from HOT POCKET

Xe woke up and knew immediately that xe had been asleep.

Xe rotated in a slight squirm, pushing xer head against xer neck with itself and wobbling in xer glider. Each visible unifaced cumulus might seize. Xe curled within sewn-in body fabrics bunching wetly and enveloping greasy beads in their folds, and pressing through the shell fibers moisture. Facing dully the cold and blue rushing air, looking past the multiply filtered lenses of xer glasses and letting air flow hotly through the wide nostrils of xer nose, into xer sticking mouth, xe saw lights of pink milk in the limp black sponges behind xer eyelids, wobbled in xer glider, and blinked sleep’s wax. Collapsible within a cheerful soft hood of young textiles, xe used a red lamp as a source of light in the day, a beam opening and fading into slanting cloud bases and registering criteria to the glide. Inside the tubing it vibrates like a familiar pack of little worms, or moths. Xe turned a flurry; she pictured the wooden flames of a set upon hang glider. Woven and loose in dust. Not even three hot air balloons.

Xe glided plain and fine. With harsh intuition xe dipped forward with the full weight of xer torso, pulling the glider frame fluidly towards xer stomach through a short arc and swinging the lower half of xer body in its snug feathery cocoon upward with xer lower back. Xe tightened xer abdomen against the bar and, amidst a dive in which treacles of speed accumulated over #self, listened for the correct pitch of sliced air whistling over the taut corners of glider fabric, the totality of undercarriage—carabiners, flexing plastic, brushed metal tubework, dense foam padding—emitting a sharp groan as air scrolled over and burnt the surface of xer cheeks and earlobes. A satellite flung over the lip of a bank of chemical clouds in the distance and xe shuddered, xer wings an aspic humming; hungry noises withdrew from themselves lengthily in this dip and left the next minute the place in which they had become spooled. Xe saw xer imagined vinyl tool, the inside of a footholder and scraping harness. In the distant microgeese new air packs hung suborbital, smearing glosses of future cloudlife into xer instrumentation.

Xe wears out xer sanding discs quickly into and outside normal activity; it was completing the lower half of the cocoon by threads crossing in all directions under the gathered ruffles attached to those first spun from the rim. Sustaining xer posture, xe angled xer legs towards xer body against the air sliding beneath xer cocoon, and steadied xer torso on the glider frame, neutralising the tension in xer forearms and allowing the angled front tip of the craft to catch itself out violently from a dive. It pitched upwards for a moment then responded to redoubled upward pressure of xer cocooned legs, easing onto a flat plane of temperate air.

Xe relaxed. Xer grip on each guide pole loosened into a soft claw and xe slumped into the glaze of dissolving sleep lying damply in xer musculature, feeling the glider also respond to an ambient still, calmly adrift in the atmospheric pocket. Xe pushed xer flat hands out past the bar and stretched xer arms, interlocking xer fingers against the background of distant braiding strings of clouds and flat blue. Xe tucked xer elbow back onto the bar and let xer forearm hang down into the air, rippling xer long, loose fingers. Xe leaned xer head onto xer shoulder and twisted the inside of xer wrist towards #self, then her face, to check the pale green face of xer watch. It was midday, and xe had not meant to nap. The glider continued to move forward, barely descending in the easy air. Sunsets fell apart. Xe looked at xer infrared: nothing.

Xe caught the vortical edge of a dry thermal and urged forward to catch it—xe began to crest and swoop, gently, tracing parabolic patterns in the finely dusty air. Xe felt properly weightless, as xer body lifted out from the downward bearing ache of the cocoon’s saddle. The sun was high. Clouds were minimal and distant, except for one, which was unusually vertical, and though not at all dense, a very definite white. Its length was impossible to perceive. Xe noticed that the cloud was very faintly disappearing at the bottom. Xe focused on the ghostly tail. Xe was unsettled; xe tried to unfocus xer eyes, slacken xer gaze, and force the cloud into a diffuse mist, the one xe always thought. The effort pulled on xer throat, making it dry, and xe sucked water through the straw of xer sippycup. Xe could sense xer scalp hydrating, the fever across xer chest mottle. Xe tried to imagine that the blood in xer ankles formed a mist, something else.

Xe flew close to a mountain range and skimmed the shale.


Return to Wandering through the Universal Archive: A Chapbook Curated by Fiona Hile

Posted in POETRY | Tagged ,

Th E Ma N Fr Om Sn Ow Ri Ver

Th E Ma N Fr Om Sn Ow Ri Ver | (16:53)
[audio:http://cordite.org.au/audio/farrell_schwartz.mp3|titles=Th E Ma N Fr Om Sn Ow Ri Ver – Michael Farrell and Oscar Schwartz]
Michael Farrell and Oscar Schwartz

Posted in UNIVERSAL ARCHIVE | Tagged ,

Alchemical

Your electric moon breast
My black-trunked, gold-leaf slip
Fall into flux
Dissipate like white plumes
You’re especially wild
With a strange malaise for more

Metallic aches, we moor
Ourselves to a daisy, sit two abreast:
Brush strokes of willed
Grass in the distance, our slippery
Perspex brain plumb
At the centre of—ah!—fucks

Your hand pulls my bones out, a fluke
And the birds arch into morrow
Bright as the stain of blood plums
Chime in the beast
Crossing the freeway’s rose-pink lips
Roadkill wiled

Away the day: IT was another word for wild
Or another word for luxe
Discussing Freudian slips
With our mouths unmoored
Leave the port at Brest
Land’s edge gone dim, plumb

The rimbaldien sugar plum
Face the world
As he did, titless at best—
Ears and lip, flower of a heart, fleck
Of skin, gimme more!—
No cheat, strip

Our messy embrace, spilt
Air we’ll never plumb
The lash of each other, always more
Clouds, bodies, worlds
To clash like waves and fluke
TRANSMUTATION, a Grand work of breasts

Turned back toward Brest we slip
Up, boat set on flux, plumbing
The wild, nothing more

Posted in UNIVERSAL ARCHIVE | Tagged ,

Manic at Night

The refrigerator’s humming outside
and I like that.
Outside of any use I could make of it.
But I can’t see it now,
cause I’m in a different suburb, but this reminds me
of how I used to like
the ‘Here’s Too-ee’ sign, lit up at night, in steam,
in the headlights. The freezing lines,
weather-forecast needs, indeterminate
flow of large blurred lights becoming objects again.
Trying to fragment the sense
but it doesn’t work, because of
the connections, between words and
each other. You try to attend,
but not attend properly, or try
not to attend – but you do. If this is manic
it’s fairly restrained. It’s probably relaxed
really: a hammock swinging in the
backyard of a sense of
quiet retrieval, of the linguistic connections
that constitute the idea,
or of something automatic
behind it.
You think it: Time, small
parcels of thought in train that
move darkly past unopened, familiar beneath
their disguises, the disguises that saying ‘No’ lends
each of them – and are
incognito, as in Who wants to know?
Wait, your hand reaches for
a beer, but the fridge is stuck.
And relaxes across your chest, your glass empty.
You go to sleep fully
apprised emotionally, and calm.
Falling out of the air
with both arms,
but in charge somehow and not desperate, as though
your worst fears
had telegraphed the vicissitudes you deal with.
Then outside again and clutching the rail
which is very nicely cool
and makes the hand relax actually.

