Tag Archives: 2010 poetry lists

Poetry Picks of 2010 – Tim Sinclair

2010 has been a big year for books… it has been wonderful to read through everyone’s ‘poetry picks’ as it has lead this Lost Shark into some new waters. I want to thank everyone who participated in this blog series and to everyone who visits Another Lost Shark either regularly or sporadically. Your support means alot and keeps the belly fired.

So as this year runs out of steam, let’s have a look at one last book… let’s see which book Tim Sinclair has pulled off the shelf as his ‘book of the year’.

 

Texture Notes by Sawako Nakayasu (Letter Machine Editions, Chicago)

Not being a reviewer kind of guy. As a rule. Simply here to tempt you with one of my favourite collections of 2010, by one of my favourite contemporary poets, Sawako Nakayasu: Texture Notes (Letter Machine Editions, Chicago).

Nakayasu is a one of the betwixt-and-betweeners of the world. Born in Japan, she has lived most of her life in the US, and now bookends her life so far by living in Tokyo. Does this make her poetry more interesting or relevant to our cross-hatched and multi-vocal world? I have no idea. All I know is that I like it. A lot.

I mostly have no handholds for people when I’m trying to describe this poet’s work. I find it hard to describe because I have no idea what it’s about. A good thing, by the way. An abstract thing. A lake of textures to swim around in that somehow make sense, because they’re there. I’m impressed by poets who aren’t afraid to go where a strange diversion is taking them, and aren’t afraid to bring back news from the other side of odd.

Texture Notes is slightly more concrete than Nakayasu’s other work, but decidedly no less odd. I won’t give you an excerpt, because her books are always greater than the sum of their parts. I’ll just recommend it to you.

Oh, and this – Sawako Nakayasu will be one of two commissioned poets featuring in Volume 2 of PAN Magazine, out early in 2011. The other poet? Coincidentally, the writer of one of my other favourite collections for 2010. Let’s see if his modest nature prevents him from editing out this reference to Ocean Hearted

 

 Tim Sinclair is a Sydney-based poet and novelist. He has just completed the first draft of his second verse novel, Run, and his new collection of poetry  re: reading the dictionary will be published by PressPress in 2011.

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Poetry Picks of 2010 – Gabrielle Bryden

My pick of poetry literature for 2010 is The Scrumbler magazine, devoted to publishing the very best poetry for children. This gorgeous print magazine is published in England by Mike Kavanagh and includes poetry and illustrations from the young and not so young, and amateur and professional poets and artists.

I wanted to talk about The Scrumbler magazine for a number of reasons. Firstly, I just love the name – having it roll around on my tongue and in my head. The Scrumbler character starts the magazine with his ‘Oops, I’ve fallen asleep on top of a poem. I’ve scrumbled it to bits.” You get the picture.

Another reason is that high quality poetry magazines or journals for children appear to me to be a rarity. Encouraging children to love and play with words, including poetry, is the first step in increasing the popularity of poetry. Poetry should be something that everyone can engage in (listening, reading or creating) and this type of magazine is the bee’s knees in that regard.

The Scrumbler is ideal for children, with its colourful glossy front cover, appealing black and white pencil illustrations, compact format, and short, simple, well written poems (often laugh out loud funny).

My children were delighted with the magazine and loved the wicked humour of ‘A Shark in Kensington Park’ (you’ll have to read it yourself to find out what happens) and other poems. They were particularly taken with the illustration of a young Orang-Utan (and poem of the same name) by Liz Brownlee, famous for her animal poetry for children.

Another thing I just love about The Scrumbler is the inclusion of writing games to assist children (and adults) with their very own poems. There are questions/prompts and space in the magazine to write down your lines. What a great way to stimulate the creative juices.

This is only the 2nd edition of The Scrumbler but they plan to print three times a year. You can subscribe or find out more information in their website at www.thescrumbler.com

 

 Gabrielle Bryden is an Australian writer and poet published in Ripples, Aspects, Speedpoets, Extempore magazines; the Cherry Blossom Review, Lunarosity, Divan, Bolts of Silk, Third Eye, Specusphere ezines; and on local and national ABC Radio. In 2009 she won first prize in Ripples magazine’s poetry competition. Her poem ‘Fortune Teller’ is published in the book ‘Short and Twisted 2010′. She blogs regularly at Gabrielle Bryden’s Blog.

