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Friday, September 30, 2005

A link to more about Ikkyu

http://www.links.net/vita/trip/japan/media/bukz/ikkyu/

Wild Ways: Zen Poems of Ikkyu

Lady Mori's Gifted Touch


My hand is no match for that of Mori.
She is the unrivalled master of love play:
When my jade stalk wilts, she can make it sprout!
How we enjoy our intimate little circle.


by Ikkyu, translated by John Stevens.



The Dharma Master of Love


My life has been devoted to love play;
I've no regrets about being tangled in red thread from head to foot,
Nor am I ashamed to have spent my days as a Crazy Cloud -
But I sure don't like this long, long bitter autumn of no good sex!


by Ikkyu, translated by John Stevens.


from Wild Ways: Zen Poems of Ikkyu (Shambhala Centaur Editions, 1995)

Saturday, September 24, 2005


Fran Sbrocchi painted this wonderful little scene on her magic computer painting system. More can be found at http://donkeyincorporated.blogspot.com/
Posted by Picasa

Wednesday, September 21, 2005


Robb Scott's pencil drawing entitled The Mirage at http://pencilrevolution.com/ Posted by Picasa

Robb Scott's Drawing

There's a wonderful site all about pencils and pencil drawings at http://pencilrevolution.com/ ... Thanks to Jill Jones for this info.

Sunday, September 18, 2005

Cordite News

http://www.cordite.org.au/archives/001008.html

Please see below for details of how to submit to Cordite.

SUBMISSIONS ARE STILL OPEN FOR CORDITE #23: CHILDREN OF MALLEY!

2005 marks the 62nd anniversary of the death of The Great Dromedary of Australian poetry, Ern Malley. To commemorate this momentous occasion Cordite would like to invite Malley's progeny to submit poems for The Children of Ern Malley edition. Dedicated to celebrating "No-Man's Language", the Malley edition will feature poems published under noms de Malley (for instance Vivian Malley, Aloysius Malley or plain old Bert Malley). It is worth remembering that Cordite has a preference for poetry that tries to split the infinite. Beyond is anything.

Please click on the link above to be rushed to their site where further submission details await you.

Saturday, September 17, 2005

New and On View: Mudlark No. 29 (2005)

Field Trip to My Mother
and Other Exotic Locations

by Dawn Tefft

Dawn Tefft holds an M.A. in English, recently taught composition and literature courses at Columbia College and Roosevelt University in Chicago, and has just begun working on a Ph.D.in Creative Writing at University of Wisconsin-Milwaukee in the fall of 2005. She was a finalist in Winnow Press's Open Book Award in Poetry in 2004 and previously won the Academy of American Poets Prize at Southern Illinois University Carbondale. She has poems published in The Cream City Review, Melic Review, Lullwater Review, Rhino, Disquieting Muses Quarterly, Karamu, kaleidowhirl, Redivider, LitRag, Niederngasse, and Mudlark.

Spread the word. Far and wide,

William Slaughter

MUDLARK
An Electronic Journal of Poetry & Poetics
Never in and never out of print...
E-mail: mudlark@unf.edu
URL: http://www.unf.edu/mudlark

Monday, September 12, 2005

A Poem by James McIntyre

E-Verse Radio published this wonderful snippet:

A reader writes in on a link from last Friday:

"I have a prized little volume called Very Bad Poetry, edited by Kathryn Petras and Ross Petras (Vintage Books, 1997) that contains some hilarious and varied examples of doggerel, including several works by J. Gordon Coogler, king of 'while-you-wait' poetry, ('How Strange Are Dreams!'; 'God Correctly Understood') and Canadian cheese-ophile (in more than one sense) James McIntyre. Here is his 'Ode on the Mammoth Cheese', based
on an actual four ton chunk of cheese displayed in Toronto circa 1855, according to the editors:"


Ode on the Mammoth Cheese
Weighing over 7,000 pounds

We have seen thee, queen of cheese,
Lying quietly at your ease,
Gently framed by evening breeze,
Thy fair form no flies dare seize.

All gaily dressed soon you'll go
To the great Provincial show,
To be admired by many a beau
In the city of Toronto.

Cows numerous as a swarm of bees,
Or as the leaves upon the trees,
It did require to make thee please,
And stand unrivaled, queen of cheese.

May you not receive a scar as
We have heard that Mr. Harris
Intends to send you off as far as
The great world's show at Paris.

Of the youth beware of these,
For some of them might rudely squeeze
And bite your cheek, then songs or glees
We could not sing, oh! queen of cheese.

We'rt thou suspended from balloon,
You'd cast a shade even at noon,
Folks would think it was the moon
About to fall and crush them soon.

Quote he ...

"A room without books is like a body without a soul." - G. K.Chesterton

Friday, September 09, 2005

William McGonagall

Meet William Topaz McGonagall, the worst poet in the world:

http://www.deccanherald.com/deccanherald/aug212005/artic1045362005820.asp

Tuesday, September 06, 2005

Poem by Jill Jones

Jill Jones, Sydney-based Australian poet, was the featured poet at Poneme (a poetry list) in the past week, so I asked her if I could publish one of her poems here. It starts with a brief introduction by herself. It simply struck a fine chord with me, so I hope you appreciate it too.

Andrew

The following poem was written for an exhibition of Australian surrealist paintings that showed at the S.H Ervin Gallery in Sydney. I can’t say I’m a huge Nolan fan but I wrote in response to three of his paintings, this one being my favourite poem. I tried to emulate, impossibly, a kind of ‘exquisite corpse’ procedure. Impossible to do alone obviously because you know what is before and behind you but, let’s say, I tried to push the Q&A format a bit.


Dream horses

Where are your eyes?
Nothing has prepared us for this.

What is earth?
There’s a pain that remembers bone and horn.

Is the sky above?
Only figures in a landscape.

How fast is the wind?
Even the broken floats in dreamland’s waters.

Do you remember when?
You will know when you see us.

Will you take us with you?
Born into the boundless plain.

How long have you been here?
Our names were once Surefoot and Swift.

Do you think we will be happy?
Dream horses do not need your eyes.



after Clay Horses by Sidney Nolan

(This poem first published in Agenda, Vol 41, 2005)

Thanks, Jill.