*

The air-conditioning like distant aircraft
or the way trucks hum at night in sleep.
Most things at night make the mind relax,
(against the grain, again), like lightning
illuminates the real world but discharges
ions that soothe anyway.
Inside, the telly rages greyly
as a channel switches off. You go inside
and change it, and come outside again, the new
image bouncing, reflected, in the glass behind.
And time for this thought:
each image occupies its own
parentheses, without surprise, appearing
one at a time, although it’s a dream
from the details of an ordinary day,
carrier waves to an idea or impulse
that can only be named …
where you know the name of something
best by just not thinking about it
– by ignoring them, in their immediacy,
their fascination – epiphenomena
to an aspiration – as you reflect upon
an ‘ideal’ of self-quotation,
remembering how you had looked up
to the sun above the top floors of buildings,
where the light hits,
as, below, the silent swimmers
appear, one by one, in the streets,
in the calm erasure of their paths through space,
without reflection and unknown to you,
all the days that beat like waves, black and white,
where a white froth of minutes is ineluctable
and inevitable and you too far to care.
Though caring is the least part. Let’s say, you
simply leave it, as someone shouts
up from a lift shaft, and lights appear,
rising from the airport, across the city.
A face looks down. Your face? Your own,
or the image in your mind’s eye that expresses
your attitude? Over and over, like a pop song you hate
but cannot ignore, these words: these truths
harm you to attend and are final – you stand ‘outside’
to think them, but you are outside
really, now,
and a few other occasions like these.

Posted in UNIVERSAL ARCHIVE | Tagged ,

Between Page and Screen (Cordite remix)

Between Page and Screen (Cordite remix)

Click on the image above to launch this augmented reality poem, created specially
for Cordite Poetry Review, that grows out of Between Page and Screen, or else try
opening it in a new window.

NOTE: To view the poem, you will need a webcam and a printed marker
(download this here)
to commence the poem.

Posted in UNIVERSAL ARCHIVE | Tagged ,

Two Poems by Patrick Jones

Winter’s pharmacopeia

t
He fruits and weedful plants that swell
through frost and sl
Eet and occasional snow
who lovingly b
Are themselves to us
at 
Local when we require them most
when i
T is cold and we fall sick
t
Hey offer free preventatives
rosehips and 
Chickweed
w
Atercress and feijoa
cit
Rus and stickyweed
garlic from c
Ellar
berries 
From hawthorns
p
Reserved as fruit leather
hon
Ey bottled
from th
E flowers of summer


Posted in UNIVERSAL ARCHIVE | Tagged

Three Poems by Marty Hiatt and Sam Langer

home tunnel game approaching all get-out

fried afternoon fright great wing of gulls
as a clump of eyes
in the mail
sadness of cubes
rejected their networking lens,
nevertheless their reflex worlds
that meet & part amber
in the sky & one grey of waves
hailing & hatting st kilda,
remembered people,
an article about creamed face
head included
followed by reactionary tears
where eaters live

lay down 46 times in a world gone mad
to no avail, the lack of cost
evidence of how stupid

one had been, kissing
& kissing in the moonlight as ELWOOD
rose from sea at end
squint into lighthouse
then drive to park where gods
are their hatred of us, & us ourselves
treading down the light grass
& asseverating turgid inanities
we who wrote for nothing but
those planted kidneys & rich,
spastic babies, their lines of flight
a bible for airports
inflating a canopy to catch the souls of tars

hush! echo speaks!

it is a long fermata
smarting under the patina the
same nothing can feel
up a question about method:

you wrote at key points,
basically generated in bits
of other heads
struggling to work off
the planet of our letters

rafting now, between rats
w/ tiny hammers being
mind in the fountains.
the leaves sing: i’m glad
we’re beggars squirting cologne,
drawing this volatile burden,
glueing models. we never close.

there are a number of updates
from around the world.
in the mountains rainbow crows
tear up a book by doctor
justice. a paean to ato notes
weeping agents lacking
evidence. ask about our new
distant fantasies, suck the
energy of ghosts, important
hero found in moist syntax.
trade like its the 90s! i
work w/ data/children,
unexamined tasks. lift imp
ortant: hard clear sad cubes
turned up. betimes fire part
icles at trunk, cop missile.
look the window i’m vomiting

nevertheless the duplex world
rose from the emulsion sea
to reject clump of eyes and mail
in a looped story of net work forgiveness.

the business partner’s
random numb legs
encapsulate destruction
embrace death
he uses this kind of locution:
—i am a useless artist—

dropped digger’s rest implant shipment cargo cult

clam hands not for victory of public
sin taste rank wounds w/o dreams
instead i ask your bed: did
you get the anxiety? V exciting
like vice and coma in time
for crisis. tell the story of this truck
gliding into gleaming moistness.
then sad part in her curls sees crime’s
chipped tooth gnawing concrete
bust. my sterile catkin lay
down 46 times, blown
off by the world of insurance
broker coveting soiled report
of widely distributed friend.
it is not a friendship of grey
st kilda gulls, because deadlocked.
i mean to the atrophy cabinet.
behemoth films often considered
important suck wounded cones
of the dead. hollow boredom
applauded, then discarded.

this is only a surmise.
lying alone, godless, a whopping
tube of spirit slime branded
by the unmanifest after storm, more
nothing. graph suggest i’m building
bomb. but i’ve no way to verify this.
how long can we let
the “mummies” fuck us
up? spin wheels in
pure and formless
mud for levitation.

Posted in UNIVERSAL ARCHIVE | Tagged ,

Tim Wright Reviews Keri Glastonbury

grit salute

grit salute by Keri Glastonbury
Soi3, 2012

Keri Glastonbury’s first full-length collection, grit salute, gathers together work written since her 1999 Five Islands Press chapbook Hygienic Lily. Glastonbury’s published poems date from the late 1980s, and as such – and, it has to be said, because of publisher delays – this volume has been much anticipated by admirers of her poetry. Glastonbury is known in the Sydney and Newcastle scenes as a teacher of poetry and cultural studies, and as a champion and enthusiast of new critical and creative writing, particularly by younger writers; one example of the latter being her revival, with others, of the important 1980s Sydney imprint, Local Consumption Publications. Continue reading

Posted in BOOK REVIEWS | Tagged ,

Review Short: Pete Spence’s Excurses

Excurses by Pete Spence
Picaro, 2012

Pete Spence’s chapbook, Excurses, follows closely on the heels of his excellent book-length collection Perrier Fever (Grand Parade Poets, 2011). Long known as an exponent of visual poetry and mail art, Spence’s more ‘conventional’ poetry has, somewhat surprisingly given his long publishing history going back to the 1970s, slipped under the radar to some degree. One hopes these recent books will go some way to rectifying this oversight, for Spence’s work strikes a particularly distinctive note among contemporary Australian poetry.

