Late afternoon. Another forty degree day.
Sick of ecological talk I decide to meet it,
take my book into the park,
not sure how far I’ll go with Against Nature.
Rare grass crackles beneath my feet.
This is not turf but a shell oval,
yet die-hards play in their filthy whites.
Only clouds billow, lyric.
Dog after dog sniffs my rug,
A subdued genesis
AUSTRALIAN POETRY JOURNAL: BEGINNINGS
edited by Bronwyn Lea
Australian Poetry, $25 pb, 121 pp, 9780987176547
Bronwyn Lea has chosen ‘Beginnings’ as the theme for the first issue of Poetry Australia’s new jour ... More
Our competing lifestyles lost us the Australian double
that semester. And couldn’t we then arrange
to do the other, and was the desert that limitless,
and why not say so? You see, griping comes naturally
to me and to all mankind. Once, when shut up
at the bottom of a shaft of some kind, I
assumed that the world would just trickle naturally
around what ... More
Francis Webb the magician
COLLECTED POEMS: FRANCIS WEBB
edited and introduced by Toby Davidson
UWA Publishing, $32.95 pb, 480 pp, 9781742582689
The deeply troubled Francis Webb, a magician with language, is s ... More
I could say hello to things.
The hand’s wave,
when it comes –
formal, yet never once the same,
from the sunlight of the brain
makes a shadow of intent.
in the meadow of vision.
What am I? A crushed hominid.
A can of couscous, seeding.
A shudder of my former self, a
self-defrosting fridge. Good
with dogs, at looking after dogs,
at looking dog-like.
Mosquito slapper, hopeless unwrapper
of shrink-wrapped cheese.
What am I here for? To look after
my fading father, to bury and speak
when the time comes for scatt ... More