Monday, August 30, 2010

DOLLAR SIGN (You Fucking Poet -part III)


-dedicated to my main man James Jackson

You can call me the dollar sign,
Mister Rock $tar poet.

You see I'm seen to be constantly gloating
the scene I'm bemoaning, seen it slowly eroding
and I've been dancing around the real cause
it's these page FUCKING POETS,
a bunch of horrible bores.

We got tired saggy words coming out tired saggier faces
old from decades verbal masturbating in public spaces
they're continually obtuse in their thesaurus abuse
their meanings are impenetrable
their use of language largely is terrible
art degrees got nothing to communicate
except that they’re intellectual vegetables.

most of you academic poets aren't fit to carry my bags
your attempts to entertain people... are not even sad
here anything masculine is condemned and bemoaned
terrified of even faintest traces of testosterone
they’re desperate clutching to retain the status-quoe
and beyond those limits you dare not go.

Their hearts had already long sunk
before the room started stinking from their funk
and here’s the thing,
they think they can, but can't, really sing,
hell, they can't half of them even write,
and their constructions therein are quite simply... trite
their rhythms are shite and their pacing ain't tight
when they're on stage hours will drag on... for hours,
and hours... and hours making for a...long, long... long... night.

It becomes painful as thirty poets do in your head,
wading through their literary muck.

Expect they’d entertain you? Well as Dirty Harry said,

...looks like you're shit out of luck.

‘cause I don't want to hear about your fucking shopping
your dead cat's got cancer, your spilt milk mopping
or any more of this sanctimonious spew
about your highly refined political views
so far left you left us all behind
get me mad enough to push me right, half of the time.

Let's be clear, for once this is not self directed
my dear, I've sat through one-too-many lectures
think they have the right to tell us how it’s done
just hating on the ones who make poems for exhibition.

Jealous they can't get a crowd
hold a crowd, move a crowd,
all they do is cower in corners,
whispering "oh dear ... he's far too loud."

I’m the man making a mark, call me The Dollar Sign
plan on making poetry my bitch, and taking her from behind.

I know now I’ll never be an establishment darling
twelve published boring books tucked under my arms
that no motherfucker wants to read
I’m just out here, hungry - one big mouth to feed
I’m a dirty street poet turning performative tricks
fiending like mad for my next popular audience fix.

A friend once called the stuff sleazy,
it’s ended up being more and more greasy
another said that my poetry felt deep fried
apt enough, fills me with bonefied pride
while others deride I'll simply pass them by.

‘cause I'll any-day take a ham-fist over a limp-wrist
I’ll get ‘em all to listen up to my fucken shit
while others inflict punters with impenetrable mutter and st-st-stammer.
if I can’t make mine fit
I'll take to the words with a bigger hammer.

Returned to this green city to pull back the curtain
with clarity simplicity and a meaning that is certain
with rhymes that are all working
with a pathos to leave you hurting
other poets might give you a smile in passing
I’ll leave you there stitched, stomach hurts and you're still laughing
on stage standing here tall... like an erection
getting you results more decisive than the last election.

And folks I done had it up to here!
like I been fucked in the ears
for three years by most of my peers
and now I'm telling ya

-a poetry shake up is getting near

and I'm a-gonna start spreading fear
in all the hearts of the pretenders to this art.

Because now down the mountain
I'm coming along to market
to make my mark, see how far I get
and you just look like targets

this dark horse is galloping out the stables
ground beneath looking a little unstable?
like it's been foretold in the fables
in biblical proportions, gonna come turn-over your fucking tables.

Poetry's my temple, and verily I cast you out
a sight once sacred, it's a crime scene now,
and you lame half-arsed art-wanker frauds
you FUCKING POETS, are the probable cause

Dollar Sign here - a mad prophet out for a profit
stripped you of your clothes from of the emperor
Dollar Sign is coming down to get'chya now
go on make a run for it while I'll still let-ya,

You better get going... before I really lose my temper.


