Friday, October 31, 2008

ABC Radio National Books and Drama newsletter

31 October - 7 November 2008

1/11/2008 15:00
6/11/2008 15:45
Beowulf Part 1
A new translation of the famous Anglo-Saxon classic.
Villains, warriors and monsters are encountered in the epic story of the young hero, Beowulf. Loyalty, compassion and courage are the virtues he displays.
Felix Nobis, translator and narrator, brings an ancient classic to life with his words and performance, enhanced by the music of Bart Walus and a great cast.

1/11/2008 15:45
6/11/2008 15:45
'Save the Last Word' project
Collins, the dictionary publishers, have a project underway to see whether 24 obsolete words can be brought back into popular usage.

2/11/2008 08:30
The Tai-Chi Man by Jan Hutchinson, read by Andrea Moor, Produced by Anne Wynter
Watching the daily ritual of a man's tai-chi routine brings home to an unhappy woman the realisation of what is missing from her life.
2/11/2008 15:35
Today on Dr. Phil by Tom Cho, read by Brett Cousins, produced by Anne McInerney
A story full of black humour where the do-it-yourself psychiatry of Dr. Phil leads to a sure-fire hit episode with lots of wham-bam impact.

2/11/2008 15:00
Beach - Part 1 by Timothy Daly, narrated by William Zappa,performed by the 2006 NIDA Graduates, produced by Anne Wynter
Much of our history has taken place on the beach, from Captain Cook to Gallipoli, from legal arrivals to illegal drop-offs during the night; from shark attacks to the death of a prime minister and the stalking and murder of innocent children. This is not one beach, it is all of them. This five part series weaves back and forth over nearly 250 years of our national history and the multitudes of characters who populate the beach.

Monday to Friday 10:00am (repeated at midnight)

Ouyang Yu's Kingsbury Tales
Ouyang Yu is best known for his poetry, but has also written fiction and criticism in both English and Chinese. His latest book is Kingsbury Tales.

Ian McEwan at the Sydney Opera House (repeat)
Earlier this year novelist Ian McEwan was a guest at the Sydney Opera House in the International Speakers Series. In his humorous address he explores the boundary between fact and fiction, he talks about the engagement of readers with ideas and characters and he reads from some of the marvellously cranky letters he has received, correcting facts in his novels.

Robert Silvers, editor of The New York Review of Books
In 1963 a new publication called The New York Review of Books was launched. One of its founders, who had been an editor at Harpers and The Paris Review, was asked to be the first editor. Forty-five years later Robert Silvers is still its editor. On the day Americans vote for their next president he talks to The Book Show about elections and anniversaries.

A Most Wanted Man - John le Carré
A half-starved young Russian man is smuggled into Hamburg. He has an improbable amount of money hidden in a purse round his neck. He's a devout Muslim. Or is he? John le Carré's latest novel A Most Wanted Man has spies from three countries converging on Germany in pursuit of the War on Terror.

Monday to Friday 2.00pm
3/11/2008 - 28/11/2008
The Thirteenth Tale by Diane Setterfield, read by Sheridan Harbridge, produced by Anne Wynter
Vida Winter, a bestselling yet reclusive novelist, has many outlandish life histories, all of them invention. Now old and ailing, at last she wants to tell the truth about her extraordinary life. Her letter to biographer Margaret Lea, a woman with secrets of her own, acts as summons. Vida's tale is one of gothic strangeness featuring the Angelfield family: the beautiful and wilful Isabelle and the feral twins Adeline and Emmeline. As Vida disinters the life she meant to bury for good, Margaret is mesmerised, but remains suspicious of the author's sincerity. She demands truth from Vida, and together they confront the ghosts that have haunted them both.

Monday to Friday 10.45am
3/11/2008 - 14/11/2008
Hons and Rebels by Jessica Mitford, read by Alison Whyte, produced by Justine Sloane-Lees
Hons and Rebels is a tale of youthful folly and high adventure, as well as a study in social history, and a love story.

Sunday, October 26, 2008

Voicebox features Marcella Polain

Thursday Nov 6th at 7.30 pm.
Featuring Marcella Polain, reading from her new book of poems, Therapy Like Fish. "La Tropicana Cafe", 177 High Street, Fremantle.