Continue reading

Posted in BOOK REVIEWS | Tagged ,

Andrew Carruthers Reviews Jessica Wilkinson

marionette

marionette: a biography of miss marion davies by Jessica Wilkinson
Vagabond, 2012

Historical Actuality and the Realpoetik

          'The page is not neutral. Not blank,
          and not neutral. It is a territory.'

                    Rachel Blau DuPlessis on Susan Howe (2006)

          'The page remains―but can the page restore
          The vanished bowers which Fancy taught to bloom?'

                    Mary Tighe, Psyche, or the Legend of Love (1805)

Free Music. Hung Voice

In an intriguing vispo ‘Free Music,’ published here in Cordite in 2011, Jessica L. Wilkinson hangs a score. Hung, literally: for what is it about the musical score that gets hung up on text? What was the final sentence? No: hang the score, hang it, Wilkinson writes! Wilkinson’s visible labor is at work in the lower half of the piece, where letters are strung along lines: alphabetic versus diastemmatic (or neumic) notation. Continue reading

Posted in BOOK REVIEWS | Tagged , , ,

Toby Fitch Reviews Mathew Abbott

Mathew Abbott

wild inaudible by Mathew Abbott
Australian Poetry Ltd, 2012

The organisational body Australian Poetry Ltd, formerly the Australian Poetry Centre, has reintroduced its ‘New Poets Series’ as a ‘new voices series’ via first books of poetry by Mathew Abbott and Eileen Chong., Both books are around 30-40 pages, and repeat the same production errors of the 2010 and 2009 series. This review focuses on the poetry of Mathew Abbott’s wild inaudible.

Continue reading

Posted in BOOK REVIEWS | Tagged ,

INDONESIA Editorial

Cordite 40.1: INDONESIA

When I approached major Indonesian poet Sapardi Djoko Damono – godfather of that sprawling nation’s contemporary poetics and a renowned translator of English-language works into Bahasa Indonesia – about working with me on a kind of ‘translation exchange’ to then publish online and promote in our countries, he e-replied enthusiastically that ‘we must’!

But it was with a slight twinge – the kind of cogent relish fork that skewers your mood (just enough, but none too deep) when you learn your most recent great idea is not as original as its first eureka promised you – that I read further into Damono’s email to learn that he’d done exactly this back in 1991 (sans the online angle). Mendorong Jack Kuntikunti: Sepilihan Sajak Dari Australia collects one to two poems from 41 Australian poets; together, the works form an anthology with Indonesian translations published side-by-side with the English originals. Co-editor for the project was Canberra-based poet R F Brissenden. Damono sent me a well-loved copy of the book immediately (I imagine it’s well out of print).

None of the book’s frontmatter, cover blurbs, editors’ statements or the introduction, written by David Brooks, has an English translation/original included … so I am not sure what angle or MO Damono and Brissenden took or exactly why they chose the poets they did.

Just who was included in that group of 41? Here they are in the order they appear in the book:

Henry Lawson, Kenneth Slessor, A D Hope, Douglas Stewart, John Blight, John Manifold, Judith Wright, David Campbell, James McAuley, Rosemary Dobson, Oodgeroo Noonuccal, Dimitris Tsaloumas, Gwen Harwood, Francis Webb, Bruce Beaver, R F Brissenden, Peter Porter, Bruce Dawe, Chris Wallace-Crabbe, Vivian Smith, Fay Zwicky, Thomas Shapcott, Judith Rodriguez, Les Murray, Geoffrey Lehmann, Geoff Page, Andrew Taylor, Kate Llewellyn, Ray Desmond Jones, Roger McDonald, Jennifer Rankin, John Tranter, Robert Adamson, Robert Gray, Eric Bogle, Billy Marshall-Stoneking, Rhyll McMaster, Michael Dransfield, Nicolette Stasko, David Brooks and Judith Beveridge.

Quite the line-up and, generally, they are safe choices (including at least two couples and a few well-established odd-couples). It would have been 1989–1990, roughly, when this collection was being developed.

In my preliminary discussions with Damono, he proffered that he’d distinctly be interested in translating established ‘younger’ poets, possibly each with only a full-length book or three out, whose writing careers were clearly very much on the uptick and who would be writing poetry for decades to come. And he’d donate his time in so doing. It occurred to me then, triggered by his generosity, that Mendorong Jack Kuntikunti was only one-way: English words from Australian poets translated into Indonesian and no reciprocity. That aforementioned twinge stopped immediately and my excitement grew.

The number of poets from each country for this special issue was initially set at 20. I put together a list of 25 writers (knowing there would be decliners or non-repliers) whose work features strong lyricism to best serve the translation process and not unduly tax the gentlemen’s agreement this project had been up to that point: Damano the translator, we the editors, Cordite the publisher. We wanted a mix of gender, geographic region and style from each country. Indeed, I got exactly 20 enthusiastic replies.

Unfortunately, a fair few of the Australian poets I approached – writers who initially agreed to be a part of the translation exchange – were unable or perhaps, in the end, unwilling to meet our deadline for the translations to commence. Yes, I did ask for new work. Yes, all poems were graciously donated by the authors. That we were down to 11 poets instead of 20 was fine. The result is that the diversity of Australian poets I had intended to include fell a bit short, but the quality that remained did not. The spirit of the project was very much intact.

By the contribution deadline, I had invited John McGlynn, director of The Lontar Foundation in Jakarta – and at his recommendation, academic and translator Deborah Cole and bilingual Indonesian poet and translator Dorothea Rosa Herliany – to join the project to help ensure its full realisation in translation and cementing the details Damono and I first agreed on. They have done amazing work to help make this special issue happen. I would be keenly interested in a volume II of this type of exchange with Indonesian poets, focusing more on experimental works (which would require a far larger translation crew and a larger budget, read: any amount > 0$).

So why Indonesia? How did I come to get in touch with Sapardi Djoko Damono in the first place, let alone McGlynn, Cole and Herliany?