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Poetry Picks of 2010 – Phillip A. Ellis

Starlight: 150 Poems by John Tranter (St Lucia : UQPress, 2010) ISBN: 978702238451

My pick for the poetry publication that rocked my world in 2010 is, in many ways, a conservative one. It is no surprise, really, that John Tranter’s Starlight would head the list, not because he is so dominant, or so (dare I say it) predictable, but for the fact that Tranter is, simply, one of the best living Australian poets. He is at once challenging and entertaining, and his work retains a freshness that vivifies his concern and voice.

And a lot of it is damn funny as well.

I’d like to illustrate what I mean by a quick glance at “Well-Equipped Men” on page 83, to cite one poem. Already the humour is there, the “Well-Equipped” of the title treading the fine line between bawdy and the almost literal. The wordplay extends beyond the title, as you’d expect; the “clever Cleveland” at the end of light perrenially delights me, and the title really only comes into play about halfway through the sestet. Where the sonnet starts talking about the “muscly brothers in the rusting truck.”

The poem travels, as well, from “old-fashioned plaid” to “popular songs from the fifties” to “tawdry items,” in the octet, to “a dazzling uniform” and “a loaded sawn-off shotgun” through the brothers “on target for the abortion clinic” to the end where “the news story / inflamed them and no one is responsible.” That ending, that final image just works wonders for me, and Tranter packs worlds into the compass of small poems here, small literally, not figuratively.

Of course, this is only one poem among many others. And it can only be
said that there’s a lot more there where that one poem came from.

You can find out more about Starlight and purchase a copy of the book here.

Phillip A. Ellis is a freelance critic and scholar, and has recently completed English Honours through the University of New England. His poetry collection, The Flayed Man, has been published by Gothic Press, and he is working on another collection, to appear through Diminuendo PressHippocampus Press has published his concordance to the poetry of Donald Wandrei. He is the editor of Australian Reader, Calenture, Studies in Australian Weird Fiction, Melaleuca and Breaking Light Poetry Magazine.

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Poetry Picks of 2010 – Ashley Capes

Red Leaves /紅葉 – Issue 1, 2010

It’s hard to write about anthologies and mention only some of the artists within, as I often feel guilty, even though I know it’s impossible to mention everything in a single review. Having said that, there are plenty of luminaries alongside the newer voices inside issue one of Red Leaves/紅葉 (the first English/Japanese bi-lingual literary journal).

Instead I want to talk about the anthology itself, as I really found it exciting, and because it’s just a beautiful collection of work. Editors Kirk Marshall and Yasuhiro Horiuchi certainly do justice to the concept of a bi-lingual journal. The writing has been beautifully translated by Sunny Suh, Asami Nishimura and Joo Whan Suh so anyone able to understand both kanji and English, is given the pleasure of reading the work in both languages, and seeing what subtle differences exist. But if, like me, you can only read English, then Red Leaves/紅葉will not disappoint, as the Japanese contributions have been translated into English. So too, if you read kanji but not English, the English text has been translated. And it is the massive work of the translations that represents a true gift, not just to the reader, but the writers within, who now have their work accessible to two cultures.

The book is a triumph from a design standpoint too. Starting from the ‘front’ it reads in English from left to right. The content is then mirrored from the ‘back’ reading right to left in kanji, and having contributor bios meet in the middle. Liberty Browne has also graced the anthology with a clean and balanced presentation so important in a larger-format anthology, which is not quite A4, and runs to over 160 pages per language.
 
For me, there’s a clear parallel between this anthology (and other modern anthologies like GDS for example) and truly dynamic albums – the ones that cover multiple genres and styles, where across just twelve or so songs, you get a glimpse of everything. Red Leaves/紅葉 is like that. Inside Issue 1, there is poetry, short fiction, manga and artwork, spread across wide-ranging styles and themes, from the highly experimental to more traditional pieces.

Red Leaves is available at Polyester Books (Melbourne), Brunswick St Books (Melbourne), Readings (St Kilda) & Avid Reader (Brisbane).

 

Ashley Capes teaches Media and English in Victoria. He moderates online renku site ‘Issa’s Snail’ and simple poetry site ‘kipple’. His second poetry collection, Stepping Over Seasons, was released by IP in 2009 and a new haiku chapbook Orion Tips the Saucepan was released by Picaro Press in 2010. He occasionally dabbles in film, is very slowly learning piano and loves Studio Ghibli films. Most recently, he led the ‘Zombie’ renga at Cordite Poetry Review.

