There was a Blue Whale off Sydney's South Head this afternoon. I would've loved to have seen that. Blue Whales are very rare visitors to Sydney. The Sydney Morning Herald had a few shots of it on their website. I've seen Sperm Whales and Humpbacks before, but never a Blue. I narrowly missed seeing a Killer Whale off Byron Bay about twelve years ago. I still grumble about that.
LJ, September 20 2012.
Thursday, September 20, 2012
Thursday, September 6, 2012
SEPTEMBER RAMBLE
Right, a rambling update...
This blog had received over 10,000 page views since it began in 2008. I've had a small number of readers from America and Russia. How odd. Why? How would I interest a Russian reader? Here's something for them... I love how Putin's been leading young, endangered Siberian Cranes on their migration.
I'm awaiting news from Whitmore Press, the FAW Shoalhaven LA, the Gwen Harwood PP, Page Seventeen & Famous Reporter re. poems I sent them. A poem with FR is on the late, great Adam Cullen. If it doesn't get published, I'll put it up on this blog. Robert Adamson wasn't a fan of the poem I sent him for the Val Vallis. Boohoo.
Here's hoping my mate Peter Lach-Newinsky wins the Newcastle Poetry Prize. He's on the shortlist.
Hooked in by Eleanor Hogan's Alice Springs, just released by Newsouth. I love The Alice and want to go back. I was last there in 2003, with twenty-five kids and two teachers from Oakhill College in Sydney. We stayed behind gates and wire, close to Heavitree Gap. I was there in mid-2001, too, when poor Joanne Lees and Peter Falconio were Bradley Murdoch's prey. I recall rain and cloud shrouding the ranges and a police identikit image of Murdoch in shopfronts the day after Lees' attempted abduction and Falconio's death. It was a surreal time. There's a lot out there that's grand: The Old Telelgraph Station, ghost gums, Dusky Grasswrens, late afternoon light on red rock and spinifex, the Albert Namatjira Gallery; it does atmosphere so bloody well.
Awaiting the release of The Presets' Pacifica. Their last album, Apocalypso (a nod to the old Mentals track?; probably not), was a tour de force. If Underworld, The Prodigy, Yello, Pitch Black, The Beloved, Coldplay and Pet Shop Boys joined forces, you'd have The Presets. The cover of Pacifica is striking - the lads, bare-footed, with distorted/mangled legs and cuffed wrists, are standing on ocean. Is it a comment on our treatment of asylum seekers, our convict heritage, how passage across the Pacific Ocean can mean so many things? Apparently, some of the album was influenced by John Birmingham's Sydney tome Leviathan. There is no other band in Australia making more interesting music than The Presets. We're lucky to have them.
My god, Go Back To Where You Came From... What do I say? Essential stuff. As was the follow up discussion on Insight. Such a shame it was on SBS and didn't receive the viewers it might have on a more commercial channel. Still, the ratings were high. Let's hope it seriously changes perspectives, even saves lives. Imogen Bailey proved she's a lot more than a very pretty face. And Angry Anderson... he needs his name changed to Big Softy.
Well done to all our Olympians. So what if there wasn't gold everywhere. You have to admire all their dedication, discipline and drive over so many years. I'm no sportsman, so the admiration, perhaps, is doubled. Many media commentators had a field day telling us how bad we went. Typical. Australia defines itself by sport. When we fall short, there's always humiliation, finger pointing, anger. If only we defined ourselves by the way we treated one another or our medical advancements or by the literature we wrote.
Hosting a trivia night at school tonight - all money raised is going to the Childrens' Hospital at Westmead. It's easy to get lost in marking, methodology and morality in a school day. It's terrific to be doing something deeply important.
LJ, September 7 2012.
This blog had received over 10,000 page views since it began in 2008. I've had a small number of readers from America and Russia. How odd. Why? How would I interest a Russian reader? Here's something for them... I love how Putin's been leading young, endangered Siberian Cranes on their migration.
I'm awaiting news from Whitmore Press, the FAW Shoalhaven LA, the Gwen Harwood PP, Page Seventeen & Famous Reporter re. poems I sent them. A poem with FR is on the late, great Adam Cullen. If it doesn't get published, I'll put it up on this blog. Robert Adamson wasn't a fan of the poem I sent him for the Val Vallis. Boohoo.
Here's hoping my mate Peter Lach-Newinsky wins the Newcastle Poetry Prize. He's on the shortlist.
Hooked in by Eleanor Hogan's Alice Springs, just released by Newsouth. I love The Alice and want to go back. I was last there in 2003, with twenty-five kids and two teachers from Oakhill College in Sydney. We stayed behind gates and wire, close to Heavitree Gap. I was there in mid-2001, too, when poor Joanne Lees and Peter Falconio were Bradley Murdoch's prey. I recall rain and cloud shrouding the ranges and a police identikit image of Murdoch in shopfronts the day after Lees' attempted abduction and Falconio's death. It was a surreal time. There's a lot out there that's grand: The Old Telelgraph Station, ghost gums, Dusky Grasswrens, late afternoon light on red rock and spinifex, the Albert Namatjira Gallery; it does atmosphere so bloody well.