During the time I was learning the rigging of ropes and jibs that intertwine and billow to form Cordite Poetry Review from David Prater, grand Oz behind the curtain of this website for so many years, I was concurrently in the thick of editing a collection of memoir essays from overseas-born writers now living in and writing from Australia. (Not to mention keeping a pragmatic day job as well. And being a new father. And being a husband. And commuting on Yarra Trams.) Researching for this nonfiction anthology is how I came to commission an essay from Lily Yulianti Farid, a superb short-story writer now living in Brunswick, Victoria. As it turned out, she is also director of the Makassar International Writers Festival on the north-central Indonesian island of Celebes. Farid had invited Damono out to the festival in 2011 and soon extended an invitation to me in 2012. There, I met McGlynn and the author and actor Luna Vidya, whose photos I used for this issue.

Farid, as it also turned out, knew some handy contacts at the US Embassy in Jakarta, a possible funding source for me (as I am both a US citizen and an irreversible permanent Australian resident). It was. They did. And so I travelled to Indonesia as a guest of the American Embassy (after much scrutiny of my career). The indefatigable Esti Durahsanti, a public-relations officer at the embassy, met me in Makassar and doubled as my translator and minder at some events outside the festival at Hasanuddin University. It turned out Durahsanti’s father is a very close friend of none other than Sapardi Djoko Damono, whom we talked about at great length – which indirectly sparked the redoubling of my effort to make this special issue happen.

So it’s been a circuitous calligraphy of good fortune, ‘turned outs’ and prescient timing that sees this special issue happening at all. But that, too, is how it occasionally bends. I hope you enjoy the poems.

Posted in ESSAYS | Tagged , , , , , , ,

Editorial Introduction: Crossing Bloodlines

Baca pengantar dalam Bahasa Indonesia

The poems in this collection trace the overlapping cycles of the human journey from birth to death across the space/time habitat we measure in footfalls and poetic metre. Travelled in the company of family and community, our journeys enact the species’ heritage and legacy of kinship and violence – two sides of the same struggle towards a longed-for intimacy that might negate the spatial, temporal and psychological divide between the other and the self. Through commingling languages and intertwining elocutions, this issue explores the distances and intimacies between a varied set of human journeys by poets writing in Indonesia and Australia. As these two countries are so close on maps – but oftentimes, sadly, only on our maps – these poems invite the re-arrangement of our conceptual geographies.

Indonesia photo salon by Luna Vidya

[EasyGallery id=’lunavidya’]
*Click on the image above to view this gallery.

This collection began as a conversation between Kent MacCarter and Sapardi Djoko Damono (arguably Indonesia’s best-known contemporary poet and leading literary scholar). The goal was to create a translation exchange that would showcase established poets whose work was still very much on the rise with a balanced representation of gender, ethnicity and region in each country. A second conversation between MacCarter and John McGlynn (leading translator of Indonesian literature into English and editor-in-chief of The Lontar Foundation) led to an invitation to McGlynn, poet Dorothea Rosa Herliany and me (Deborah Cole) to join the project – an invitation that we accepted enthusiastically.

For the past several years, McGlynn, Herliany and I have been putting together the forthcoming Lontar Anthology of Indonesian Poetry. We’ve discovered no shortage of Indonesian poets writing in the past century, somewhere in the neighbourhood of 1,800 people, with poems addressing topics as diverse as the writers themselves and as varied as the issues confronting their fast-developing nation. Choosing only eleven to include here was a difficult task, mitigated slightly by the conscious preference for mid-career poets active today.

This special issue of Cordite Poetry Review enables a preliminary realisation of the anthology’s goals, even before its appearance in print – to cross the language barrier between poets writing in Indonesian and English and to increase the diversity of each group’s literary meme pool. We offer our heartfelt thanks to MacCarter for his vision (it was his idea that this introduction be bilingual) and for inviting our collaboration.

One of the most striking characteristics of this collection – at least what stood out to me when at last I read all the selected poems together – is the abundance of blood that appears in these texts. They brought to mind a favorite passage in Tom Stoppard’s absurdist play, Rosenkratnz and Guildenstern are Dead, that features two of the minor characters from Shakespeare’s Hamlet. The title characters meet up with a band of tragedians, who offer to give them a performance.

PLAYER:  ... we can do you blood and love without the rhetoric, and we can do you
blood and rhetoric without the love, and we can do you all three concurrent or
consecutive, but we can’t give you love and rhetoric without the blood. Blood is
compulsory. They’re all blood, you see.

GUILDENSTERN: Is that what people want?

PLAYER:  It’s what we do.1

In the variety of loves contemplated and the assortment of rhetorics engaged here, blood does indeed appear to be compulsory. Violence is ubiquitous and rears its head even in the most serene moments and the most banal contexts. Alongside the appearances of out–and–out slaughter and face-to-face ravagings, these poets contemplate the violence of work in the modern world, the brutal ‘worlding’ of our childhood minds, and the assault on our sense of self and community in the ubiquity of our non-creative labor and consumer-driven media. All of which makes us ‘long for change, some quick suddenness in the veins’ that would enable us to slip one into the other, ‘to devour the membranes’ between us, or to cut them apart with a knife in search of satisfaction or pain.

At times, these poems emphasise the universal genetic connection of the whole of our species and our common experiences of growth and aging. On other occasions they highlight the undeniable distinctiveness of the birthrights and identities bestowed by our cultures, which set the boundaries between categories of people: men/women, royalty/commoner, ethnicitiy/nationality. Often they address the challenge of crossing over, of mixing blood with blood, of successfully exchanging genes and memes given the lines we’ve inherited and help to maintain.

There are a few moments of apparent ‘love and rhetoric without the blood’: A poem about a mother, her daughter and a horse, one about a newlywed, and one about a lover’s body in the sunlight. But even these are about blood, accenting our sexual desires and our inherited kinship with horses and mosses. As a collection, any imaginative purity is fleeting, and all love and rhetoric belong to a narrative wherein even the fantasy of mythology offers no escape from the tedium of modern life, our estrangement from each other, or our penchant to do others physical and psychological harm.

Blood is what we do. We’re a bloody violent species, even at our most intimate. These 22 poems remind us that blood is the red thread connecting us all. And they do so while arguing that rhetoric and love can mitigate how compelling blood will be. ‘Hearts can change’, and these poems bear witness to a human consciousness that recoils against the destruction of the body, against the violence that takes our best of friends, our dearest of lovers, and our littlest of siblings (‘Mei’, the title of Pinurbo’s poem about the violence in Jakarta in May 1998, means ‘May’ in Indonesian and ‘little sister’ in Chinese). The collection affirms that the human body remains our indispensible muse and that whatever violence we do, the wonder of the other’s body will engender the urge to cross bloodlines with poetry.

