Cath Kenneally

Dominique Hecq Reviews Julie Chevalier and Cath Kenneally

Often, we are immersed in our world as in body-temperature water, treading along effortlessly, unaware of distinction between self and medium. We have to thank poets for splashing water in our faces, for reminding us of the distinction. The splash may also refresh – perhaps move us to stop treading and begin noticing the bubbly and at times murky stream of language in which we are immersed. I thank both Julie Chevalier and Cath Kenneally for their vigorous splash. Take a big breath. We are under water, where strange things happen.

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Review Short: Cath Kenneally’s eaten cold

In The Sacred Wood: Essays on Poetry and Criticism, T. S. Eliot famously wrote, ‘Immature poets imitate; mature poets steal; bad poets deface what they take, and good poets make it into something better, or at least something different.’

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The Lee Marvin Readings: An Evening with Edmund Gwenn

The Lee Marvin Readings has run, off and on, since the 1990s. Its 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.

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A Little Rain

The hot spell broke last night Today, light showers, not even enough to damp down the sandy dust in the front yard But just the sight of rain slanting earthwards seen from under a café awning, lifts the spirits, germinates …

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Charge Nurse

depth-charge migraine aftershock bouncing side to side in brain-pan Pola knows this is no ordinary lie-down I hear her clip up the passage into the room stop beside me to lick my fingers where they dangle from under the covers …

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Dressed in Yella

My voice-reading facility kicks in as I listen to the recording with forensic precision it deciphers her answering-machine message one part frightened, two parts breathless My sister sounds harried, almost asthmatic and that’s her work voice Oh dear. I’m too …

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