Awaiting the release of The Presets' Pacifica. Their last album, Apocalypso (a nod to the old Mentals track?; probably not), was a tour de force. If Underworld, The Prodigy, Yello, Pitch Black, The Beloved, Coldplay and Pet Shop Boys joined forces, you'd have The Presets. The cover of Pacifica is striking - the lads, bare-footed, with distorted/mangled legs and cuffed wrists, are standing on ocean. Is it a comment on our treatment of asylum seekers, our convict heritage, how passage across the Pacific Ocean can mean so many things? Apparently, some of the album was influenced by John Birmingham's Sydney tome Leviathan. There is no other band in Australia making more interesting music than The Presets. We're lucky to have them.
My god, Go Back To Where You Came From... What do I say? Essential stuff. As was the follow up discussion on Insight. Such a shame it was on SBS and didn't receive the viewers it might have on a more commercial channel. Still, the ratings were high. Let's hope it seriously changes perspectives, even saves lives. Imogen Bailey proved she's a lot more than a very pretty face. And Angry Anderson... he needs his name changed to Big Softy.
Well done to all our Olympians. So what if there wasn't gold everywhere. You have to admire all their dedication, discipline and drive over so many years. I'm no sportsman, so the admiration, perhaps, is doubled. Many media commentators had a field day telling us how bad we went. Typical. Australia defines itself by sport. When we fall short, there's always humiliation, finger pointing, anger. If only we defined ourselves by the way we treated one another or our medical advancements or by the literature we wrote.
Hosting a trivia night at school tonight - all money raised is going to the Childrens' Hospital at Westmead. It's easy to get lost in marking, methodology and morality in a school day. It's terrific to be doing something deeply important.
LJ, September 7 2012.
Tuesday, August 21, 2012
FOUR
Bloc Party are one of the only British 'rock' bands I care deeply about. Their last three albums have often thrilled me. They are supremos when it comes to jagged, instantaneous punk-pop tunes fuelled by vitriol and glee. Nigerian lead singer Kele Okereke can get it right lyrically. Russell Lissack's guitar licks come across as rare birds of paradise in a PNG highland glade or a firefight in Libya. Bloc Party, time and again, kick you in the guts and remind you you're lucky to be alive.
Recorded in New York, the band's latest album, Four, is hard to define. It has polarised me after two and a bit listens. It is, in turns, blistering, jagged, spiky, peculiar, fascinating, frustrating, odd, gorgeous, sublime and hollow. Think Blur meeting Aphex Twin in a bad street in South London at about 4am. There are interview/studio outtakes amounting to little (Kele? talking about someone's infected arm and the baby spiders that emerged from it), deep south vibes, nu-metal panic attacks, lost strings, buried vocals, words that can barely be made out, a track with a wall-of-Smashing-Pumpkins'-guitars-sound featuring an ending where I expected Billy Corgan to start chiming in with Kele any second (so I began imitating Billy in the car!), lacklustre lyrics and choruses you can't singalong with. As well as the odd golden moment where everything is in accordance and your heart wants to explode.
I really don't know what all this means. All I know is that I really want to listen to it again, very loudly and acknowledge how grand it is to be breathing.
LJ, August 22 2012.
Wednesday, August 15, 2012
THE RISE OF 'THE SUNSET ASSUMPTION'
I had the pleasure of meeting poet John Foulcher for the first time last week, at the Canberra launch of his first collection in ten years, The Sunset Assumption, released through fresh NSW publisher Pitt Street Poetry.
I've admired John's economic, varied and memorable work since the early 90s. I'm not sure how I first came across his writing. Perhaps it was during my long years at the ACU in Strathfield, Sydney. The Learning Curve, a collection focussing on John's other life as a secondary school teacher, is a collection on my shelf I come back to time and again for its humour, truth and poignancy.
The Sunset Assumption (I love the ambiguous title) is an unexpected collection from John, centring mainly on the architecture, history, light, mystique, people and pigeons of Paris. It contains some of John's finest work. There are poems on death, torture, loss, anxiety, racism, miscommunication and our often shaky relationship with the divine.
About sixty people filled the back of Paperchain Bookstore in Manuka for the launch. Pitt Street Poetry's John Knight and poet Susan Hampton introduced John and the collection. Following the bash, several of us went for a lovely dinner at a nearby Korean BBQ spot with John, John, Susan, Geoff Page, Alan Gould and other ACT poets.
Congrats to John Knight for starting Pitt Street Poetry in this age where verse means so little to so many. His imprint is a beacon. The work he prints is faultless, timeless.
