Be listening to 3CR (that's 855AM on your dial) next Monday (17/12/12) at 10am, for urban cycling show YarraBUG Radio, as I talk to host Val Nagle about my bicycle poetry, sharing some work on air and discussing the urban commuter experience in Melbourne.
YarraBUG Radio encourages people to ride for the sheer fun of it and also to raise awareness in sustainable transport issues, promoting urban cycling as a viable means of transport, highlighting Yarra’s cycling conditions, demystify cycling technology, and helping reveal the diversity of cyclists around from children, to commuters, to lobbyists... and the odd performance poet.
Hello readers and sorry for my absence the last few weeks, but to make up with it we have something different today, 40-odd minutes talking with Little Raven on podcast talking about how and why we write erotic, labelling poets, travelling, performance, not-being-able-to walk away from the poetry scene, and of course: sexual frustration. Enjoy
There's a minute of silence after the intro between 1:30 and 2:38.
Two poems read here
- "My Keys Don't Fit" at 16:52
- "Your Boyfriend" at 40:54
(if you're not seeing a playable Soundcloud-control bar above click (here)
Tonight we're launching Little Raven's first anthology of erotic fiction with a great lineup of writers and performers. A cheeky night of stories, poems, burlesque and prizes.
Hares and Hyenas
63 Johnston Street
Fitzroy
7.30pm
live those shrugged shoulders
and held calls
stay friends til the next exit
or favour paid
and godless til the expiry date
finish what y'start
then start over
skim their titles
speak often
speak hard
speak up
speak highly
talk shit
in secret
speak yourself empty
and exactly
confide to the screen
because y'know
ultimately
it will not tell anyone
I am at my best itinerant
sexually frustrated
chip on shoulder hidden
with bag on back
at my clearest
not knowing
what's going on
what I'm walking into
or why
long coat over a stride
jingling a ring full of keys
that never fit
at my humblest
stubbled threadbare
night before's performance
having hosed out my head
fresh sweat now collecting
morning sun
under my hat
at my most gracious
having domesticated distance itself
made home in the misplaced
shaded in unfamiliar ceiling
against surrogate skyline
quiet enough
by far
for alone to take hold
magic misspells
and unspoken volumes
I am ideally a short answer
shot back at
some long winded question
I'm fine, this way
____________________________
The 'ring full of keys that never fit' is a riff on a Henry Rollins line from "Get in The Van", which I figured could just as soon be the title for this, um, so now it is. True story.
and each time I return to Earth my thoughts are filled with you
looking down orbital
on where our divide went continental
we once touched at the gloves
the pressure of whole atmospheres
inside us
breathing background radiation
pressing the faceplates together
feet floating
without helmets over our hearts
sunrise in space is so shocking
a line splitting hundreds of degrees
stark night and day
life and the void
we met so far apart
the two of us so tiny
inhospitable in hard vacuum
so solid-scared of falling out here
where there was nowhere
to land
nowhere to hide
yet so hard to find
nothing lives in space between worlds
a vacuum except for memory
and junk on trajectory
this is so much more
than the space we’re suited for
so I retrace an escape velocity
rocketing off again
to try catch you
my lonely planet guide to the stars
_____________________________________
Originally written for an astronomy-inspired gig we did on Earth hour back in May (but heavily drafted this evening) for Stephen Luntz.
The phrase 'solid-scared' some Buddy Wakefield fans may recognise from his poem Pretend (hey, it's a homage, right)
Meanwhile, the opening line is also pretty lifted from a Star Trek episode ~but before you make that face I should tell you that alotta-allota other poems feature similar riffs on trek dialogue, this one's just a little more overt about it. The name of that episode? "We'll Always Have Paris" (case in point ~ the title I used for one of the finest poems I've written)
Anyway, some gigs are coming up, things are being published and it looks like, yes, I've made it out of this Melbourne winter alive. Happy days.