Posted in ESSAYS | Tagged , , , ,

Editorial Pengantar: Menyebrang Garis Keturunan

Read this introduction in English

Puisi-puisi dalam kumpulan ini merunut siklus-siklus perjalanan manusia yang bertumpang-tindih sejak kelahiran sampai kematian, melintasi ruang dan waktu yang kita hitung dengan derap kaki dan ukuran puitika. Berkelana di dalam lingkup keluarga dan masyarakat, perjalanan kita akan memerankan warisan spesies ini, persaudaraan dan kekerasan—dua sisi dari perjuangan yang sama yang sangat menginginkan kedekatan yang bisa meniadakan pemisah jarak, waktu dan psikologi antara sosok ‘liyan’ dan diri sendiri. Melalui pertemuan dan pergaulan bahasa serta percakapan, tema yang diangkat ini menjelajah berbagai jarak dan kedekatan di antara berbagai ragam latar perjalanan manusia melalui penulisan puisi di Indonesia dan Australia. Karena dua negara ini begitu dekat di peta, namun seringkali, hanya di atas peta, puisi-puisi ini mengundang adanya pengaturan kembali konsep-konsep geografis kita.

Indonesia Tidak salon oleh Luna Vidya

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Kumpulan ini berawal dari percakapan antara Kent MacCarter dan Sapardi Djoko Damono (yang bisa dikatakan sebagai penyair kontemporer Indonesia terkemuka sekaligus ahli susastra Indonesia). Dimaksudkan untuk menciptakan media pertukaran karya terjemahan yang akan menampilkan penyair-penyair kuat yang karyanya mengemuka, dengan perwakilan seimbang dari segi gender, etnis, dan daerah di masing-masing negara. Perbincangan selanjutnya antara Kent dan John McGlynn (penerjemah sastra Indonesia ke bahasa Inggris yang termuka dan pemimpin Yayasan Lontar) adalah lantaran bagi undangan John kepada penyair Dorothea Rosa Herliany dan saya untuk ikut dalam proyek ini – undangan yang kami terima secara sangat antusias.

Selama beberapa tahun terakhir, John, Dorothea, dan saya telah bersama-sama mengerjakan The Lontar Anthology of Indonesian Poetry, sebuah antologi yang akan memuat sekian ratus karya puisi dari abad keduapuluh. Dalam proses penghimpuan karya yang akan dimuat dalam buku tsb., kami menemukan segudang karya yang ditulis oleh sekitar 1.800 penyair dengan tema-tema yang sangat beragam sebagaimana para penulis sendiri, tema-tema yang berkisah tentang sejarah dan perkembangan negeri ini yang pesat. Maka, memilih hanya sebelas penyair untuk dimasukkan dalam kumpulan ini merupakan tugas yang tidak mudah. Dalam hal pemilihan tsb., kami memprioritaskan penyair yang masih cukup muda namun telah terbukti memiliki karir kepenulisan yang mantap. Edisi istimewa Cordite Poetry Review ini merupakan perwujudan awal tujuan Antologi di atas, yakni sebuah usaha mengatasi rintangan bahasa penulisan puisi dalam bahasa Indonesia dan bahasa Inggris serta meningkatkan keragaman lungkang meme literer pada masing-masing komunitas penulis. Kepada Kent MacCarter yang mengusulkan pengantar ini dimuat dalam dua bahasa, kami menyampaikan terima kasih sedalam-dalamnya atas undangan kerja sama kepada kami.

Salah satu ciri yang paling menonjol dari kumpulan ini—setidaknya yang langsung terlihat bagi saya ketika akhirnya saya membaca semua kumpulan puisi ini bersamaan—adalah adanya darah yang melimpah dalam teks-teks tersebut. Hal ini mengingatkan saya pada salah satu bagian dalam drama absurd karya Tom Stoppard, Rosenkratnz and Guildenstern are Dead, yang menampilkan dua tokoh minor dari karya Shakespeare, Hamlet. Tokoh-tokoh utama bertemu dengan kelompok pemain sandiwara yang menawarkan pertunjukan.

PEMAIN: ... kami bisa memainkan darah dan cinta tanpa retorika, atau darah dan
retorika tanpa cinta, dan kami bisa memainkan ketiganya secara bersamaan atau
bergantian, tetapi kami tidak bisa memberimu cinta dan retorika tanpa darah. Darah
adalah wajib. Semuanya darah, begitu.

GUILDENSTERN: Apakah ini yang orang-orang inginkan?

PEMAIN: Itulah yang kami lakukan.1

Dalam beragam perenungan tentang cinta dan berbagai variasi retorika yang tampak dalam puisi di edisi jurnal ini, darah sepertinya menjadi unsure wajib. Kekerasan muncul di mana-mana, baik dalam saat-saat hening maupun dalam konteks-konteks yang banal. Di samping penggambaran baik pembantaian masal maupun pembinasaan individu, para penyair juga menyampaikan pandangan tentang kekerasan yang terjadi di tempat kerja dunia modern, brutalnya pemikiran kita yang dibentuk sewaktu masih kanak-kanak, dan serangan terhadap perasaan diri dan komunitas yang terjadi sebagai akibat dari rutinitas pekerjaan kita yang serba non-kreatif serta dorongan konsumptif yang tak ada hentinya dari media massa. Semua ini yang menjadikan kita ‘mendambakan perubahan sekonyong-konyong di dalam pembuluh darah vena’ yang akan memungkinkan kita saling menyelip satu sama lain, ‘melahap membran’ yang memisah kita, atau untuk membelahnya dengan sebuah pisau dalam pencarian kepuasan atau penderitaan.

Terkadang, puisi-puisi yang dimuat di edisi ini menekankan adanya hubungan genetika universal antara seluruh makhluk manusia dan pengalaman yang sama dialami dalam hal bertumbuh dan menua. Pada kesempatan lain, puisi-puisi ini menjadi tanda penting perbedaan-perbedaan tak terelakkan dari hak-hak kelahiran dan identitas-identitas yang dilimpahkan oleh budaya-budaya kita, yang membentangkan batas-batas antara kategori-kategori masyarakat: laki-laki/perempuan, orang ningrat /masyarakat biasa, kesukuan/kebangsaan. Seringkali mereka mengalamatkan tantangan untuk melintasi batas, untuk mencampur darah dengan darah, untuk menukar gen dan memes meskipun adanya garis-garis yang kita warisi dan bantu untuk menjaganya.

Di dalam puisi-puisi yang terkumpul di sini ada pula beberapa sajak yang menampilkan ‘cinta dan retorika tanpa darah’: misalkan sebuah puisi tentang seorang ibu, putrinya dan seekor kuda; satu tentang pengantin baru; dan satu lagi tentang tubuh kekasih di cahaya matahari. Namun puisi-puisi ini juga ternyata menuliskan tentang darah, menekan pada hasrat seksual kita dan warisan ilmu sejarah keluraga kita dengan kuda dan lumut-lumut. Sebagai sebuah kumpulan, imajinasi yang murni muncul hanya secara sepintas lalu, dan semua cinta dan retorika menjadi milik seubah narasi dimana bahkan fantasi mitologi pun menawarkan hal yang tidak lepas dari kebosanan terhadap kehidupan modern, keasingan kita satu sama lain, kecenderungan untuk melakukan perusakan kepada yang lain baik secara fisik maupun psikologis.