And thanks to John Foulcher for the writing, poetry/teaching anecdotes and laughter.
LJ, 16 August 2012.
I've admired John's economic, varied and memorable work since the early 90s. I'm not sure how I first came across his writing. Perhaps it was during my long years at the ACU in Strathfield, Sydney. The Learning Curve, a collection focussing on John's other life as a secondary school teacher, is a collection on my shelf I come back to time and again for its humour, truth and poignancy.
The Sunset Assumption (I love the ambiguous title) is an unexpected collection from John, centring mainly on the architecture, history, light, mystique, people and pigeons of Paris. It contains some of John's finest work. There are poems on death, torture, loss, anxiety, racism, miscommunication and our often shaky relationship with the divine.
About sixty people filled the back of Paperchain Bookstore in Manuka for the launch. Pitt Street Poetry's John Knight and poet Susan Hampton introduced John and the collection. Following the bash, several of us went for a lovely dinner at a nearby Korean BBQ spot with John, John, Susan, Geoff Page, Alan Gould and other ACT poets.
Congrats to John Knight for starting Pitt Street Poetry in this age where verse means so little to so many. His imprint is a beacon. The work he prints is faultless, timeless.
And thanks to John Foulcher for the writing, poetry/teaching anecdotes and laughter.
LJ, 16 August 2012.
Sunday, August 12, 2012
THE TALL MAN
I'm still reeling from watching Tony Krawitz's doco The Tall Man, concerning the death of Cameron Francis Doomadgee whilst in police custody on Palm Island, back in 2004. A section from the 25 min mark, where Cameron's brother, sister and son (who suicided after his father's death) spoke, particularly got to me. All Australians should watch it.
LJ, August 12 2012.
Wednesday, August 8, 2012
A GIANT LEAP?
Well done to NASA's armies of geeks for getting the rover Curiosity on Mars. I'm impressed. But really, these early images aren't doing much for me. Maybe, Annie Liebovitz and Anton Corbijn should've been beamed down to Mars' surface instead.
LJ, August 9 2012.
Wednesday, July 18, 2012
WHAT'S COMING
I have two poems coming out soon...
Visionary, a poem springing from an incident back in 2001, involving a drunk flatmate (who sported a tattoo of the Grim Reaper on his shoulder) and his fists, is to be published in the first edition of Perth-based journal Regime. My sincere thanks to Nathan Hondros, Regime's editor and his team, for accepting my work. I was impressed with Nathan's punctuality and professionalism re. correspondence. Some established literary journals don't get back to you for six months or more when you send them work. Regime is the total opposite.
Sincere thanks is also due to poet Harry Owen, who's based in South Africa, for taking Nexus, possibly the briefest poem I've penned, for his upcoming international anthology For Rhino in a Shrinking World. My poem looks at the unexpected connection humans have with rhinos - it's a poem about keratin, basically. Harry's book will aim to celebrate the rhino and raise awareness of the rare animal's plight. Poachers are still murdering the poor beast for its horn. Nexus will be the first poem I've had in an international publication. It's good to see Aussie poets Andy Kissane and Ron Pretty also have poems in the anthology.
Lastly, thanks to Alicia Sometimes for fighting hard to get a poem of mine - on outlandish 80s band The Art of Noise and Britain under Thatcher - into the journal Etchings. Alicia was the guest editor for their music issue. Unfortunately, there were other editorial voices and my work didn't make the cut. I'm sure that it'll appear one day.
So, another moment of recognition. How lucky I am.
LJ, July 19 2012.
Visionary, a poem springing from an incident back in 2001, involving a drunk flatmate (who sported a tattoo of the Grim Reaper on his shoulder) and his fists, is to be published in the first edition of Perth-based journal Regime. My sincere thanks to Nathan Hondros, Regime's editor and his team, for accepting my work. I was impressed with Nathan's punctuality and professionalism re. correspondence. Some established literary journals don't get back to you for six months or more when you send them work. Regime is the total opposite.
Sincere thanks is also due to poet Harry Owen, who's based in South Africa, for taking Nexus, possibly the briefest poem I've penned, for his upcoming international anthology For Rhino in a Shrinking World. My poem looks at the unexpected connection humans have with rhinos - it's a poem about keratin, basically. Harry's book will aim to celebrate the rhino and raise awareness of the rare animal's plight. Poachers are still murdering the poor beast for its horn. Nexus will be the first poem I've had in an international publication. It's good to see Aussie poets Andy Kissane and Ron Pretty also have poems in the anthology.
Lastly, thanks to Alicia Sometimes for fighting hard to get a poem of mine - on outlandish 80s band The Art of Noise and Britain under Thatcher - into the journal Etchings. Alicia was the guest editor for their music issue. Unfortunately, there were other editorial voices and my work didn't make the cut. I'm sure that it'll appear one day.
So, another moment of recognition. How lucky I am.
LJ, July 19 2012.
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