she was writing about men like you
before you were born and isn't fooled
by your under construction sad story
y'want her to believe
you can be one of the club~
that your personality
runs on diesel
burning tyres
and butchered dolphins
y'inner child
is that fucken devil kid
from The Omen
y'feminine side
is Grendel's mother
bloody
that y'sensitive side
is an Echidna's arse
and your only vulnerability
a box of porn
y'don't bother to hide
all that well
in your room
that you've seen some shit
that you've been through shit
an' that y'hate women
'cause they're shit
y'want her to believe that
so that you can believe
that
y'look more like a cage fighter
than a poet
someone said this to you once
and you've held onto it
like a security blanket statement
but just being sad and bitter
missing sex an'
getting upset when people
don't reply to your texts
doesn't make you a hard cunt
she knows you are not a hard cunt
can see the un-hugged mass
y'try cleaving back
when shaving your scalp
sees the softness tense
in the way you sit and says:
you're just a visitor here
mate
one who will not stay long
you will go back
to the good soul
will re-find your smile
and save the children
or whatever it is y'do for a livin'
y'wanna argue back
show and tell
y'scars and fuck'n teethmarks
but you also
wanna believe her
so hard
when she says
you will be alright
flicks her cigarette
like punctuation
to clear the air
after that pronouncement
yeah you'd love
to flick one away one
too
but can't
she’s a woman not a girl
a call not a text
she is coffee not tea
definite yes not a maybe
brown sugar not white
she’s films not actors
books not authors
she's bikes not cars
a cyclist not a fix-ster
and a cyclist
not a lycra-ist
late not early
she's boots not heels
jacket not a trench coat
a hat not hairspray
a comb not a brush
gig not a footy game
cynic but not a snob
cute not ditzy
clear not uh, vague
she’s window not aisle
fearless not fragile
suggestion not gesture
speaking not just talking
listening not pausing
nodding not yawning
smiling not smirking
laughing not offended
and she’s touchy not... touchy
staying not running
she is staying, not running
present in the present
kneading not biting
rubbing not scratching
she’s fingers not nails
heads not tails
she's stockings not tights
sensual not eventual
tease then a taste
neck not the waist
on attack not flat-back
into you
being into her
and she's vocal about it
clitoral taken literal
but she's not yours
for the taking
'cause she is real, not a play thing
open but not invulnerable
trusting not gullible
strong not indestructible
sympathetic not doormat-able
she's nurturing but not y'mother
there for you not y'saviour
has needs not needy, like you
she takes effort, not easy
contradictory not crazy
intuitive not rational
has limits not militant
feminist not femi-nazi
alive if not life-of-the-party
she's mostly, but not always
and awkward, a little, under praise
demanding not demure
commanding
and sometimes she's insecure
she knows her shit
enough not to take it
she's pimples and sweat
not hairless
without history
not a victim
or submissive
not passively gonna wait for you
to grow up
if y'take too long
because she's verses
not just the chorus
of this song
in so many words
that you, boy
need to learn
No I didn't get married. Yes I know the title's worded ambiguously. This poem's actual title is "I Glove You" from an in-joke between my sister Carolyn and her partner Chris who, yes, did get married back in May.
Since I just got my hands on some of the photos from the wedding I thought it might be nice (yes, nice. Randall can be nice y'know... fuck you), to put up the poem I read at their reception.
I wore a kilt, and wore it well, if I do say so myself. Anyway, here's what-else I said on the day:
you don’t need anyone to tell you about love there’s no trick to it though with a wedding’s onset you might think that having a poet in the family is suddenly useful like when moving house then remembering that mate of yours ...who has a van but as it stands there’s really not much more I can tell you about love still some may say there’s a need for fancy words you’ve heard poets dress up love with pretty flowers puffy clouds running rivers waxing about glass half fool moons and ...stuff but love?
look folks I’m just a visitor here myself
one who comes in forgetting to wipe his feet muddy on the nice rug lugging his baggage mumbling love? bah-humbug
so you don’t need me to tell you about love
not if you’ve ever once been there stealing a shy look across a crowded room scribbled someone’s initials into the margins of your notebook ever daydreamed up excuses to talk to them then shy st-st-tuttered felt your heart flutter
if you’ve eaten a can of soup for one more than once if you ever missed someone missed them like they were the last train and it’s a long work home, alone
if you’ve ever wanted a 'you' to change to an 'us' found someone that you want to stick to like an alibi if you’ve wanted to hold onto them like they’re a last fistful of coins needed for the ticket then you got it right there’s nothing I can say in change...
if you’ve ever argued to the far side of a closed door yelled down your phone drove angry and slept in your car you’ve had enough break-make-shake ups to be able to face up to this...