‘Darah’ adalah yang kita lakukan. Kita adalah makhluk yang melakukan kekerasan dan menumpahkan darah, bahkan pada yang paling dekat. Puisi-puisi ini mengingatkan kita bahwa darah adalah benang merah yang menghubungkan kita semua. Dan ini dilakukannya sembari berdebat bahwa retorika dan cinta dapat meredakan dorongan terhadap darah tersebut. ‘Hati bisa berubah’, dan puisi ini membawakan kesaksian pada kesadaran manusia yang berkecut hati melawan perusakan tubuh, menentang kekerasan yang merenggut kawan-kawan terbaik kita, kekasih-kekasih tercinta dan saudara kita yang bungsu (Puisi Joko Pinurbo berjudul ‘Mei’ mengisahkan kekerasan yang terjadi di Jakarta pada bulan Mei tahun 1998. Kata ‘Mei’ berarti bulan ‘Mei’ dalam bahasa Indonesia namun juga mempunyai arti ‘adik perempuan’ dalam bahasa China). Kumpulan ini menegaskan bahwa tubuh manusia tetaplah mejadi inspirasi wajib kita dan bahwa kekerasan apa pun yang kita lakukan, keaijiban tubuh lian akan menimbulkan dorongan untuk melintasi batas garis darah melalui puisi.

Posted in ESSAYS | Tagged , , , ,

Ali Alizadeh Reviews ‘The Best Australian Poems 2012’

BAP2012

Best Australian Poems 2012 edited by John Tranter
Black Inc., 2012

Whatever one may expect from an anthology of contemporary poetry released by a mainstream commercial publisher – an accessible selection of diverse voices and styles, one for both the non-specialist, general reader as well as the (less snobbish) connoisseur, a selection featuring promising emerging writers as well as more prominent authors, and so on – Black Inc. Publishing’s annual Best Australian Poems Series has been meeting these expectations, more or less consistently, for close to a decade. And despite the series’ many specific strengths and few weaknesses, the latest addition to the series follows the same general tradition successfully.

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Trilingual Visibility in Our Transpacific: 3 Mapuche Poets

The work of the three Mapuche poets included here – Jaime Huenún, Maribel Mora Curriao and Roxana Miranda Rupailaf – has been drawn from the Tri-lingual Mapuche Poetry Anthology, forthcoming with Interactive Press in later 2013. Poems are presented in Spanish, Mapudungun (the language of the Mapuches) and English. Huenún is also the anthologiser of this future collection. These four poems were originally written in Spanish … and are infused with a bi-cultural sensibility as they travel between the ‘traditional’ and the ‘mainstream’, drawing on Mapundugun terminology and cultural references. The poems have then been translated into Mapudungun by Víctor Cifuentes Palacios in Chile, and from Spanish into English by the team of Juan Garrido-Salgado, Steve Brock and Sergio Holas in Adelaide.

Presenting the poems in three languages is an important part of the anti-colonial nature of the project, which seeks to contribute to the maintenance and promotion of the Mapudungun language and promote awareness about the contemporary Mapuche struggle. We have found that, in translating these poems, there are parallels with themes in Australian Indigenous literature. In recognition of this, we have invited the first nation scholar, Professor Lester-Irabinna Rigney of University of Adelaide, to compose a foreword for the volume. Rigney makes the following observation:

The most important feature of the [work] is that [it raises] some extremely far-reaching questions about Mapuche injustice, death, life, love, compassion, struggle and reconciliation to a wider global audience. In this sense, Mapuche writers’ invisibility in the Pacific and elsewhere has been overcome. This is a refreshing change from the past where texts in Australia included Mapuche as: subjects without voice; distorted interpretations of Indigenous experiences; and Western deficit views masqueraded as reasoned argument.

The inclusion of these voices in Cordite Poetry Review‘s TRANSPACIFIC issue in three languages further contributes to the visibility of Mapuche writers in the Pacific, while promoting cross-cultural dialogue as a transformative and creative force that can re-negotiate the homogenous and hyper-real perversions of capitalism. Further, visibility in the Pacific as a theme is all the more poignant when considered in the historical context of the Mapuche struggle against ‘Pacification’ in Chile.

The Mapuche Nation comprises, according to official figures, four per-cent of Chile’s population. It was the only indigenous nation able to stop the advance of the Spanish Conquest in South America – where the Spaniards signed treaties and negotiated with the Mapuche in terms of their relationship and existence in a mutual space. Only after independence from Spain in 1810 did the Chilean State commence its war against the Mapuche Nation, a conflict which it named the ‘Pacification of the Araucanian’. This notable use of words that projects the nation-state’s demons onto other populations (it is not the state that is warlike, but the Mapuche) has been one of the main platforms of modern Chilean politics. In this case, these are the Mapuche people – ‘the people of the earth’ – the first nation living in the territories known today as the states of Chile and Argentina. Chile, like other colonial nation-states founded by the conquest of territories and souls, has its roots in such violence – a violence hidden under words like ‘pacify’ circa 1881–1883. Antonin Artaud, the French poet, has observed that all modern societies have their foundations based on a crime committed in common by its citizens.

Contemporary Mapuche poetry incorporates a literary culture that is in fluent dialogue with the Eurocentric aesthetics of contemporary Chilean poetry, drawing, as it does, on Mapuche oral traditions and histories. The poetry opens a new cultural territory that explores family histories, memories, relationships, ways of looking, modes of telling and angles of relating to the land. These revelations are particularly important if we want to be democratic and make our Transpacific societies intercultural. The poetry presented in the following pages is also part of a broader dialogue with many first nations of the greater ‘Transpacific’ map, as we have seen in the work of Lionel Fogarty and in works of the writers Oodgeroo Noonuccal, Mudrooroo and Charlie Perkins.1 Mapuche poetry can be read as an invitation of sorts for Chile and other countries with a colonial history to venture down the path of ‘democratising’ their democracy: the art of transforming our selves into a co-existence, becoming one and whole in the shared spaces we live in.

On to the poetry. The next four pages present an offering of this rich poetry in three languages, written by a new and politically engaged generation of Mapuche poets – many who draw upon a diverse range of traditional, literary and popular cultural references that shake the very foundations of the Transpacific aesthetic as we know it – and translated by those of us who can and care. This is not solely poetry; it’s an earthquake coming your way.

Posted in TRANSLATIONS | Tagged , , , , , ,

Ellipsis Getting Bigger

Me: Yeah, no, I write too …

Person: Really, great! What do you write?