A selection of poems can be found at

Therapy like fish

He has eyes like a sky he wants me to fall into.
On his wall is an illusion, an invitation
a shutter that opens over miles of sea.
Squalls come and go all afternoon,
light pales yellow and mauve, an old bruise.
I doze and wake from dreams of a storm and a shuttered room,
my tongue thick as a page.
Somewhere, I know, there are lines of notes.
Oh, saviour, let me cut them up
re-arrange them for you, into poems:
they. Will read. like suffering.
Also. Sometimes I have. hated. you.
At the beginning.
All night. I think. of. edges. and
how close. Can she. I get.
(For once – just once – hold out your hand.
Let me touch you with one finger
the way – did I tell you? – I was alone and
someone touched me)
You are unreadable as the surface of the sea.
Still I have seen the shadow of a single sentence
swim a dark leviathan across your face.
You are witness to the words I haul, one by one,
into the glistening palms of my hands.
Such small offerings.
How they twitch there, naked and translucent
as fish.
How many times will I long to fall
through the sky, into the deep pool of your arms
to be weightless, still
an unasked question?

© Marcella Polain 2008 • Therapy Like Fish: New and Selected Poems

PoetryEtc anthology - Out Now!

Out now: Masthead 11: Poetryetc Special Issue

Poetryetc: Poems and Poets
An anthology edited by Andrew Burke and Candice Ward

"This anthology is the most recent of the Poetryetc projects. Edited by Candice Ward and Andrew Burke, with an e-book designed by Peter Ciccariello, it represents a selection of poems written by list members over the past few years. It includes many distinguished poets side by side with new or little known voices, and demonstrates the diversity and stylistic openness that was always a major strength of Poetryetc."

From Poetryetc: A Brief History by Alison Croggon

With poems from:

Rachel Loden | Martin Dolan | Kenneth Wolman | Renée Ashley | Patrick McManus | S.J. Litherland |Nathan Hondros | Sheila E. Murphy | Tina Bass | Trevor Joyce | Kasper Salonen | Larissa Shmailo | Halvard Johnson | Sally Evans | Glen Phillips | Mark Weiss | S.K. Kelen | Stephen Vincent | Tad Richards | Barry Alpert | Martin J. Walker | Jim Bennett |Gerald Schwartz | Peter Riley | Robin Hamilton | David Bircumshaw | Candice Ward | Peter Howard | Joanna Boulter | Jill Jones | John Kinsella | Randolph Healy | Bob Marcacci | Liz Kirby | Max Richards | Andrew Burke | Peter Larkin | Cindy Lee | Caleb Cluff | Douglas Barbour | Árni Ibsen | Janet Jackson | Lawrence Upton | Heather Taylor | Roger Collett | Peter Ciccariello |Harriet Zinnes | John Tranter | Sharon Brogan | Frederick Pollack | Pierre Joris |
Alison Croggon

Saturday, October 25, 2008

Sachin Tendulkar wears a Turban

Tendulkar recently scored the most runs by any Test batsman ever. Here he is in national dress for a promotional ceremony.

Friday, October 24, 2008

ABC Radio National 24-31 October 2008

25/10/2008 15:00
30/10/2008 15:45
Slammin’ and Jammin’
Highlights from the Slams and Jams across the country over the last year. Recorded at live events, this program features excerpts from live performances of Australian and international poets including Shane Koyczan, Wire MC, Alana Hicks, Amanda Stewart, Seung Baek, Tug Dumbly, Ania Walwitz, Benito DiFonzo, Phil Norton, Jeltje and Unamunos Quorum, Luke Wright, Robin Archbold, Vivienne Glance and Miles Merrill.

25/10/2008 15:45
30/10/2008 15:45
Italian Language in the World Week
For the 8th annual Italian Language in the World Week, the journalist and author Beppe Severgnini explains this year's theme of Italian in the piazza, a particular kind of gathering place that has been described as 'the concrete representation of language'.

26/10/2008 08:30
Proof of Innocence by Tom Petsinis, read by Matthew O'Sullivan
An innocent man is imprisoned and eventually sentenced to death. During this time, he starts to lose his conviction that he did not commit the crime.
26/10/2008 15:35
Story 2 by Christopher Cyrill, read by David Tredinnick
On a man’s return from India, the insights he has gained stay with him.


26/10/2008 15:00
Six White Boomers by Paul Livingston
Act One: Sydney suburbia 1969, The Barkers Nest Public School Reunion.
Timothy, Douglas, May, June and Marisa are attending the 10 year school reunion for the class of '59. It's a small gathering so nametags probably won't be necessary. It's the loved-up sixties - bellbottoms, patchouli oil, pot and war.
Act Two: Sydney suburbia 1999, The Barkers Nest Public School/Greenington College Reunion.
Timothy, Douglas, May, June and Marisa are attending the 40 year school reunion for the class of '59. And as usual it's very small turnout. It's the uninspiring nineties - hostile takeovers, holidays on the central coast, Kylie Minogue and war.

