Samuel Wagan Watson



जादूनगरी? | Wonderland

Translated from the English to the Hindi by Subhash Jaireth मैं इस देश में जन्मा, ड्रीमटाइम से पोषित; परिदृश्य ऐहिक कथाओं से गुंजित; मिथकीय लोगों और अन्य अलौकिक जीव​-जन्तुओं से रचित-बसित … बस ऐसी है यह मेरी जादूनगरी । दक्षिणी …

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On a Hot, Wet, Kinky Evening in Fortitude Valley

It was one of those typical Brisbane Sundays coming into storm season and Fortitude Valley was soaked by a magnificent volley of thunder clusters.

I was in a daze, still getting back to being me after some time-out / brain bleeds / loss of work / heart out of place … and basically bad writing! My partner had invited me to the Powerhouse on this afternoon for the matinee of a show, and in the shred of performance and storm we found ourselves dripping but not exactly ready to call the afternoon quits.

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Conversation with a Decommissioned Electric Chair

Circa September, 2015 Powerhouse Museum, Sydney I first admired your arms, brown and unrefined like mine, the scars and veins unhidden.     Straight back. Strong neck.     An inanimate object that would never be caught slouching.     I pay acknowledgement: you were always professional and executed …

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Natural Selection: Ecological Postcolonialism as Bearing on Place

Australian poetry reminds us that we cannot encounter the natural world except by cultural means.

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Dust and Drag

*The American Express* Platinum Edge Credit Card application form makes for an ideal canvas to capture poetry. Section #1 Personal Details is easily followed by Section #2 Your Contact Details. But Section #3 Your Employment and Income Details, snags appear, …

Posted in 53.0: THE END | Tagged

Some words no longer work

I tried changing the batteries on the word SORRY today, rubbed the terminals clean of the caustic build-up from the power source that used to run it, until it ran it dry. My neighbours only know me by shadow or …

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Duncan Hose Reviews Best Australian Poems 2014

Being in and of one’s time (in favour of it, in fact) means producing work that is sensitive to the discursive furies of the day – the atmosphere of mutating code that the poet must stick to poems in new and strange forms. All else is nostalgia and denial. No-one knows what it means that Australia’s imperial republic, whose god has finally been revealed as cosmopolitan capitalism, is, in the history of colonies, still in its infancy yet so impressively seems to be approaching an end of days. If you’ve got burnt chaps and a warm six-shooter (cowgirl), these are exciting times.

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Against Colony Collapse Disorder; or, Settler Mess in the Cells of Contemporary Australian Poetry

Colony collapse disorder describes a phenomenon whereby worker bees suddenly and inexplicably disappear from a hive. It has recently been identified as a syndrome following the rapid vanishing of Western honeybee colonies across North America and Europe. Justin Clemens also uses the term to describe an aesthetic collapse, whereby poets can only demonstrate their existence as ‘being caught dead’ given the fragile conditions of poetry and the inevitable, deadly effects of the past.

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A bar of soap

For Darren Currie … Sometimes ANONYMITY is a fantastical doorway into the being of a writer; ANONYMITY is the passport of an unknown agent who knows no constraint to conduct acts of good and evil/ A signatory to the distraction …

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Guest Editorial: An Introduction to Jackpot!

First Light“Twenty years ago, I decided to leave university after five weeks into my first semester. I’d worked hard for a year in a pre-tertiary course and discovered a genuine spring of warmth that bubbled inside of me when my college lecturers praised my creative writing assignments. Later, I was accepted into a good university and took English Literature 101. An editor of a literary journal had suggested that my short story writing was lacking in momentum, but critiqued my misadventure with words as having a certain ‘poetic’ quality. His advice was to try my hand at verse.”

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Submissions Now Open for Cordite 39: Jackpot!

As with all themed issues of Cordite, we will accept up to five poems per submission. What’s the bigwig in the photograph telling you? Maybe, at some point and in some way, you have hit the jackpot. Perhaps you’ve only …

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Fade away … (Highway Patrolman)

We’re sworn by blood and how blood trickles away … one brother went to the middle east, another to track his own isolated sovereignty while I am just bound to stay … The night’s silence jars my joints; an owl …

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