29.0: PASTORAL

Poetry guest edited by David Prater




Lautréamont

Yonder in a grove surrounded with flowers There is an insect nourished by men at their own expense. O austere mathematics! O lamp of silver, my eyes discern you in the air Hear the thoughts of my childhood humans of …

Posted in 29.0: PASTORAL | Tagged

Satisfaction

Holding the taut barbed-wire with one hand And myself with the other, I gaze at the ground As hundreds of shining grey dust droplets Roll away from the rotting fence post, Down the hill, moving like mercury. The drumming piss …

Posted in 29.0: PASTORAL | Tagged

Sunday Rag

Four thirty coal trains bump and grind/ papers on the lawn at five/ bees on blue early/ empty schooner glasses one drink from the pub/ breeze through the window/ scattering bark across/ kept out by glass/spiky coffee that sticks/ old …

Posted in 29.0: PASTORAL | Tagged

cold turkey

i was raised in a traditional background youd recognise it, two trees some rails a dolphin, sun going down, the usual drug problem. what are you looking at? god, suck it up. if only there were more like you ready …

Posted in 29.0: PASTORAL | Tagged

I can’t smell what you’d like me to

out here past the kangaroo tent past the magpie toilet through the ant infested rubble that calls itself a home nah it's all bullshit I don't want it but I need it we all need it But it doesn't mean …

Posted in 29.0: PASTORAL | Tagged

Your hair was so yellow

Here in Great-grandpa's hut an invocation of eucalyptus. Mist appears most mornings on this ridge caught in rough branches' cobwebs. I rebuild what is worth preserving employing hand tools from the past my favourite, his antique adze. Hammering ricochets down …

Posted in 29.0: PASTORAL | Tagged

Snow

The field is in its element: confetti knee-, neck-deep. As rain is the applause of the sky, so this is delirious burning in cold light: a hyper-tide of breathing. Skies vanish in warm breath-banks, opacity of words and, quarried from …

Posted in 29.0: PASTORAL | Tagged

Like Fire but Cold

like fire but cold the orange uplit clouds stream across the depths the fierce stars driving up I felt kangaroos watching from the bush my foot over the brake each to our own godless apocalypse the city below is obsessive …

Posted in 29.0: PASTORAL | Tagged

This Town Cannot Hold Itself Against the Sky

Walk a while in any direction and you'll find a field or an empty bottle or a pop can filled with purple gas It's not big enough to be a real city but, heck, there's a mall you could walk …

Posted in 29.0: PASTORAL | Tagged

Curing the Animal

My husband hands me the animal. A soft neck roll and a dead eye, a lustreless fur that I must touch to strip and salt and peg to dry. He is away all the day in the dust. a eucalypt …

Posted in 29.0: PASTORAL | Tagged

The Pastoralist Speaks

At the edge of the close-cropped lawn laps the drought, thirsty tongue all out. Every change of name pocks its mark. A scratch of smallpox on a survivor. The squatters clear a small place. A tongue licks dry lips. A …

Posted in 29.0: PASTORAL | Tagged

The house leans

The house leans against the icy southwesterlies, Dreaming itself as one of those pioneer ships threading Between gnarled cliffs near Glenample & barbed islands, Running in uncharted waters before five green fathoms Under a Moon too shy to show even …

Posted in 29.0: PASTORAL | Tagged