Monday to Friday 10:00am (repeated at midnight)

Peter Goldsworthy: Everything I Knew
Australian novelist, essayist, librettist and poet Peter Goldsworthy talks about his new novel Everything I Knew. It's set in Penola, South Australia, in 1964 when Miss Peach, a new teacher on a scooter who's the spitting image of Audrey Hepburn, comes to town and fourteen-year-old Robbie Burns sits up and takes notice.

Public figures, private lives
Is the private life of a public figure a proper subject for biography? And how does a biographer decide what to reveal and what to screen from public gaze? Historian David Day has written biographies of three public figures: Ben Chifley, John Curtin and Andrew Fisher. He discusses balancing the need to explore the private landscape of subjects with a duty to be discrete about other people's lives.

Writing the Future: the first Asia-Pacific festival of writing
Professor Rukmini Bhaya Nair, poet and editor of the Indian Literary journal Biblio, is one of the organisers of the first Asia-Pacific Festival of Writing, being held this month in New Delhi and the Indian hill-station town of Shimla.

Philip Gourevitch, editor of The Paris Review

Marilynne Robinson's Home
Marilynne Robinson, author of the Pulitzer Prize-winning Gilead, has written a new novel Home. It takes place in the same period and the same Iowa town of Gilead. It's the story of Jack, prodigal son of the Boughton family and godson of John Ames.

Monday to Friday 2.00pm
23/10/2008 - 30/10/2008
Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde by Robert Louis Stevenson, read by Joss Ackland, production by Jane Marshall
For copyright reasons this reading is not available as audio on demand.
The haunting and sinister Victorian mystery about a good man and his terrifying alter ego. When an angry fiend assaults a small girl an inquisitive lawyer begins to question the erratic behaviour of his friend, the well-respected Dr Jekyll. The lawyer's investigations reveal a story so frightening, so horrific that he can scarcely believe it.

Monday to Friday 10.45am
27/10/2008 - 31/10/2008
My First Seven Years (plus a Few More) by Dario Fo, production by BBC Radio
This memoir is a delightful and irreverent account of Dario FO's childhood in the late 1920s and early 1930s, growing up on the shores of Lake Maggiore in northern Italy. Fo was born in 1926, and spent his early years moving from town to town as his father, a stationmaster, was given new postings. He moved to Milan in 1940 to study at an art academy. After the war, as Italian theatre underwent some radical shifts, his attention turned to stage design and then to writing for the stage. In the 1950s, along with his wife Franca Rame, he formed a theatre company to present his satirical works, which earned him public acclaim and also, in many cases, the ire of the authorities. In the years since he has built an impressive body of work as a playwright, director, actor and composer. Dario Fo received the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1997

Quote of the Day

Soren Kierkegaard - "Life must be understood backwards; but... it must be lived forward."

Wednesday, October 22, 2008

Tuesday, October 21, 2008

William Stafford on Rejections ...

"Well, most of the poems I write I don’t send out at all. And of those I send out, maybe a tenth of them finally get published. So that means an awful lot of them get rejected, even ones I think are all right. I look at it this way: you can run across a log pond—you know, where they’re floating the logs at a sawmill—by stepping on one log at a time. And if you don’t stay on a given log very long, you can go hopping clear across the pond on these logs. But if you stop in one, it’ll sink. Sometimes I feel a writer should be like this—that you need your bad poems. You shouldn’t inhibit yourself. You need to have your dreams, you need to have your poems. If you begin to keep from dreaming or from trying to write your poems, you could be in trouble. You have to learn how to say “Welcome . . . welcome.” Welcome, dreams. Welcome Poems. And then if somebody says “I don’t like that dream,” you can say “Well, it’s my life. I had to dream it.” And if somebody else says “I don’t like that poem,” you can say, “Well, it’s my life. That poem was in the way, so I wrote it.”

From William Stafford’s Writing the Australian Crawl (Univ Mich, 1979):

Zimmy walking out with Baxter

Notice: no lampshade. She is well pleased.

Sunday, October 19, 2008

'Airplay' on Radio National today at 3pm

Illawarra Water Project - Part 2, produced by Jane and Phillip Ulman


Over two weeks Radio National will be broadcasting a series of short works from last year’s students in the creative writing course at the University of Wollongong. Each recorded an interview with a family member, a friend or someone who had attracted their interest. The recordings became the inspiration for fictional works written by the students. Stories of travel and migration and mythological characters feature as well as dark tales about violence, rejection, fear and death.