Chris if you insist on marrying this sister of mine you’re gonna need to find a bulletproof patience a set of ears hard enough to grind down diamonds occasionally like ET you’ll need to phone home because women can seem sometimes like they come from a different planet
Carolyn if you’re going to marry Chris... go easy on him, he’s a guy it takes us a little while to figure stuff out ok sometimes it’s even slower that that more like watching slow-motion replays of paint drying but we’re trying to get there meet him half way
there are nights you will want to tear the house in half from each other but there’s room for that this is a riff on happily ever after you’ll have some goods days others will be harder and at those times if you need a marker just look back to your mother and father
because they made it you will to
you have someone to grow old with someone to go with grow bold with
all I know about is love is how little I know to keep it simple for love to work no fancy words~ merely a smile in good working condition y'just need to have a pulse pumping a heart big enough that it has space for a table for two with no reservation oh you can still quibble over split bills share the thrills of hearing your future-children shrill over spilt milk
Chris and Carolyn youz aren’t children anymore now you know the score~ "be excellent to each other" it’s everything already known you didn’t need me to write this poem, you got a whole room full of people who love and we love that you guys love each other
okay now I’ve just taken time to tell you that you didn’t need anyone to tell you about love but..
that is just as long as you two remember what you already know about love and you keep telling that
to one another
____________________________________________
Yes, not my usual thing. At least there's one poem now I can show to the girls at work without looking like a complete psychopath, misogynist or manic-depressive.
she hides inside headphones
that say everything she wants
to the outside world
head down swaying slow
silent eyes seeing no need
for conversation
the remix of my nameless generation
she's an unshared anthem
gigabytes away from shit-scared
in a playlist escape attempt
from our noise
tapping-out her pulse in screen fingers
wordless
I just watched the way wires
waved gently amongst her hair
wanting to tell her
that she would have looked pretty
Ok, so the elephant in the blog is, yeah I'm back. Just spent the morning re-working 'Currently' from a few days ago.
It was always the plan to go back through my facebook status updates and harvest them for writing material (as I have been doing for years ~ I tend to use facebook as a live scratch-pad, for better or worse). However with so much stuff happening the task grew and grew and got way out of hand ~ which is of course what 'Currently' is all about, for me.
Also, 2012 has been a very rough year so far, in terms of finances and relationships, and while this should have fueled the fires, I found myself too often hiding in a pile of DVDs and very little else outside of work. With my financial situation now stabilised again, and some major stuff out of the way, most notably shooting a tv pilot/short film with Smarty and some filmmaker friends (with a stunt-retirement announcement thrown in for good measure), I'm hoping to get back into the swing of things.
Anyway, I feel we're off to a good start with this new batch since 'Currently', and I hope to continue and push into some new areas. I've been working on a book of poems about my experiences working with Asylum Seekers (oo I know, topical Randall?) that I hope to have finished by the end of August, so stay tuned there.
As always, knowing there's folks out there reading this in 7 or 8 countries helps (thanks analytics), keep emailing and commenting here, please believe me, I read it all, even if I don't reply for lack of time, sorry. Thank you or taking the time to do so.
