I have a poem in the latest edition of Island. The edition with the cool, bizarre appliances-as-robots cover.
The poem concerns a golden moment a few years back when I was sitting in front of the TV early one evening, in Sydney's inner-west, and fire flashed through the western sky. I raced outside, adrenalised by thoughts of alien craft and abductions, to unravel what the fire was. Looking up, outside my front gate, I saw only poetry. My dad, a learned man often hoping for evidence of the metaphysical, is also in the poem. In a way, the poem is for him.
Peter Skryznecki commended the poem this morning, in an email, which was flattering; Peter's exquisite work has meant much to me over the years. It's great to be published in this edition with Jennifer Compton, who has been a mentor and guide, and John Kinsella, such a luminary on Australia's poetry scene. My thanks to Adrienne Eberhard and the Island team.
I trust the poem takes you elsewhere.
LJ, October 20 2010.