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Poetry Picks of 2010 – Jeremy Balius

Apples with Human Skin, Nathan Shepherdson (St. Lucia: University of Queensland Press, 2009)

No Australian poet has had a greater impact on my word-scribbles this year than Nathan Shepherdson. Apples with Human Skin was the catalyst.

This is a fierce book, a tesseract of tumult and brittle nettles, tagged and numbered and sent back out to pierce the forest floor.

See, understand this: Apples with Human Skin was my guidebook this year – a map for a Gieβen raised, Los Angeles educated, Berlin survived, Fremantle located cat.

In ‘einunzwanzig’ of the trakl (27×1) sequence (dedicated to Bruce Heiser, by the way), Nathan writes:

he had invented a blunt machine
for replacing umlauts in a poet’s brain

how to remember how to remember how to forget

Do you know the story of Austrian Expressionist poet Georg Trakl? Go look him up. This is important. Nathan’s book is named after Trakl’s ein Apfel mit menschlicher Haut.

To end, a snippet of ‘to find what is not there’, one of Nathan’s longer pieces in the volume.

so if you can see to the end of this sentence
you are either lying or you are blind

even the most basic words in repetition
make their own time one time in all time

 

 Indexical Elegies, Jon Paul Fiorentino (Toronto: Coach House Books, 2010)

The concept of beloved left-behinds being an index of those who’ve passed on is poignancy through and through.  Comprising three sequences, the title sequence of Indexical Elegies is in memoriam of Canadian Jon Paul Fiorentino’s late mentor Robert Allen.

It points to two aptly summarising epigraphs:

There is no truth
but in dead event, shaken, stunned

I miss everybody.
                                                – Gilbert Sorrentino

The index is physically connected with its object; they make an organic pair.

                                                – Charles Sanders Peirce

Deep into a Brisbane night, Jon Paul told me to get hooked on Sorrentino. I got hooked.

@JonPaul, icons bore me too. Am falling too far; weary. Upheaval. #chloroformedideas

Pay attention readers of the Lost Shark, when Jon Paul writes:

The word ‘I’ is apparently
an essential indexical unit

I hate
this

I lost you in November
and if time isn’t subjective

it’s November again and I am
appalled I grieve

Time is subjunctive
I am your index now

…I inhale that ish because I’ve lived that. I still live that. I inhale it and exhale only the ink.

High wit and dark humour oscillate despair, fury, loneliness, sadness and clang the drainpipes of Fiorentino’s hometowns of Winnipeg and Montreal. Sometimes it’s the smile hiding the clenched jaw. Sometimes it’s the flurry of word movement distracting from the bleary-eyed sleep deprivation.

Actually, scratch all that glib; forget everything in my note thus far.

Remember only this: Indexical Elegies is profound. I am deeply moved.

 

 im toten winkel des goldenen schnitts, Marcus Roloff (Frankfurt am Main: Gutleut Verlag, 2010)

I hadn’t had much to do with German poetics since regal 8 // shelf 8 was inducted into the Deutsches Literaturarchiv. Thankfully Marcus Roloff had a hand in making it an obsession again.

I met Marcus through Black Rider Press when we translated some of his work for The Diamond & the Thief. We later translated more of his work for Berlin’s no man’s land, partner to the infamous lauter niemand magazine. And we’ve got more we’re sitting on.

im toten winkel des goldenen schnitts (this roughly means in the blind spot of the golden ratio – if you don’t catch the various references and entendres in that, I’m not going to tell you) just came out recently and it’s the linguistic cartography, both of physical and metaphysical, that amazes. And also the typography – this book feels alive with its cover that folds out to reveal the entirety of the watercolour painting Dead Philosophers by Trevor Gould.

Marcus’ bio isn’t even in the book; it’s hidden on the back of the cover’s painting. I didn’t even notice it for ages. This aptly summarises his approach.

Marcus writes the way I’d imagine Pantha du Prince songs circa 2004 would read if all the notes were words. I see Marcus as the kind of poet who went out into the desert and came back to the city of Frankfurt am Main with a more expansive Truth and a de-centred self, clandestine urban operettas and a big ole bassline.