While it's all personal, I write to be read of course, and the gift of your time taken here in reading, truly humbles me. Thank you. Sincerely,
I can't give you any reason that holds water
for the time it took
getting back to you
didn't want to come back shallow
leaking out lies
to get myself in this any deeper
I diverted the days
flowed them into weeks
they poured out months
now awkward unspoken volumes
sit vast and tepid between us
none of my excuses waterproof
things is I was gonna get back to you
still floating the idea
you'd been the one to go-to
with drowned out hands
reaching for you to flush me out
sunken in self pity
to tell it all-good again
save me from this flood
soggy now wearing out frowns
wet stain they call my face
the arms drip off of me
I'm all puddles by the footprint
cold through to my toes
and right out my eyes
look there
if y'wanna believe
how much tide I swam at
all I waded through
to keep fighting against
current
'cause it might look to everyone
I've been same-spot treading water
but rivers below know
I've been thrashing mad at it
been kicking undertoe
wrestling invisible waves
just to not
get swept away
once
I said in another poem "I can tread water like there is even a grace to it"
I can't
I ate fuck
swallowed salt water by the lung
holding out against a swim upstream
that turned torrent
wanting to take a life
just not drowning
is as close to flying
as I get
right now
I was gonna get back to you
sooner than later
wanted to swim this
stronger than another sad story
before that fucking flood
washed me away, excuses and all
_____________________________
(ed: 28th July 2012) So this is me, crawling back to the blog I've so long neglected, trying to get my groove back. This piece came out of nowhere, I just opened up the browser and started typing. I was very much influenced by the closing line of Buddy Wakefield's Horsehead poem (about a flood) and I just ran with that for a while.
I don't think it's quite there yet, will keep hacking away at this til I'm happy. Thanks for reading.
from cardboard boxes bruised soggy out of bloated dumpsters leering over the puddles of run off they cannot completely swallow in their shadow pools amber-reflecting his dead of night
came to make sure it's still here take it all personally and he feels welcomed by stacks of milk crates that tumbled into silence
Written by poetry stalwart Timothy Train a strange man, doing his best in strange times. Actually he's more than a stalwart of poetry: the man's made out of poetry, quite literally.
Our researchers at Tales Told by an Idiot have recently done a little checking into Timothy's background, uncovering several secret documents (previously thought destroyed) bringing new validity to accusation that Timothy Train is no longer a flesh and blood human, but a ghastly creature composed only of poetics and facial hair.
New evidence handed in at our offices indicate Timothy Train once went by the name Timothy Train, and back in 2006 traveled to Uruguay to have performed a highly illegal, extremely dangerous and unnecessarily complicated series of operations, where most of his original body was replaced by cloned poetry tissue.
The documentation indicates that Senor Train had most of his endocrine and lymphatic systems replaced with stanzas, rhymes and alliterations. Even the vast mass of what appears to be facial hair is now believed to be in fact a series of assonant couplet semaphores. Shocking.
So far Timothy Train (or should we call him Timothy Train) has denied all allegations, replying only that we should by his quirky and hilarious zine Badgers Dozen, and continue reading his Will type For Foodblog.
More on this story as it deteriorates...right now I'm off to drink a glass of testosterone and eat a Care Bear.
Tomorrow’s Sweetalkers will be a unique experience for us all, never before has there been such a large roster of featured performers in one gig, each and all New Zealand-bred visitors to the Melbourne poetry scene.
Now even though they come as a group, I promise you the combination of these eight individuals will remain every bit as diverse and complimentary a-line up as you’ve come to expect from my programming at Sweetalkers. So let's specific about what came over the Pacific, or uh, Tasman:
MICHAEL RUDD
Michael Rudd is Ngati Pakeha New Zealander of Aotearoa, described as an 'oralist' and performance poet, he is also developing his enjoyment of sound poetry, voice and words as an instrument and all that. Also enjoys creating/performing improv poetry Like fatherhood he was a late starter in poetry, and for both he is thankful.
His hobbies include producing poetry/spoken word gigs, which he done so for many years both sides of the Tasman, most recent been the 1st NZ Poetry Slam in late 2011 Michael has performed and promoted poetry on television, radio, on the street, in bars, trains, buses, prison and a lot of places in between.
ZANE SCARBOROUGH
Zane is a NZ Maori (Ngapuhi) raised in Auckland City, father and husband, a youth-worker of sorts, and a member of the South Auckland Poets Collective, a strong collective of poets that brings to voice the urban Pacific and Maori experience, using the power of poetry and spoken word. Zane placed 3rd at the 1st New Zealand Poetry Slam held in Wellington, October 2011.