19/10/2008 15:00

Saturday, October 18, 2008


Gallery de la Catessen

16th Reading OCTOBER 21st

Aidan Coleman
Ken Bolton
Jill Jones
Kyriaki Maragozidis
Simon Robb

9 Anster Street, Adelaide
(off Waymouth at the King William end, near FAD nightclub)

7.30 for a prompt 8 PM start

Price $5

Friday, October 17, 2008

Let the Saw do the Work

Dad. They say it with loving frustration. My children, individually and collectively, shake their head. Dad, you say that every time. Perhaps I say it for the response. Anyway, they have all left home and gone to roam, so when will we have the chance to frustrate each other again? Dad, you’re always saying that. Nostalgia grows thicker in old age. Now it is nice to hear grandchildren call me G’andpa, nice to hear them drop the ‘r’, nice to hear them individualise the salutation so I feel I am the only G’andpa in the world. It is like that when they shake their head around the word Dad. I feel it is about me, not just any male who has had offspring. Me, frustrating Dad. My father was absent a lot while I was growing up, but when I say my frustrating sayings to my sons and daughter over and over again, it is because it is an echo of him, an echo of my early homelife, seedbed to all I am now.

My favourite old saying has to be, ‘Let the saw do the work.’ I can’t hear his voice in those words, I can’t remember the circumstance in which he said them, but the wisdom is there. The shining, hungry teeth of a saw are specially placed and angled to bite their way through wood; forcing it to do the job quickly or at some torturous angle will only impede the efficiency of their work. This is as I see it now and how it was told to me sometime in the Fifties, not in so many words, but by the axiom, ‘Let the saw do the work.’ It isn’t a cop out for procrastinating carpenters, or an excuse proffered by powerless workers. It is pre-computer wisdom from the back shed where all the best thinking was once born in Australia.

Yet I wonder where my father heard it. He was a man of the Club and the office, hardly a man of the back shed. I wonder if he ever went into our wonderful, musty, archaic, stonewalled and shingle-roofed shed. Father stood tall (well, every adult was tall to me then) and always, without fail, wore a bow tie. This was his idea of being a gentleman: a bow tie, personally tied and impeccably balanced. To test if a stranger was a gentleman or not, Father would lean forward and pull at the outer edge of the stranger’s bowtie. If the tie came away into a limp piece of fabric, the man was declared a gentleman. If it snapped back, complete and unruffled by my father’s tug, the man was an imposter, an ungentleman, and so was ignored or worse. A gentleman always ties his own tie, was the full verse and chapter of it. Perhaps, at the base of this shibboleth act, lay another axiom: Let the hand do the work.

I can’t tie a bow tie. I have never learnt how and it would be perverse in this day and age to learn now. Like using ‘whom’ in day-to-day conversation. But inside my throat, when I clear it of its obstructions before speaking to scholars assembled or an audience at a poetry reading, I pull at the fabric of my memory and untie myself to be a gentleman in your presence, and then let the words do their work.

Thursday, October 16, 2008

See you at Poets Corner, Pages Cafe this Saturday from 2pm


Andrew Lansdown:

Andrew Lansdown won the 1994 Adelaide Festival’s John Bray National Poetry Award for this book Between Glances. His most recent books are: a collection of poetry titled Fontanelle (Five Islands Press); a collection of short stories titled The Dispossessed (Interactive Press); and three fantasy novels titled With My Knife, Dragonfox and The Red Dragon (Omnibus Books/ Scholastic Australia). Picaro Press has just republished his poetry collection, Waking and Always, first released by Angus & Robertson Publishers in 1987. (Photo: Les Murray and Andrew Lansdown)

with his invited guests:

Elizabeth Lewis:

Elizabeth Lewis was born in Perth in 1984 and spent her early childhood years running around the bush in country WA. Since then she has grown up and completed a Bachelor of Arts in Writing & English with Honours in Poetry at Edith Cowan University . She has had poems published in Quadrant and Indigo this year. In her spare time she still enjoys running around in the bush facilitating holiday hiking camps for young people.

Hal Colebatch:

Hal Colebatch has had seven volumes of poetry published, the latest being The Light River ( Connor Court ). He has had 14 science-fiction novels and stories published or accepted for publication by Baen Books, New York , and has published a number of other books including biographies and social commentary. He has been described by Peter Alexander, Professor of English at the University of New South Wales , as among Australia 's best writers. In 2003 he received an Australian Centenary Medal for writing, law poetry and political commentary, the only award for this combination of activities.

Andrew Burke:

Andrew Burke is a popular guest host for Poets Corner @ Pages Café who writes for stage, page, screen and ear. Armed with a Ph.D in Writing from ECU, he’s taught in China, the Kimberleys, currently at FAWWA doing workshops but is about to go off to Broome for a month as a Writer in Residence. Ask Andrew about his books, his workshops, his music, Spring Festivals… Hi Spirits blog:

Please register with your Host Andrew Lansdown
as soon as you arrive.