This is historiography for the deep-house kids. This is philosophy for the hopeful and bright-eyed kids. This is what it is for the introspective and fearless kids.

my gleiwitz

the long holidays beforehand & now / the neither-nor-
light at six a.m. // on the 1st of september a night-
shirt all tangled up / a nightmare jammed in the folds
of the cushion // from the cabinet a tumbling swift
or rather a jump / (a re-pre-metaphor) like the dusk under
the bedcover // & behind the window of the children’s room
the heimat of school full of empty idols and water
pistols / begins on the day of the attack on Poland //

(first published in no man’s land, issue 5)

 

 

 Jeremy Balius looks after Black Rider Press and hangs out with the Cottonmouth kids. You can find him at Am I the Black Rider? Yes. He writes for the last of the red hot lovers.

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Poetry Picks of 2010 – Andy Jackson

Cravings for a spectacular sun by Peter Davis.

When Peter Davis was a featured poet at the iconic La Mama Theatre earlier this year, he left a pile of “Cravings for a spectacular sun” on a table near the door with a note saying “free to a loving home”.  On the inside sleeve, Davis suggests donating to 3CR.  To so openly eschew the traditional consumerist approach to the distribution of poetry, while supporting a Melbourne grassroots public radio station, with his debut collection is an unambiguous statement – Davis’ poetic is wholistic, political and spiritual in the best sense.  The poems in this book, published late in 2009, amply reflect that approach.

The first stanza of the book is breathtaking in its simplicity of observation and compassion for life in all its forms.

 The first bird to sing before dawn is bravest,
 barely able to see, slowly rotating her neck.  You
 should subtract by one, the number of persons
 suggested for a tent.  An ancient saying,
 ‘Where once was fire, there may still be hot coals’.
 My ex-lover lays asleep in warm ash.
                                                                             “cravings for a spectacular sun”

Davis has lived with HIV for the last twenty-four years, has spent time as a hermit in the bush and a lot of time at inner-city pubs and clubs, has a young son, and busks often at the Footscray train station.  All these elements of his life filter into a poetry that is deeply personal but never self-indulgent – the sensitivity, restraint and composure always opens the poems out onto the broader world.  Sometimes surreal, almost always surprising, “Cravings for a spectacular sun” affects the reader like an enlightened Frank O’Hara or a gentler Robert Adamson, yet it is utterly unique.

 I believe in life after death, of course I believe that life will continue without me
 we can learn to support the sky with dust, singing of faith like crickets in chorus
 death is a serenade by a dog licking a busker’s watch and leaving three whiskers.
                                                                           “when I die let my dog serenade me”

 

Since the mid 90s, Andy Jackson has read at dozens of events and festivals (including The Age Melbourne Writers Festival, Australian Poetry Festival, Queensland Poetry Festival, Newcastle Young Writers Festival and Overload Poetry Festival), had poems published in a variety of print and on-line journals, been awarded grants from the Australia Council and Arts Victoria, been the recipient of an Australian Society of Authors mentorship, and self-published two collections of poetry.  He is also an infrequent collaborator with musicians, sound artists and other writers.  His most recent collection of poems, Among the Regulars, was released by papertiger media in 2010.  He is currently working on a series of ghazals.

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Poetry Picks of 2010 – Zenobia Frost

Pam Schindler launched A Sky You Could Fall Into (Post Pressed) at the Queensland Poetry Festival this year. I’d been waiting for Pam’s debut collection for a long while, and it didn’t disappoint. Her poems have a quiet melody that gets under your skin, and a voice that is tender without sentimentality. Frogs, dragonflies, birds and possums are recurring characters in a book where the line between wilderness and suburban Brisbane life blurs joyously. The poet’s hand is invisible; each poem seems to spring straight from the earth.

Reading A Sky You Could Fall Into was like finding space and time to sit and breathe for a little while—something I definitely needed in the middle of a very busy year. Schindler’s language is fresh, warm and intimate. Her poems sparkle with the kind of humour that exists between old friends. Her innate sense of rhythm and ability to spin vivid images from few words are skills I aspire to.

What I loved most about the collection was its sense of place. These are Brisbane poems and Queensland poems, and are best read on the veranda whilst a storm gathers over far-off hills, with a cup of tea in hand and a possum nibbling at an apple slice on the balustrade.

