There’s plenty to crack onto, he says, a laundered Valkyrie stomps the DIY:I reconstitute in the shed, my notes can hit the rafters,no-one’s selfing over it, like upstairson their asbestos balustrade,a tick-off at the slightest, though their kidchatters and bounces on the planks.At last summer rises on a blue cactus.Without, it’s crumpled outside of time and dead.I’m not the stonkered stud ... (read more)
Gig Ryan
Gig Ryan has published six books of poetry and her New and Selected Poems was published in 2011. She was Poetry Editor of The Age from 1998 to 2016. Her next book of poetry will be released in late 2022. (Photograph by Mia Schoen)
As her to you, unhurried,pair formations addle a skyline,extrovert welcoming traffic, selfless despot on the inner.Even so, his pin-cushioned face glues to the backdrop’s nest of wombats.The city changes from one skyscraper and slateto the creek’s bag-junked ripple, decisive formaldehyde splitting a cloud’s anagram of discontent,replacing slouched velodrome with mouse-topped stove.The introd ... (read more)
(Idyll II, Theocritus)
Where are my bay leaves and charms, my bowl with crimson flowerswhile him inexorablehas gone from my bed like a dressDistance: spells of fire wreathe you
Shine on this spin or graveAs sight stunned me
leaves burnWheel of brass turning from my door
Now wave is still and wind is stillMy heart stopped in its foundry
As horses run, so we to itStarts love’s knife
... (read more)
You long for night to push away injunctions and sodalities,sky’s hexagon clouds,as veins lined with velvet straighten the road and undone casketand morning’s birds click through dream.
Rest your eyes on the road like an inn,bundled rubbish a corpse on the nature-strip.You take the waters.You embrace a door.Snaked fields welter through moleculesas you burrow a dynamic exit.Day tells you to cir ... (read more)
I remember you as you were, polished and dismissivenow sawdust and spangles lie on cedar.‘Insufficient funds’ responds to my favoured transactionat the checkout’s dystopia, a green-haired maenad slices the machine.You saw in the eyes the future going away.It carouses in the shadowsa watery silhouette of vengeance.
Mouth in ashes, words lie in air.They trot off to a knobbly paradigmwh ... (read more)
1.
‘My new persona helped me to make money,’ says the streamer,but cruel and petty, unhoped for ideal like a hovercraft shimmersbehind a definition of a chair.You tarnish the boulevardswith your shrapnel castanets and chucked heelsdancing under the exsanguinated sun, but insufficient,burnt coat of meaning wages a lost covenant.
You hang out till the last minute then take what’s left.At hom ... (read more)
Antigone Kefala’s Fragments, her fifth book of poems and first since Absence: New and selected poems (1992), is often menaced by the past, like her first collection, The Alien (1973). Here too are some subtly demolishing portraits, as well as buoyant poems such as ‘Metro Cellist’ and the slightly brooding ‘Summer at Derveni’: ‘Afternoon heat / empty of voices / on the foil surface / he ... (read more)
Since Michael Dransfield’s death at the age of twenty-four in 1973, there have been two books of poems, a Collected Poems (1987), a study of his generation, Parnassus Mad Ward (Livio Dobrez, 1990), as well as Michael Dransfield’s Lives: A sixties biography (Patricia Dobrez, 1999), and John Kinsella’s Michael Dransfield: A retrospective (2002). Unlike other poets who died too young, such as C ... (read more)
The collage on the cover of Breezeway, John Ashbery's twenty-eighth book of poems, encapsulates his erudite multifariousness. The juxtaposition of Raphael's angel from Madonna and Child Enthroned with Saints and de Chirico's The Enigma of Fatality with a nineteenth-century advertisement from Spanish Málaga resembles the pools of moments so typical of Ashbery's mercurial poetry. His poems eschew t ... (read more)
1.Anywhere’s more homelythan this field day to mortality,accumulating severancesthat wrangle distance like before and after’s rosary of rue.
... (read more)