Me: Poetry

Person: ‘…’

Sometimes that person actually lowers their eyes, bows their head, as though I have somehow reached too far into their minds and reminded them of all the cultural production, art forms and a hard kind of yoga they SAID they’re going to get into. They become confused, ‘cause they’d been hoping for a ‘published novelist/kids book author/cupcake blogger’ reply. They’d already decided to read me, and here I was telling them – just like that! – that I am a poet. And that means they’d have to read some poetry to follow through. Hmmm …

I think about this a lot – this event that happens, nearly daily. And I’m wondering about convergence.

I am thinking about ways poetry sidles up to, or just smooshes itself in with, other things. Other art forms, other places (places not billed as poetry readings). I will go a-hunting, and wait for those better times where, unexpectedly, the poetry is reached out to and invited. When people seek it, want it and show it to others. I hereby use the example – yes I am, and here it comes – of someone cutting out a poem from The Age or The Australian and keeping It. What happens if that person shows the poem to someone despite how afraid they are that it’ll refract in that other person’s reading of it or bounce back like an unopened letter? It takes bravery to do this – to show – and this in itself is curious when you consider it.

This post is not a call-to arms for poetry popularisation, or the need to ‘make it accessible’. Those efforts occur (public programs, school visits) and always will, not least because a majority of our population is concerned with what’s measurable, what’s able to be digested. Yet, neither am I anti-popular (provided the idea is good and does something of benefit).

I’m interested in the seams poetry creates; what is it that makes Kate Fagan’s students at UWS go mad for Michael Farrell’s poetry – the same poetry that makes some lyric poets’ heads hurt? Why did it take lobbying for poetry to be added as a category to the Australian Prime Minister’s Literary Awards and, moreover, now that it is included, does that make any difference? What kind of difference do we want? Why is poetry left out of the Stella Award altogether? Why did I like it when I was called a poetess (ah, the gender question) in Paris? How do people find their way into this messy place – poetry – that takes as much or as little as it likes from academia, history, rules, un-rules and music?

Things go missing from creative outputs when an art form is forced upon others. Like a member of a small but quite functional cult, I do, from the inside, want people to know about it – about how it can infiltrate your veins, and about how, if you’re interested in creative and arty art things, you should try this one. The trip is bigger, better. You’ll never go back to beginning-middle-end thinking after this.

What is the doorway, people? What is the gateway poem-drug?

My name’s Melinda Bufton. I’m your friendly neighbourhood pusher.

Posted in GUNCOTTON | Tagged , , ,

Robyn Rowland Reviews Anthony Lynch

Night Train

Night Train by Anthony Lynch
Clouds of Magellan, 2011

Anthony Lynch is a publisher, editor at Deakin University, reviewer, prose writer and widely anthologised poet. His contribution to Australian poetry is admired through his work with the journal Space and now through Whitmore Press. His book of short stories, Redfin (Arcadia, 2007) was shortlisted for the Queensland Premier’s Literary Awards. Uncluttered and moving, stories there show an astute observational eye, a hovering dread and a sense of the unfinished, so that Barry Oakley described them as being a ‘world of tangents’.

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The Lee Marvin Readings: An Evening with Edmund Gwenn

The Lee Marvin Readings

'The Lee Marvin Readings are terrific.

They happen in Adelaide at Dark Horsey,

the bookshop of the Australian Experimental

Art Foundation. We go to them. 

You would, too ...'

                —Yolande Sharpe & Kerry Urquhart-Neue



A chapbook curated by: Yolande Sharpe and Kerry Urquhart-Neue.

Featuring: Christine Collins, Shannon Burns, Tim Wright, Ella O’Keefe, Pam Brown, Jill Jones, Cath Kenneally, Laurie Duggan, Doug Mason, Steve Brock, Kelli Rowe, Yolande Sharpe and Kerry Urquhart-Neue.



The Lee Marvin Readings series has run, off and on, since the 1990s. The venue has changed a number of times – from Adelaide nightclubs like Supermild, to the Iris Cinema, to the charmingly Zurich-1917, bo-ho De La Catessan and the more robustly hard-drinking and confrontational Dark Horsey bookshop at the Australian Experimental Art Foundation, where it now takes place. The sessions have been organised, run, staffed and emceed by poet and art critic Ken Bolton.

LMR

The Lee Marvin Readings format generally features two sets per night, comprised of two readers in a set with a break between for the audience (writers, students, artists, general readers, the curious, the pin-headed, the counter-intuitive) to talk, look at books or listen to the intermission music. Occasionally, nights are devoted to a single prominent writer – designed to give a career overview, or to give context to and show the development of some particular run of work.

The readings are held on Tuesday nights in approximately every second month, starting in May. The AEAF’s Dark Horsey Bookshop specialises in new literature and has great holdings in philosophy, politics, film, art, design and architecture. The gallery space adjoins the shop and ‘advanced art’ is in view during the sessions. Readers are introduced with a brief description of their careers to date, bulked up with apocryphal biographical detail. The philosophy of the Lee Marvin Readings is that it’s not about the comparison of career escutcheons and epaulettes, but new writing.

LMR

Some highlights of the 2012 season are selected here, somewhat at random. It was a good year. Who to chose? Ken Bolton said, ‘You do it!’ as he handed us his growing list of authors.1 Between us, we had attended most of the readings. This chapbook focuses on who we tracked down and what poetry/prose they’d read.

And now, our selections as a sampler of the work that featured in 2012. —Jo Sharpe & Kerry Urquhart-Neue

Christine Collins | I May Have to See You Again, Charlie

Shannon Burns | Transparent Things

Tim Wright | From Here On | Trick Light

Ella O’Keefe | Notebook Poems I—IV

Pam Brown | What’s the frequency, Kenneth? | More than a feuilleton

Jill Jones | Hindley Reverie | No, the System Did Not Work for Me

Cath Kenneally | A Little Rain | Charge Nurse | Dressed In Yella

Laurie Duggan | Bin Ends

Doug Mason | Ten Zen Poems

Stephen Brock | Night Works

Kelli Rowe | (Failing)

Yolande Sharpe and Kerry Urquhart-Neue | The Lives of the Writers, their Vicissitudes, Proclivities, Highs and Lows

LMR
All pictures by Martin Xmas

Posted in CHAPBOOKS | Tagged , , , , , , , , , ,

Submissions for Cordite 42: NO THEME II Now Open

Gig Ryan

Image by Juno Gemes

It’s summertime in Australia.

Weekends officially begin on Thursday mornings. Your fridge will now gestate one bottle of Pinot Grigio, Blaufränkisch (or similar) per week until March.

All public holidays go off in one seasonal barrage.

We’re going to keep it simple.