(If you are not seeing a playable window click here for a direct YouTube link)
ALI JACS
After performing her poetry live one fateful night at a bar in Saskatoon, Canada, Ali caught the spoken word bug. Her poetry is inspired by people, landscapes and cultures encountered on the road, exploring themes of politics, sexuality, social and environmental justice and the madness of these crazy times. Having travelled extensively across Canada and Europe, before moving back home to NZ where she runs the monthly poetry series Poetry in Motion in Wellington. Ali scored 2nd place in both the Going West Writer’s Festival Poetry Slam in Auckland, and in New Zealand’s inaugural National Poetry Slam.
(If you are not seeing a playable window click here for a direct YouTube link)
Ali has just completed her first chapbook, which will be on sale at Sweetalkers for $12.
BRAD McCORMICK
Brad started performance poetry at a competition called ‘Poetry Idol’ in 2009. After two years overseas writing absolutely no poetry at all, in 2011 he began again managing to take the top prizes at both the Going West Poetry Slam in Auckland and the New Zealand Poetry Slam in Wellington. Brad ekes out a living as an actor and internet copywriter and lives in Auckland with his lovely fiancée, Nancy Kniveton.
(If you are not seeing a playable window click here for a direct YouTube link)
CLARA JANE SIONE
A lover of the arts, based in Otara, she refers to her poetry as mental notes learning how to speak. she writes of imagination, her life in south Auckland and her family. A member of the South Auckland Poets Collective, Clara recently moved to Melbourne... (so hopefully we'll see more of her after this, if you guys are nice and stuff)
(If you are not seeing a playable window click here for a direct YouTube link)
DIETRICH SOAKAI
has been a youth development worker for Youthline for 7 years. He is passionate about hearing people's stories and experiences which lead to him to South Auckland Poets Collective, of which he is an active member. His poetry is written with the intent to provoke thoughts and reactions in audience. Dietrich has written pieces about Faith, finding love and the want to 'Sky Dive' through life (see YouTube below for more on that)
(If you are not seeing a playable window click here for a direct YouTube link)
MICHELLE (DUREY) BOLTON
This Canadian born Spanish-American considers New Zealand home, as a ‘kiwi-bred’ universal citizen. Michelle has spent her life all over the world, scribbling about her experiences since she was able to hold a pen. Michelle is a fledgling performance poet, who has been published in “Blackmail Press issue 14” and the “NZ Poetry.Org -Winter Edition”. In 2005, she published her first book of poetry entitled “Wheel of the World”. When she’s not hosting spoken word events like LIVE the “Library Bar”, Michelle spends her time raising her 3 kids and trying to complete a second collection of poetry.
(If you are not seeing a playable window click here for a direct YouTube link)
...with special guest: TOURETTES
Hi I’m Tourettes, I like rapping, poetry and playing the drums. I write about politics, love and diseases. I’m in a crew called Breakin wreckwordz. We’re pretty good. Here’s a list of things I’ve done that make my Mum proud: • Won the national emcee battle title and came second in Australasia • Released two albums- “the misadventures of Johnny Favourite” and “Gimme Five Dollars and I'll Show You My Dick!” • Toured New Zealand, Australia, Europe, England and Japan • Won heaps of poetry slams • Supported international bands like Dizzie Rascal, Atmosphere and Sage Francis • Had writing published in various publications including Landfall • Got heaps of ugly tattoos At the moment I’m trying to find the best medium to get the voices out of my head and into yours. That’s all. Peace
(If you are not seeing a playable window click here for a direct YouTube link)
...and your host MC: RANDALL STEPHENS
For me personally, this Sweetalkers brings my poetry life full circle, being able to host so many fine artists from my homeland, and completing a circuit begun when I toured New Zealand for two months early last year. Some of these folks, I met and heard perform back then, others I’m excitedly waiting to hear for the first time live tomorrow, and as MC I’ll be peppering the afternoon with a few of my own poems from that tour. Speaking of that tour:
(If you are not seeing a playable window click here for a direct YouTube link)
...and yeah, as some of you may also know, this will be the last regular Sweetalkers gig for a little while, so it's kinda fitting to be back at the ol' Bendigo Hotel one last time. Please note it's 2pm in the afternoon.