Oh, and if anyone's interested in the first two parts of this trilogy:

Part I -(You Fuckin' Poet)

Part II -(Fly By Night)



Thursday, August 19, 2010

Ain't Easy Being Green -20/08/2010


Here's an election rap I just wrote. Followers of this blog know that I'm apolitical in my work -this is an exception, not a new direction. I've been sitting here since the day-shift started an hour ago forced to listen to commercial radio and these horrible political ads that are on loop.

So this, this is my revenge. I have no pretensions of it being art. Enjoy.

Tell you it ain’t easy being green
guess my vote will be a protest
middle class conscientiously clean
a two major party disillusion detest

Tell you I breathe and I vote
you’re gonna need a bigger boat
‘cause we’re swimming with sharks
leaving the refugees last

our leaders leaning limping lame leading nowhere
political climate hasn’t changed ‘cause they still don’t care
you know global warming comes with ample warning
asking me to choose to keep ignoring this tomorrow morning

Tell you it ain’t easy being green
guess my vote will be a protest
middle class conscientiously clean
a two major party disillusion detest

Who will do the least damage
who can economically manage
cry wolf with the pied piper
promises come pre-broke
there’s a code to decipher

I tell you it’s just a rotten time
to be Australian
in my own country I’m
feeling like an alien

Who’s gonna go better sticking their head in the sand
who’s gonna keep their promises, stick to the plan
labour liberal difference almost subliminal
their ecological neglect is criminal
their incompetence is typical
the arguing back and forth hypocritical
‘cause I don’t trust you
I don’t trust you
I don’t like you
and I don’t like you either
I don’t need you
and I will fight you.

I tell you it ain’t easy being green
guess my vote will be a protest
middle class conscientiously clean
a two major party disillusion detest

It ain’t easy being green
but it’s only the way out I can see.




Monday, August 16, 2010

Under The Cover$: a long-winded and smug thank you letter -17/08/2010


In the aftermath of the event, there's a lot of people deserving my appreciation and gratitude.

Firstly thanks to all who came. As well as the regular poetry stalwarts keeping it all going, it was great to see new faces and some others I hadn't in a while. Without you there's no show, no energy or communication, and nothing for me to learn.

Michael Reynolds, you're amazing! Thanks for giving my friends and I the gig, and the latitude to pull off the event they way we needed to. Your good-natured exuberance, dedication, patience and enthusiasm are as much an inspiration as anything you allowed us to present.

My collaborators and good friends Santo Cazatti, Alex Scott, Meaghan Bell and Steve Smart, thanks for your time, energy, ideas and commitment. Each of you has the distinction of not only being a fine poet but you're all also really nice people that I enjoy working with, you added a flavour to the night that was like sugar to my shitty instant coffee, making it palatable enough for consumption. Thank you.

Bill Juers and the video crew, thanks for taking an interest in the event and filming it, having you guys there made us all raise the bar that little bit higher, and I can't wait to see the results. And from the same clan m'man Matt Juers ~ thanks for you brilliant photography, you nailed it, as you always do.

To all the contributing artists: James, Jon, Emily, Geoff, Amelia, Alex, Samantha, Dan and Steve, who were kind enough to give me permission to use your work, I am indebted and delighted. Thank you for sharing with the world, and we're all better off for it.

So what's next?

Bringing the ideas of last night to completion, continuing the proliferation of these people's wonderful words, I'm putting together a two-part blog profiling each of the individuals' work I used, enabling you to go further... I'd hoped to have it all done in time for this, but oh well, just keep watching this space.

After our touring wraps up for this year, there'll be an album launch for the live-tour CD Smarty and I are currently working on, sometime in December.

Every feature I/we have done at the regular readings in Melbourne I've turned into a highly-promoted circus, a bloated sprawling mess of paper and foul language at late hours, and I stand by the results. I believe these things can and should be treated as events, as entertainment. In doing so I have pissed off some people, and I intend to piss off a lot more people, for a long time to come yet.

Be healthy and happy, vital and vocal. Thank you.

-Randall $tephens
August 2010