Jill Jones

Jill Jones

About Jill Jones

Jill Jones has published ten books of poetry, and a number of chapbooks. The most recent are Brink, The Leaves Are My Sisters, The Beautiful Anxiety, which won the Victorian Premier’s Prize for Poetry in 2015, and Breaking the Days, which was shortlisted for the 2017 NSW Premier’s Literary Awards. Her work is represented in major anthologies including the Macquarie PEN Anthology of Australian Literature and The Penguin Anthology of Australian Poetry. In 2014 she was poet-in-residence at Stockholm University. She is a member of the J.M. Coetzee Centre for Creative Practice, University of Adelaide.

To Split and Join

To praise impressions wherever bodies lie down, whoever To be with skin To not be but be here To not be a cut-out on a back lot To keep shoes fit and batteries keen To be as real and dirty …

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I’m restless about affinity There’s a form of am in every dream Stress prevaricates Aniseed lingers You can be too fond of fences making shiny choruses Air is a treasury The horizon fills with shallow light There’s devil in the …

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The Blossoms of Retail

We become our shopping something that’s not quite feeling a semi-emotion as if underwater or near tears unable to breathe or drown. Are we living in the present tense or another kind of mood? Where are the horses, the plains? …

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At Least Four Instances

how do you fend off the sea it will be here if not ever but as your fever or your shadow when you stop breathing do doors open as they did does your hand feel the same in the night …

Posted in 83: MATHEMATICS | Tagged | Leave a comment

The Storm

The storm catches on the door. It’s a good sign, a surge that’s more than breathing, that blows away dirt from reliquaries, and directions from their careful signs. It’s near speech and near trembling, sky bringer fate crowning from its …

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My Skeptic Tremor

Perhaps I require revolution rather than mending day or need to get back to my ill channels, disinterest, a fetish or two and a more obvious sin than procrastination. Force is never equal, not in my calculations, nor is severance …

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Seven Formulas of Method

1. Data: Sun on the right hand Sand fun this roght hend Sent an tho rught hind Sin ends thumb raght hond Song in that reght hund 2. Mix: on the right sand / sent behind / thumbs end rage …

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In Flight Entertainment

‘no more blues’, that’s not a promise there’s no traction or policy in the blues all those bars are too long a cycle to make for twittering views no more plaints or graces no thanks, ‘watch and listen carefully’ enhanced …

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Bearing False Witness

Stories of the heat rise above the boards and the walls bounce them, like lies. Walls are made of stuff that hides from me, those measurements, the mason’s spans. Dust is the choke, and across vision there’s a bar. I …

Posted in 51.1 : UMAMI | Tagged | Leave a comment

In My Shifts

I come in with language I come out of. Its weed, its shrill bugs. A harvest, a rot, a dervish. Cooked into night. Swum from beginnings. Patterns at the bottom of a pool. Something that doesn’t fit. That shifts and …

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What’s it like to be refurbished tackled or finger-printed? It’s not something you can ask but I’m asking. What is it like to be watched waited, frisked? Whenever I worry about my suit my transparency, I don’t think of brightness …

Posted in 49.0: OBSOLETE | Tagged | Leave a comment

‘All truth is crooked, time itself is a circle.’

You’re diagnosed with an incurable illness. You meet someone at a support group. They teach you how to tango. You both undergo a miracle cure. They become a vampire. Your tests come back clear. You delete their photograph. You change …

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