Contact Frances to read 3rd Sat each month Poet's Corner & Pages Cafe, WA State Library, Perth Cultural Centre across the bridge from the Perth Train Station. or

Wednesday, October 15, 2008

While all this is going on by Jill Jones

Rain comes at last over the quarry sides on a day grey as sandstone. I reach across the skin of the house but can’t find myself within. The gate still sticks although the maple tree has healed itself. Drugs pass across the road hand to hand. Somehow we all began to sound like the shadow. Rage pelts trees all along the valley. The sky isn’t finished with us, not till the curfew. We realise there are words inside words.

Windows blink, murmuring diamonds, and cast-off sounds twist dreams.

You say: ‘There are languages I regret not knowing’. Everyone is working to the measure. How large it’s become. We knew it was all over after the cops had gone. Each second has a guard. Unseen presences kick leaves and lever windows. We painted our bars dark green where letters were torn. It isn’t the time to hate. We accept night and its measure where corners bend and rooms rise up holy and self-contained. We don’t always understand the noise, but take comfort in storm light. Air is transparent beyond the hill, towards the bay. We are washed in salt and amusements, immersed then drawn more slowly as our selves. Drops of mosquito poetry climb my arms but my blood is elsewhere, serum with the droning and diving world. All I want is a breeze at an open window, to watch a raven lift, black, shadowed, astonished.

[Originally published by the New Zealand Electronic Poetry Centre:]

Jill Jones says: The origins of the poem lie in a poem I wrote quite some years ago, around 2001, which was essentially a disjunctive succession of lines, observations, overheard phrases and happenings in my street, in my house, ending up with ‘the poet’ working. They were all pretty factual in their own odd ways. Some of the lines included, ‘Drugs pass across the road from hand to hand’ and, ‘no-one on the radio, the door of the nation closed/ and poets make words of little boats’. This was a reference to refugees being excluded from this country, the shameful Pacific solution.

The poem's original title is lost to me but one working title was ‘But Who Is My Enemy?’. It began around a time I was re-reading Shelley, the political Shelley, and there's a reference to a portion of ‘Ode To the West Wind’ in it, ‘from whose unseen presence the leaves dead/ Are driven’.

I played around with the poem for some time, maybe a couple of years, on and off. I may have even submitted it somewhere, not sure. It was never right: a bit too much detail not doing a lot, and it looked lumpy on the page. But there were things in it I liked. A couple of years later I wrote a series of lines in a large notebook. It was around the time of 2004 Australian Federal election. There are lines such as ‘Somehow we're all starting to sound like the shadow’, which is the first line in the notebook, and ‘It's elbows and interest rates and the beautiful soft furnishing of night programs’, or ‘Windows blink, murmuring diamonds, cast-off sounds twist into my dreams’. Looking at this now, I think I may have been watching TV as I wrote some of them. I see from the notes at the bottom of the page that I planned to write something titled many things but including ‘101 footnotes to a lost text on war’. Somehow, in a move I don’t quite recall, I decided these lines and the other poem, and a few other orphan bits and pieces, might work into something. I wrote ‘101 lines on a spring campaign’, I think I called it, mixing up the lines, getting together 101 of them. I was trying to get the poem to move between the very particulars of a place to the over-arching political state of a country. But it was always a bit uncooked, over-reaching or under-reaching, I don’t know.

I did send it off somewhere but it got the inevitable arse. It became ‘62 Footnotes For a Lost Text on the Spring Campaign’ for a short time. I left it for a bit. Then, one day, playing with it on screen, I ran it all together as a paragraph. It seemed to work with much, much pruning. The currawong in the last line became a raven (an Australian raven) because I suspect that's what it had been all along, a big black raven. I sent it off to nzepc for an online anthology and it came out in three paragraphs. I don't know if that was something to do with a coding error or whether someone there re-edited it like that. But I kind of liked it, and accepted it. The discarded lines have mostly found their ways into other works, or await their turn (maybe).

Thanks, Jill. Someone asked me today, When do you know when a poem is finished? And I replied with the 'abandonment' quote. But this poem's journey is a real living example of the twists and turns in the birth canal.

More to read at

Zimmy wearing her 'lamp shade'

It is now day six, and Zimmy must wear this annoying contraption for ten days until she has her stitches out. It is hard for her to understand and she beats it against chair legs and door frames as she tries to run around.

Tuesday, October 14, 2008

Monday, October 13, 2008

A reply to a poetry doubter ...

