budding architects get too excited, he lists his desired specifications which include a library based on Borges, & it should also be noted that the gardens incorporate the Duchy of Luxembourg within the garden, & the swimming pool is given as the Adriatic Sea transported.
Which leads me into a koan of sorts. If you dig up the Adriatic Sea, then the Mediterranean Sea would rush in to fill up the space & the Adriatic Sea would therefore still be there. So would César's Sea be the real sea? Or a fallacy?
Which leads me into a koan of sorts. If you dig up the Adriatic Sea, then the Mediterranean Sea would rush in to fill up the space & the Adriatic Sea would therefore still be there. So would César's Sea be the real sea? Or a fallacy?
Giorgio de Chirico's Le départ de l'ami
Le temps est étreindit
dans les mains de l'horloge de la gare
de même que les mains des amis
croitent froid
dans leur séparation finale.
Une ombre seule est la
forme des deux hommes -
et c'est l'automne.
Monday, December 20, 2004
harry k stammer zooming in on the intersection in an excellent series of posts. 12/18, 12/16, 12/15/04.
I have cold climate genes. I was born in a town where the only ways out were the railway tunnel that ran under the mountains & a road pass through the mountains that was often snowed shut. I began school in another town where I refused to wear shoes so that I could break the ice on the puddles with my bare feet. The town after that was far enough south to be able to see the Aurora Australis. Strangely enough I have never lived anywhere where snow was commonplace.
I remember coal-fired trains, coal stoves, no ice-boxes but a cupboard, called a safe, that was on the outside of the house, with zinc mesh so that the wind could breathe through but the flies couldn't enter. The milk was delivered, tipped out into billy-cans from a churn. The bread was delivered, unwrapped, tasty, loaves that broke in half & which I used to love eating the insides out of. There is a Henry Miller piece I have always liked called the Staff of Life in which he bemoaned the trend in the U.S. towards tasteless bread. Which has now conquered the world, & bred niche markets for bread the way it used to be. At one hundred times the price.
There were outside toilets, "dunnies", that would be emptied by the night-soil man. I do not remember, but my parents have told me of, the night-soil collecter who was prosecuted because he also used to deliver the milk. At the same time.
All this prompted by the fact that it's hot & humid & uncomfortable at present, & I'm reading volume one of Bob Dylan's Chronicles. "The sound of trains off in the distance more or less made me feel at home." Not an autobiography, more of a memoir. Large chunks left out that I would rather have been put in. Though maybe that's how the ongoing volumes are going to be, collated like a game of leapfrog or a knight's moves in chess, each part jumping about, so that you need to read the volume after to discover what happened halfway through the one before.
& historic events as almost throwaway sentences.
I remember coal-fired trains, coal stoves, no ice-boxes but a cupboard, called a safe, that was on the outside of the house, with zinc mesh so that the wind could breathe through but the flies couldn't enter. The milk was delivered, tipped out into billy-cans from a churn. The bread was delivered, unwrapped, tasty, loaves that broke in half & which I used to love eating the insides out of. There is a Henry Miller piece I have always liked called the Staff of Life in which he bemoaned the trend in the U.S. towards tasteless bread. Which has now conquered the world, & bred niche markets for bread the way it used to be. At one hundred times the price.
There were outside toilets, "dunnies", that would be emptied by the night-soil man. I do not remember, but my parents have told me of, the night-soil collecter who was prosecuted because he also used to deliver the milk. At the same time.
All this prompted by the fact that it's hot & humid & uncomfortable at present, & I'm reading volume one of Bob Dylan's Chronicles. "The sound of trains off in the distance more or less made me feel at home." Not an autobiography, more of a memoir. Large chunks left out that I would rather have been put in. Though maybe that's how the ongoing volumes are going to be, collated like a game of leapfrog or a knight's moves in chess, each part jumping about, so that you need to read the volume after to discover what happened halfway through the one before.
& historic events as almost throwaway sentences.
"As for me, what I did to break away was to take simple folk changes and put new imagery and attitude to them, use catchphrases and metaphor combined with a new set of ordinances that evolved into something different that had not been heard before."
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