So come along, buy me a beer and help me pack up some chairs afterwards. Cheers
Sunday April 8th 2PM The Bendigo Hotel 125 Johnston Street, Collingwood
please save me from chosen people on a flat Earth on a self-righteous path blood-red carpeted by the many books re-written all singularly purporting to have the right answer
save me from hiding behind the veil of civil liberty's shiny shield springing attacks on women's rights on homo sexuality and human progress
save me from myself
save me from submitting myself from calls to bow down not to think to question about imaginary friends in our head or monsters under my bed
save me from taking human messages of hope and book-binding them shackled with fear
you've been with us right from the beginning closing doors in righteous cause haven't you taken enough time
and hell is what you made of it bloated and overfed while heaven's a dream of a world without gods all their saviours long dead
save me from them the only ones who comdemn sin me up a scoreboard preying upon my soul
save me the obstinate obsession with tolling up transgression save your breath for the life-after-death your ideas, at least, might get
their time will be through when people finally realise all we have ever actually needed saving from
Sweetalkers March is storming the stage at Bar Open this Thursday night with an amazing line-up of international spoken word and local poetry all stars to light up your Thursday night.
SKYE LONERAGAN
Back from Glasgow we have Skye Loneragan, the Edinburgh fringe fest-award winning writer/performer, bringing her passion for poetry into the third dimension and down from Sydney to tell us a thing or two.
Her first solo show, Cracked has been adapted for ABC Radio National. She’s made four other solo shows, worked on artist residencies, done poetry gigs with many wonderful people and her last play, Mish Gorecki Goes Missing, was shortlisted for three UK awards. (more info: www.SkyeLoneragan.com)
This will be Skye’s first ever poetry performance in Melbourne. I first saw Skye perform in Sydney, as a sacrificial poet in a National Slam heat up there, fresh back from a decade over in Scotland, and then again at her own gig ‘Turning the Page’ in Sydney and I knew then I had to get her down to Melbourne. She’ll also doing features at the Dan O Connell on Saturday and Passionate Tongues next Monday to complete her Melbourne tour. Yes you should come to all three. Randall says so.
SISTA ZAI
Sage storyteller Sista Zai blends humour, intellect and grace in talking about the experience of African-descended women living in Australia, she’s coming to the stage to plant some seeds in your mind, to see what grows.
Zai writes stories that speak authentically about her personal experience of life. In 2011, Zai founded Stillwaters! an African-Descended Women's Storytelling Collective. Through artistic collaboration and workshops, Stillwaters! facilitates the mutual and respectful co-existence of all experiences and stories.
(if you are not seeing a playable video-window above click here for a link)
Sista Zai is helping Sweetalkers continue our policy of featuring new and emerging talent, who have yet to be given a full feature of their own. I’ve given Zai a couple of requests, and I really can’t wait to see what she’s going to do for us.
Over from the USA on their Asia/Australia tour, a pair of Poetry slam mega-champions: Phil Kaye and Sarah Kay, giants in the US poetry scene for years, having performed for thousands of audience members in venues from sold out theatres to maximum security prisons. Together they run Project V.O.I.C.E. ~started in 2004 and has since taught Spoken Word Poetry in classrooms and workshops all over the world to students of all ages.
Project VOICE
(if you are not seeing a playable video-window above click here for a link)
Sarah was a featured speaker at the 2011 TED conference (Technology, Entertainment, Design) on "The Rediscovery of Wonder" in Long Beach, California.
(if you are not seeing a playable video-window above click here for a link)
They’re kind of a big deal. Like a huge big deal. Like: the poetry nerds have been going ape since I announced it, a few even thought I was flat-out lying that we could get them in. I offer as proof a plugging our sister gig SLAMADINGDONG, the night before (today, Wednesday as you're reading this), featuring Sarah and Phil, along with a supporting host of Melbourne's finest battling out in a slam, a line up including yours truly:
...and also your host and Sweetalkin' MC for the evening: one STEVE SMART, cult-personality around Melbourne, one of it's most amazing voices, constantly torn between high art and low art, and making sure we’re all caught up there with him in the struggle.
(if you are not seeing a playable video-window above click here for a link)
This is going to be the best thing since the wheel was reinvented to be better than sex-stacked metaphors on top of sliced bread, ever. Or at least a damn fine night of stage-poetry. Or your money back.
...oh and that reminds me it’s free entry. See you there!