Poetry is alive and well. It is written, relished and read in a thousand tongues around the globe, in a myriad of shapes and sizes. The influence of yesterday's poetry is, thankfully, wilting on the vine, but that is not the end of poetry. It thrives in deserts and beneath the oceans, it bellows in outback stations and leaps in exotic whorehouses, it soars in cathedrals and whispers in alleyways by neonlight, it is read by torchlight under covers, it is written in refuge centres with a pencil and in pindan with a stick ... It is celebrated, it is ignored, it is here now and hardy, regenerating cell by cell (parthenogenesis) on all continents of the world.

Sunday, October 12, 2008

William J Higginson - RIP

Haiku poets around the world are probably aware that William J Higginson (Bill to his many friends and acquaintances) has been battling cancer.

News of his death has been broken to the haiku world by Bill's wife, Penny Harter, and you can read a letter from Penny on Curtis Dunlap's web-site Three Questions.

It would be difficult to envisage that any poet writing haiku in English would not be aware of Bill's major contribution to widespread understanding and adoption of this genre. Most people, serious about haiku, would own one at least, if not several, of his books.

On behalf of the haiku community of Australia I will extend our condolences to Penny Harter and to their daughters, Beth and Nancy, and to all other members of their family. Bill Higginson was a very special person who made a tangible, positive contribution to the world and he will be missed.

Beverley George
Australian Haiku Society

A letter from Penny Harter can be read at

Saturday, October 11, 2008

Patti Smith at Readings, Melbourne

from 'autobiography' by Patti Smith [from CREEM, September 1971]

I was born in Illinois...mainline of America...
beat to shit...Chicago tenement
big red eyed rats in the night...dead rats to tease at night
Morning...I waited for the organ grinder
with my nickel for the monkeys tin cup
gingerbread man...cotton candy man
bad girl setting fire to the oil cans
run like hell escape on the icemans truck
I was a limping ugly duck
but I had good luck

The 'godmother of punk' was a guest at this year's Melbourne Festival, where she attracted 220 people to the Readings bookshop. That's a packed house! Alison Croggon did an on-the-spot interview, so Patti Smith then sang a song and dedicated it to her.

More available at Alison's Theatre blog
"No one seems to realize that the destruction of poetry as a tradition would not destroy poetry itself."


Robert Creeley's Library

Granary Books is pleased to offer for sale a selection of more than1,300 books, pamphlets, manuscripts, correspondence, and related materials from the library of preeminent American poet Robert Creeley(1926-2005). This selection is offered as a group, rather than as individual items, because of the preponderance of archival material accumulated within the books. Robert Creeley made a practice of inserting relevant letters, manuscripts, clippings, photographs, and ephemera into his books, many of which also bear significant inscriptions, thus making his library an important documentary archive occupying a rich site for research parallel to the primary repository of his papers at Stanford University.

Highlights among the author collections particularly rich with inscriptions and often including important correspondence and other association and archival material are: Ted Berrigan, Paul Blackburn (14 items), Joe Brainard (12 items), Stan Brakhage, Richard Brautigan (13 items), Basil Bunting (14 items), Tom Clark, Fielding Dawson (33 items), Diane Di Prima, Edward Dorn (31 items), Robert Duncan and Jess (over 50 items including "Caesar¹s Gate," Divers Press, 1955, Creeley¹s copy [1 of 3 ­ letter ³C²] with an original Jess collage and holograph poem by Duncan), Larry Eigner, Allen Ginsberg (35 items many with excellent inscriptions), John Hawkes, Anselm Hollo, Ronald Johnson, Joanne Kyger, Irving Layton (12 items), Denise Levertov (28 items), Alison Lurie, Michael McClure (42 items), Charles Olson (59 items including several inscribed), Joel Oppenheimer (including "The Dancer" (1951) with Robert Rauschenberg, Jargon 2), Ann Quin, Tom Raworth, Aram Saroyan (11 items), Gary Snyder (including an inscribed copy of "Riprap," Origin Press,
1959), Philip Whalen, John Wieners, Jonathan Williams (26 items authored by JW including "Garbage Litters the Iron Face of the Sun¹s Child" (1951), Jargon 1, along with more than 35 other titles published by the Jargon Society), and Louis Zukofsky (29 items including "80 Flowers").

The library includes Creeley¹s personal copies of most of his regular separate publications (217 items) and contained within many are inscriptions, annotations, corrections, cards, letters, photographs, clippings, notes, etc. from Marisol, Edward Dahlberg, Stan Brakhage, Louis Zukofsky, Sherman Paul, Octavio Paz, Jim Dine, Georg Baselitz, Walter Hamady, Fielding Dawson, Denise Levertov, among others. Several of Creeley¹s collaborations with artists are present including "A Day Book" with R.B. Kitaj (Graphis, 1972), "Signs" with Georg Baselitz(Graphicstudio, 2000), and "7 & 6" with Robert Therrien and Michel Butor(Hoshour Gallery, 1988).

