ABANDON ALL HOPE
YE WHO ENTER HERE –––
my name was Salmon, like
the fish; first name, Susie.
I was fourteen when I was
raped and bled for diffidence,
bad grammar, sadder cliché.
Or was it Dylan Thomas
Aquinas, il miglior fabbro?
My life was like candida,
a Bible of Dreams: I sent
postcards from the edge
for services rendered
(ce grand malheur, de ne pouvoir être seul).
I suppose at one time I
might have had any
number of stories to tell,
but now there is no other:
the deep and dank tarn
at my feet closed sullenly
and silently over the frag-
ments of the ‘HOUSE OF
USHER’; the morass
bulged and aborted; death
scratched his anus; my blacks
crackled and dragged.
Janice ‘Pearl’ Malley
19/01/1943 – 04/10/1970: “She chewed the blues and charred guitars no worse than Uncle Ern”.
This, I dare say, is a poet who lives or once lived in the Blue Mountains. It’s the drifting slipperiness of the partial first-person, combined with the French and an occupation with the writer’s process.
john, i once visited the blue mountains, & studied french for 6 years, & do, occasionally, drift & slip …
I dare say you might be right, John.
But I’m wondering if that really narrows it down at all?
If this is who I suspect it to be, I think it’s a fascinating departure, this writing into Malley we see here. There is an ostentatious mask-wearing that reminds me somewhat of Marion May, but I’m pretty sure it’s Pam Brown. Sorry to lift a lid, but since no one’s contesting the dialogue I thought it might be fun to reveal one. Then again I might be horribly wrong. Anyhow, a wonderful poem.
I can see what you mean, John – but I hate to disappoint you. Pam Brown is not one of the Children of Malley this time around, although of course, she concocted Tossed Grubs in our original CoM issue back in 2005.
thanks john
Gabrielle Everall.
Marion Campbell.
Wrong again …
Mark O’Flynn?
Nope, but Mark is *definitely* lurking in the issue, somewhere …