Pip Smith

7 month sleep regression

a tiredness like a concrete boulder grinding the optic nerve. the ayes have it. the green eyes of potatoes glowing in the dark. outside the window: leaves move like fingers of the dead. waving, drowning, possums rumble in the undergrowth. …

Posted in 109: NO THEME 12 | Tagged

Review Short: Pip Smith’s Too Close for Comfort

It’s funny the effect of sequence. When I picked up Pip Smith’s collection Too Close for Comfort, winner of the 2013 Helen Bell Poetry Award, I wasn’t primed for anything. I had no expectations – neither indulgent, nor prickly. The volume has texture: bundles of thin pages alternating with thick ones, the latter offering various portions of an illustration of the work’s ‘leitmotif’ – the giant squid.

Posted in BOOK REVIEWS | Tagged ,

On the 36th Floor

we are on par with thunder. The clouds are switched to reverse, hoovering steam from the craniums of CEOs. They’re holding shit together just beneath the spires of sky-scrapers, channelling gold-fever, sucking lifts up shafts with every morning coffee- run. …

Posted in 49: SYDNEY | Tagged