Price and detailed catalog (via pdf) are available on request to interested institutional clients.

Steve Clay
Granary Books
168 Mercer St. #2
New York, NY 10012

212 337-9979
212 337-9774 (fax)

Some more of interest at

Thursday, October 09, 2008

A Red, Red Rose by Robert Burns (1794)

O my Luve’s like a red, red rose,
That’s newly sprung in June:
O my Luve’s like the melodie,
That’s sweetly play’d in tune.

As fair art thou, my bonie lass,
So deep in luve am I;
And I will luve thee still, my dear,
Till a’ the seas gang dry.

Till a’ the seas gang dry, my dear,
And the rocks melt wi’ the sun;
And I will luve thee still, my dear,
While the sands o’ life shall run.

And fare-thee-weel, my only Luve!
And fare-thee-weel, a while!
And I will come again, my Luve,
Tho’ ’twere ten thousand mile!

I print this here because Bob Dylan has very recently stated this poem was one of the driving forces behind his first songwriting - and you can hear the influence in his folk material. It's always worth going back to a poem so near to song, just to refresh our ears for the contemporary scene which plays with the border between poetry & prose a lot.

Wednesday, October 08, 2008

The Projectionist by Max Richards

The primary school shares the same sky
as the railway workshops;
has concrete air raid shelters,
useless now, since we beat Japan;

a green football field, clay
where boys play marbles, in season,
girls skip; six bare classrooms,
lavatories;nasty – better to hold on;

kids who are roughs or waifs,
all of us in cheap clothing,
some with runny noses and bare feet,
and my father as head-teacher.

It’s 1946, this is
Randwick near Wellington; out
of bounds, beyond the stop-bank,
the river’s forcing its way past fast.

Here nothing happens, slowly, till
Father does some fundraising –
a projector comes, rare and fragile.
He learns how to make it work.

No one else is allowed near.
None of us young ones have ever
seen anything on any screen;
we’re agog for Charlie Chaplin.

Children and parents come one night
to father’s classroom. From home
Mum’s lent him a white sheet; he fixes
it up straight, I switch off the light,

whirring begins, the sheet brightens.
Flickering black and white humans
stalk the sheet. Something is happening.
A man climbs on a diving board,

trots out, dives, splashes, vanishes.
Father flicks a switch, time freezes; flicks
again, feet first the diver rises,
curves back up onto the board.

All of us squeal with pleasure.
The evening’s films, all short,
are never better than when Father,
powerful and popular,

flicks that switch, the image freezes,
time halts, reverses, pauses,
moves forward again, taking us
all with it along, along.

Going home in Dad’s Austin Seven,
dreaming new powers, camera
projector and screen, a rapt crowd,
the river pulsing under the night sky.

A log like a floating man sweeps past fast,
vanishes. My camera eye strains and fails.

8 October 2008
Max Richards
Doncaster, Victoria

Maybe impractical from here, but worth knowing about, don't you think?

The Atlanta Poets Group is seeking proposals for work for the third issue of its magazine Spaltung. This issue will be packaged in the form of a box. We are looking for poem-objects. Pieces that address/ embody the concept or experience of multiplicity/heterogeneity are encouraged. *Please do not send work at this time.* Instead please send a *proposal* for the piece you propose to include to

Some parameters you should consider in preparing your proposal:
-- 100 units of the magazine issue will be produced-- We have not yet decided upon the size of the box. in cubic inches it will likely be larger than a breadbox and significantly smaller than a moving crate.-- If your piece(s) reqire anything beyond mindless, cheap reproduction/assembly, we will likely look to you to provide us with 100 units, fully-assembled.-- We are mostly looking for work that is beyond what can be accomplished on 8.5x11 paper and beyond what can be included on a CDROM.-- Proposals should include exact dimensions of the object(s) to be submittedYou can familiarize yourself with past issues of Spaltung via the blog at

Saturday, October 04, 2008

Cutwater journal - Open for submissions ...


The floodgates are now open. You can now send in your submissions to Cutwater.

THEME: Ratbags
DEADLINE: November 30 2008
WORD LIMIT: 5000 words.

Sam Twyford-Moore
Editor, Cutwater Literary Journal
Toukley NSW

SUBMISSION GUIDELINES: Please print your submissions with page numbers. Work should be formatted 12pt Times New Roman and should be 1.5 spaced.

If you want your work returned please include a self addressed stamped envelope. Editors will not have time to comment on every piece of writing, but those who are highly commended may receive some form of feedback.

Please include a cover page with your name, date of birth, address, contact details, including phone and email, and a very short biography (keep it under 50 words). Please define which genre your work fits into (eg. poetry, fiction, literary journalism etc.)

