Kay Are

Kay Are writes poetry, draws, collages, sometimes translates unfaithfully, and maintains an intense walking practice with her seven-year-old in exurban Naarm Melbourne. Recent work can be found at Stilts, TEXT, Seizure, Axon, Cordite and Double Dialogues.

a little called anything is a little called

(all instances of little vs all instances of big in Gertrude Stein’s Objects) little ways with really little spices, little sales, the little things very little difference between little women and little pops between little ladies little choosing little leading …

Posted in 102: GAME | Tagged

3 Poems by Rogelio Guedea

i’m thinking about my feet, sometimes a country i don’t understand
dwelling on my hands, two islands,
on my knee, remote and lonely city

Posted in TRANSLATIONS | Tagged ,

Glazed Glitter.

     Love you, no he’s nervous, and we just now had a couple of coffees. An urban sock or about three avocados. No crap no yep. The other day. On the board, you do have milk if that will go away …

Posted in 62: MELBOURNE | Tagged

Foliage and Grace and a New

foliage and grace and a new cup and saucer, a laugh and a lip and a laid climb sudden and at the same time patient and staring and too late and later all this and not ordinary noise and distance …

Posted in 61: NO THEME III | Tagged

Kay Rozynski Interviews Mark Tredinnick

I say ‘nature writing’, you see a Hallmark watercolour landscape replete with furry animals and woolly sentiment. But is this really the extent of it? What the hay is nature writing, or what isn’t? Where is the line between the natural and the human and, if there is any line at all, who put it there?

Posted in INTERVIEWS | Tagged ,

Seven Secret Cities

A city had never the dimensions of a page; or, if it did, there was no need for the writing of it. Writing is a way in which a city of instances becomes an event. Instances disclose themselves patiently; the intention to account for these translates them into events. The inhabitant, who may or who may not be transitory, writes, and the page opens onto a secret space where instances arrange themselves into constellations: something here can at last and literally take place

Posted in ESSAYS | Tagged