Wednesday, October 30, 2013

Review: 'of Arc & Shadow' by Dennis Haskell (writingWA) 29/10/2013

Poem for the Day: Wiseman's Ferry Punt - (The Hunter Poems)

Wiseman's Ferry Punt

At the end of the road, the Wiseman's Ferry punt
waits for carriers, campers, bikes, and cars.
Beside the river, thick forested mountains rise up
like an impasse of landscape out of reach.

The punt is the only way to cross this wide expanse,
a deep, grey line of Hawkesbury River between streets.
Daggers of native orchids shoot out from sandstone,
and bracken fern hangs like lampshades.

While we wait in a slow-creeping queue, the day
scatters its noise: machines ramping behind (loud,
tattooed fat boys on Fat Boys). And overhead
the grace of a blue day bounces a hang-glider

while skiers, two abreast, pummel the river.
Inside our car, we take note of humorous words,
signs whitewashed, deleting 'occu' from 'occupants'.
We leave the road with a heavy thump. A wide tail gate

opens, dispersing our lethargy. Yet this slow passage
is an absence of haste. Why not enjoy this slow crawl
over a timeless river, we say. Further on, as our entry
recedes we are water-born between forest and settlers;

small cottages, tin-roofed, edged with jetties, moored boats
and pylons. Pelicans congregate on this strip in no particular
order. The fat boys smoke and flex and we are reminded
that they will leave first. For now, we are discovering

a bygone century, the spirit and backdrop of Wiseman's
Ferry. When we leave with a clunk, the gate swinging
out from its simple lock, we are relaxed, reined in, this slow
drowsy trip bringing us down to where we should be.

Poem for the Day: Love Poem for the Ancient Greeks - found poem

Love Poem for the Ancient Greeks

i.
A continent full of snakes and spiders' eyes greeted
Paris on his march into Troy. He thought of Helen
when inside the Trojan horse, and marked his love
on long beams with his sword.

When he dreamed of her, the seas whooshed him
back and back to a bedchamber of camel hair
and wind-chimes.

ii.
When Psyche brought home Cupid his dazzling red hair
was not her parents' concern, but more his two wings
that echoed a mellifluous lip music.

They were not impressed with the non-human
aspect of his sailing around the room,
fluttering and lifting her high above.

iii.

Pygmalion's love for Galatea was not carnal, sexual
or Greek-style. They did not mention war, nor a parent's
non-approval. They stood stiffly around in the blue toga

of the day. He polished her eyes in a mirror image of his.
She gazed back, without end; a woman he could never
domesticate, covet or ruin.

These images are taken from

Poetry D'Amour Anthology Launch 2013

LAUNCH OF POETRY D'AMOUR ANTHOLOGY 2014

Gary De Piazzi, Stephany Durack and Tineke Van Der Eecken form a small but formidable team. They've been busy working behind the scenes to prepare a third year of events with Poetry d'Amour 2014. The 2014 Poetry d'Amour anthology, edited by Liana Joy Christensen, competition judge, will be launched on 21 November 2013 at 7pm at Mattie Furphy House in Swanbourne. That's also the date for the launch of the 2014 Poetry d'Amour program of live performances on Valentine's Day with a fantastic line-up of poets. The team hopes to see many poets there! (Helen Hagemann is going! and so far "nine" OOTA poets will be represented in the book.)

Video of the Day: Launch of Helen's "of Arc & Shadow"

Many thanks to Roland Leach of Sunline Press, Lucy Dougan, Sarah Robey (artist),
Kathryn Stafford (Gallows Gallery), family, friends, OOTA friends, poets, writers and
colleagues for a marvelous day. "of Arc & Shadow" is now officially launched.

Poem for the Day: Living in Sin by Adrienne Rich

Living in Sin

She had thought the studio would keep itself;
no dust upon the furniture of love.
Half heresy, to wish the taps less vocal,
the panes relieved of grime. A plate of pears,
a piano with a Persian shawl, a cat
stalking the picturesque amusing mouse
had risen at his urging.
Not that at five each separate stair would writhe
under the milkman's tramp; that morning light
so coldly would delineate the scraps
of last night's cheese and three sepulchral bottles;
that on the kitchen shelf among the saucers
a pair of beetle-eyes would fix her own---
envoy from some village in the moldings . . .
Meanwhile, he, with a yawn,
sounded a dozen notes upon the keyboard,
declared it out of tune, shrugged at the mirror,
rubbed at his beard, went out for cigarettes;
while she, jeered by the minor demons,
pulled back the sheets and made the bed and found
a towel to dust the table-top,
and let the coffee-pot boil over on the stove.
By evening she was back in love again,
though not so wholly but throughout the night
she woke sometimes to feel the daylight coming
like a relentless milkman up the stairs.

—‒ Adrienne Rich

This is the very first poem that inspired me to write poetry. At the time of reading Rich's works, I chose this poem to write a 1,500 word essay at university. How does one see so much in a 26 line poem, well I did with the help of my lecturer, Dr. Jerry Pinnow. Where are you now, Jerry? - thank you so much.,