(Read a sample of Pam’s work at foam:e)

 

 Zenobia Frost is a poetic adventurer, hat fetishist and protector of apostrophes. In her writing, Zenobia aims to highlight those common enchantments that are often overlooked. Thus, her debut collection, The Voyage is a whimsical journey on (generally) calm seas with a crew of curious creatures and a compass that points to whichever shore offers the best cup of tea. Zenobia’s poems have found homes in such Australian journals as Going Down Swinging, Small Packages, Stylus, Mascara and Voiceworks. She coordinates The Ruby Fizz Society for Superior People, a light-hearted excuse for performance arts and baked goods.

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Poetry Picks of 2010 – Kent MacCarter

Like the word ‘poetry’ and the capacious, ‘mysterious’ confines that tag along with it, so too does the word ‘jazz’ trigger a huge abstract space. And I have noticed that these two words occasionally flummox and alarm, if not downright scare people. ‘It’s all too hard and complex,’ they say, as if poetry and jazz are perceived as bizarre, unpredictable juggernauts they’d rather not touch in the way they’d not dare slink up to a dozing grizzly bear and poke it in the chops. Frustratingly, this effect immediately tunes out the gun shy from sounds or words filed in either office. If you write poetry – or play jazz – you know that this need not be the case (which is not to claim that there’s no peril or that there’s not plenty to avoid in each form depending on one’s taste). Publishing poetry nowadays takes love and guts, but publishing poetry about jazz, as Extempore does, requires a healthy dollop of moxie on top of that as well.

Extempore gots moxie. I’ll just put it like that. They have much in common, jazz and poetry do, and they intersect wonderfully in issue 5 of this journal.

Editor Miriam Zolin has once again produced a terrific collection of poetry, reviews, stories, musical composition and images about or in some way referencing jazz. In full disclosure, three poems of mine appear in this 5th issue. But I’m bored of those, drafting and writing them long ago. It is everything else in this issue (let alone the MO of the journal itself) that continues to pique me. All the other ‘finished products’ work. Terrific poems by Kevin Gillam, Helen Lambert, Nathan Shepherdson and Geoff Page, just to name a few, work. The journal’s well made and well laid out. It works in your hands.

Extempore appeals to me because I adore sound. And jazz (again, the portion of which I make time for: Django Reinhardt, anybody?) feels like raw sound versus the refined sounds I enjoy every bit as much; refined sounds like Kitty Wells’ lilt through a honky-tonk bawler or the angular math that pipes out of a Wire or Saints song. This raw versus refined bout registers in my head the same way a garden full of vegies seems raw, unrefined until such time as it becomes a wok concoction. Now, I know that most poems are fussed at, reworked, and worried at like a loose tooth at age eight. Poems are refined many times over. But poetry, finished poems, still have a rawness about them I can’t resist. So, when this rawness gets doubled up – as it is in Extempore – well, the result kicks a truly good bit of arse.

I adore the pure sound of words, stripped clean of any definition, every bit as much as I enjoy building poetic narratives with them. I am particularly drawn to pieces about a certain type of sound – jazz, say, or the call of birds. Or the squelch from a Geiger counter. Extempore is riddled with such sounds. Poetry is riddled with such sounds.

I have written many poems triggered by sound; this is to say, I was moved to write them after hearing X, Y or Z. One piece I’ve written was all because of the sounds coming off an old supermarket cash register and what they unlocked in my memory. Now, much of the written works are pieces about jazz, not writings as if to be jazz. But reading poems as jazz is a mode any reader can try out if they care to. Extempore is the perfect journal to have a go.

Tom Waits had something to both scrawl and bleat about the intersection of ‘Heartattack and Vine’. I’m going to end on a massively hokey note and encourage you – somebody, anybody – to see if your cigarettes still light or if that tabby cat ever shuts the hell up at the intersection of poetry and jazz.

 

 Kent MacCarter, expatriate of Minnesota, Montana and New Mexico, is now a permanent resident in Melbourne, Australia with his wife and two cats. Answering the question, “Where are you from?” is always a difficult one for him.

In the Hungry Middle of Here is first collection of poetry, published by Transit Lounge Press. It’s a book that navigates the world, seeking the sounds, textures and tastes that characterise its parts. His work has appeared in many publications both here and outside of Ausralia. He currently sits on the executive board of SPUNC: The Small Press Network, an advocate association that supports small and micro presses. He is also an active member in Melbourne PEN with some exciting projects planned for 2011.