There’s no theme for issue 42 of Cordite Poetry Review. Poetry will be guest-edited by Gig Ryan. If you’re unsure who she is, please read this superb review of her oeuvre. Straight to the pool room.

The previous NO THEME! issue with poetry guest-edited by Alan Wearne was a rave success. We’re doing it again for 2013. And the year after that.

So gussy up your three best Patricia Mae Andrzejewskis (aka: Pat Benatar) and hit us with your best shot(s). Submissions close at 11.59pm Melbourne time on 14 February, 2013.

Posted in GUNCOTTON | Tagged

Rosalind McFarlane Reviews Lesley Synge

Mountains Belong to the People Who Love Them

Mountains Belong to the People Who Love Them: Slow Journeys in South Korea and Eastern Australia by Lesley Synge
Post Pressed, 2011

This collection of poetry, prose and photographs begins with a full-page preface about the author, Lesley Synge, indicative of the very personal narration throughout the book. Synge takes as inspiration her trips to Duncheol (in South Korea) and along the Gold Coast Hinterland Great Walk. This 2011 edition is an expanded version of an earlier work with the same title, including new poems and prose written in Australia and a revision of Synge’s poems written in Korea. The structure of the book reflects the two journeys taken by Synge, with the first half focusing on Korea and the second on Australia, and it is informed by Synge’s strong identification with Buddhist teachings.

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THE REALPOETIK MANIFESTO

Realpoetik

[a declaration in progress]

FOR TOO LONG has poetry been disregarded as a valid vehicle for the exploration of real world experience. Too often has poetry been filed in the ‘too hard’ basket and deemed ‘irrelevant’ and ‘inaccessible.’ This declaration calls for an end to the mistreatment and marginalisation of poetic language; an end to the segregation of poetry from and by the authoritative discourse of prose. We summon forth the potential of poetry to expand our conceptions and perceptions of the ‘real.’ To this end:

WE THE POETS Jessica L. Wilkinson and Ali Alizadeh, and others who shall soon join us, in order to advance and expand the field of writing, declare the following conditions for the Realpoetik, an unavoidable and necessary code for the art of non-fiction poetry:

  • The Realpoetik recognises the unquantifiable potential of poetic writing to convey a deeper experience of reality and ‘real life’ accounts than may be possible through conventional non-fiction prose.
  • The Realpoetik celebrates the power of the poetic form to realise and enact factual content.
  • The Realpoetik unsettles the historical landscape of facts and accuracies, and directs the poet/reader towards the enlivened dramatic stage whereupon the past may be launched into action.
  • The Realpoetik travels through gaps in the historical imaginary.
  • The Realpoetik demands a poetic reclamation of the historical field, the biographical portrait, the autobiographical reflection, the scientific analysis of facts.
  • The Realpoetik demands that poets join novelists, historians, memoirists, biographers and philosophers as writers of the real world.
  • The Realpoetik hears Ed Sanders calling, and we reply Yes! The poets ARE marching again upon the hills of history.
  • The Realpoetik encourages the trawling of libraries, archives, newspapers and museums, for poetical fodder.
  • The Realpoetik advocates rigorous research as poetic process.
  • The Realpoetik respects the gifts of poetry: the line and the play; the rhythm and the space; the sound and the silence.
  • The Realpoetik may incite bold experiments with the line, with rhythm, with form; it revels in words that function not only as signifiers of linguistic meaning, but as visual and sound potential.
  • The Realpoetik follows the revolutionary threads unravelled by Julia Kristeva, Rachel Blau DuPlessis et al. and welcomes the immense power of the semiotic undercurrent of poetic language.
  • The Realpoetik hears Alain Badiou calling, and it breaks with arrogantly lyrical, fashionably experimental and simply educational schemata.
  • The Realpoetik rejects the view of the poem as an exercise in classical versification and conventional aesthetics.
  • The Realpoetik rejects the view of the poem as an exercise in formulaic experimentation and sophistic aesthetics.
  • The Realpoetik rejects the view of the poem as an exercise in prosaic representation and populist aesthetics.
  • The Realpoetik reclaims the view of the poem as an exercise in direct intervention and dialectical aesthetics.
  • The Realpoetik does not conceal the poet’s entrance into, and dialogue within, the world of facts.
  • The Realpoetik celebrates the performative, the playful, the adventurous.
  • The Realpoetik claims a space for the frivolous alongside the serious.
  • The Realpoetik encourages tea and cake.
  • The Realpoetik willingly follows the White Rabbit down the hole and into a world fit for alternative thinking.

EVERY POET sees the world through a unique lens; hears the world through their own exceptional ear. The Realpoetik does not curtail such diversity through stringent adherence to formal Law, but instead opens the field to these singular engagements with real world content. We aim to establish an expansive literary space within which poets can openly engage with auto/biography, history, politics, economics, cultural analysis, science, the environment, and all other aspects of life in the real world.

WE PROMOTE a poetry that is multiple, transformative, moving, contradictory, evental, rhizomatic, inaesthetic, evolving, whispered, piercing, stuttering, disruptive, performative, active, enveloping, epidemic.

We invite YOU, the poets of the world, to join us in our expedition through and across the excitable terrain of a non-fiction poetics.

Signed:

Jessica L. Wilkinson           Ali Alizadeh           

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Siobhan Hodge Reviews Bonny Cassidy

Certain Fathoms

Certain Fathoms by Bonny Cassidy
Puncher & Wattmann, 2012

Bonny Cassidy’s Certain Fathoms encourages readers to feel for the full extent of her poetic linkages, presenting a series of poems broken into two parts, inviting immediate and further reflection. The poems outwardly celebrate subtlety and linkage through their fragmentary structures, including much natural imagery and a quiet but definitive speaking voice. Cassidy’s poems feature a strong focus on recognising different possible identities, as her speakers. Natural imagery and a variety of structural approaches work together to create, as Alan Wearne has observed, ‘a mapping-out that is organic’, focused on highlighting connections above and below the surface of otherwise everyday actions.

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Writing | Menulis

Writing

I plane planks of letters
to build a fortress in your heart
a place constructed entirely of words
of utter and stolid conviction

here you will not tire
of counting the days
because unless you start
all traces will lose their meaning
and the things that are now worn out
will turn to trash on an endless plain

I plane planks of letters
and whether I am able or not able
I still try

Menulis

aku menarah sejagat huruf
untuk membangun benteng di hatimu
tempat sekotah benda berkata-kata
dengan benak- hati penuh kukuh

di sini
tak ‘kan jemu kau mengaji hari
karena kecuali mulai
seluruh jejak kehilangan arti
bahkan bagi sesuatu yang usai
jadi sumpah seranah tiada henti

aku menarah sejagat huruf
dapat tak dapat
dapat

1986

English translation by John H. McGlynn

Posted in 53: INDONESIA | Tagged ,