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Poetry Picks of 2010 + Ocean Hearted Christmas Special

It’s just about stumps for 2010, so I have sent electronic transmissions to some of the sharpest word artists in this country to get the lowdown on the poetry books/magazines/journals that have lit a fire inside them. So keep your eyes on the shark over the next few days for some hot poetry tips…

And while you are checking out the words that have sent off sparks inside the heads of these poets, why not leave a comment with your own poetry selections for the year… I’d love to hear about the books/magazines/journals you have not been able to put down!

And as we are celebrating 2010’s poetry releases, I am offering readers the chance to order a copy of Ocean Hearted + receive a copy of Brisbane New Voices I – featuring Jonathan Hadwen and Fiona Privitera for the very christmasy price of $15 (incl. postage anywhere in the world).

To order, email me at geenunn(at)yahoo.com.au with the subject Ocean Hearted Order and we can arrange payment methods from there.

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Poetry Picks of 2010 – A.S. Patric

Master of Disguises by Charles Simic

Every poet has a list of all time favourites. You know, those guys that made you want to write poetry in the first place. There are names like T. S. Eliot, D. H. Lawrence and e. e. cummings (incidentally the reasons I chose to write under my initials when I started out) and there are other giants like Walt Whitman and Wallace Stevens that came a little later and confirm how crucial poetry can be to us and why it’s worth all the difficult devotion poetry asks of those that want to write it.

Charles Simic is a poet of this order but it still amazes me that he’s actually a contemporary poet. Of course he’s been a Poet Laureate, winner of the Pulitzer Prize for Poetry and an Editor of the Paris Review, so I don’t mean to say he’s some hip, obscure dude tearing up the world of poetry as we know it (though he’s relatively unknown in Australia) but it really does blow my mind, that not only is he still writing but that in October of this year, he may have just released his best collection of poetry, Master of Disguises. Which for me feels like T. S. Eliot coming out with a collection that betters The Waste Land.

What Simic does so well is balance a vast, breathing world, on very delicate and defined particulars. In a poem like ‘Nineteen Thirty-Eight’ he juxtaposes Nazis marching into Vienna with the debut of Superman in Action Comics, the first Dairy Queen opening in Kankakee with himself in Belgrade, peeing in his diapers. A lesser poet might list the events of a given year but there are choices made that open the world up for its absurdity, monstrosity, beauty and deformity, poignant nostalgia and a kind of sadness that feels redeeming to those that can share it.

In another poem, ‘Our Salvation’, Charles Simic finishes a profound but impressionistic meditation on Winter with the stanza:

‘It breaks my heart to go to bed
Every night in a room without heat
With the one who still has strength
To Pray to God for Salvation.’

The reader is left to imagine those cold nights in a New York winter, where the soulless poet is forced to move his body closer to that one source of heat as it mumbles prayers to the falling snow. It rewards the reader but it also inspires the writer finding these spaces opening up on a page, curiously filled with both an intimate salvation and an insistent hope.

In the poem, ‘Dead Season,’ Simic writes about how a landscape must have fallen in love with Edgar Allen Poe, which is just a stunningly good line, but he doesn’t leave it at that. He’s able to return to that somewhat sombre evocation of  a landscape shaped by merciless fear and ruthless death, and finish the poem with:

‘For Poe — Beauty could be the cause of sudden death.’

What marks out these kinds of poets, whether we’re talking about T. S. Eliot, Walt Whitman, or indeed, Charles Simic, is not a genius for language (and it’s simply mind-boggling to note that Simic moved from Serbia to the United States when he was sixteen) not only a mastery of craft, insight into the human condition or a unique feeling for a ragged beauty, but it’s actually the long investment of poetry in a man’s soul that has made him as vast and fragmented as the world he’s describing and as delicately poised on such sublime particulars as these poems.

 

A. S. Patric is featured in Best Australian Stories 2010 and has published widely, in magazines such as Overland, Blue Dog, Going Down Swinging, Wet Ink, The Lifted Brow, and in The Australian Poetry Centre’s publication, Dear Dad. He’s co-editor of Verity La and has a collection of poetry published by Black Rider Press called, Music For Broken Instruments. You can read more of A.S. Patric’s work at his blog and you can check out his prose picks of the year at Laurie Steed’s blog, Gum Wall.

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