Do not include your name on your submission, only on the cover page. Please ensure that the title of your work is included in the header of each page of your submission.

Please send us your zines. Cutwater is very interested in publishing a wide selection of zines. We feel that zines are underrepresented in literary journals in Australia and worldwide and we want to help this. Please only send your best and most recent zines. You can send up to three zines.

We will accept up to three pieces from each writer.

We will not be accepting writing that has been published elsewhere. Your writing must not be under consideration for publication anywhere else. Self-publishing, in the form of zines, e-zines or blogs, is acceptable.

If you are sending comics or zines please address them to:

Comics Editor, Cutwater Literary Jounral
Toukley NSW


Zines Editor, Cutwater Literary Jounral
Toukley NSW

Let out the inner ratbag! Good luck.

Thursday, October 02, 2008

Same As It Ever Was by Andrew Burke

The shopping centre’s footpath is
thin and interrupted by
parking signs. I tell you this because
along comes an up-market gopher
with tall zipped-up plastic walls
like an oblong of shower curtains
driven through the drizzle of
a spring day. It parks outside the chemist
and an old hand unzips a side panel
carefully. Tall and stooped, rickety on
frail legs, Merv leans on his walking stick
and steps out, then just as carefully
zips the panel up. He travels slowly
on worn slippers, his stick as third leg.
Down the path come two lads,
twenty or so, cocky, sure of
their balance and future.
Mrs Jones, grandson's hand
in hers, moves closer to the wall.
The boys don't notice. On legs
swift and sure, a teenage schoolgirl
walks past, hips alive, and as she passes
she bends and waves at the boy.
The big boys wave back,
mockingly. They know her sister,
the one with a rose tattoo. This one’s
younger, solitary, waiting
at the lights, balancing first on
one leg, then the other. Just now
a gleeful burst of young children
runs down the street, gold and green
streamers flying. Merv pauses
in the doorway to let them pass.
No respect, he thinks, no respect anymore.
His gopher has left a thin stream
on the footpath and one whooping boy
takes a tumble, no worse than
a fall at footy but today
it's a fright and he rubs
his coccyx. The chemist's girl
comes to help. Merv waves
his stick to Shoo! them away,
then slowly zips up a panel,
walking stick on his arm
Hoagy Carmichael style. I
watch from the prompter's pit
how they play their roles so truly. I'm
at The Globe when my wife returns,
shopping bags in each arm. I start
the car. She says, 'This lot'd cost
a pretty penny without a pension card.'
I steer out and over a speed hump,
windows up tight against the wind.

I say: This poem began a couple of weeks ago. It began as a thought. I was sitting in the car outside our neighbourhood chemist where my wife had gone to pick-up a prescription and other nameless objects. I had Talking Heads on the CD system and cranked it up a bit to fill my head. As I watched the passing parade - only scattered pedestrians as it was a weekday and before school closing time - I noticed the extremely different ways people walk. Some loaf along, barely raising their feet. Others walk with a determination and purpose, driven by busy brains. An old man appeared in a flash looking gopher, and the trademark caught my attention: Shoprider. Ha! Just like a surfrider or a waverider but for an oldie. I had to smile at that - I had to write that down. The passing parade had fat people, young thin people, school kids in a bunch, and two young sporting looking men who conversed in a lively manner as they almost danced down the street. They were in their own world as I was in mine.

Over the next two days I carried this thought of a poem around in my head, and by now it had become a thesis on the various skeletal frames of these pedestrians and how age and misfortune affect our walking styles. But when I sat down to write the first draft, it came out differently. Here's the start of the first draft:

Working beats the poems out of you.
At the start of two weeks mid-semester break
I drive my wife to the chemist
And wait outside, listening to
Talking Heads live on some concert CD
My daughter burnt for me. The footpath
Is a thin one, with signposts interrupting
Its width every now and then. I tell you this
Because along comes a Shoprider –
A gopher with tall zipped-up curtains
All around like an oblong shower recess on wheels
Only this one has driven through the drizzle
Of a spring day to park outside the chemist.
An old man – tall and stooped, rickety on
His frail legs – unzips a panel carefully,
Balances on his walking stick and just as
Carefully zips it back up. You can’t be
Too careful, I can almost hear him say.
He travels slowly on those flatfeet,
His stick supporting him as a third leg.

The draft went 548 words, and had a lot of extraneous detail in it. I worked on it on and off for days until the Poetry and Pasta night last Thursday. There I showed it to my fellow poets - and I must thank Sarah French and Dennis Haskell for cutting through the conversations and social ambiance of the evening to suggest cuts and corrections. I started again, and have now done twelve drafts all up, a lot more than my usual amount (although, not unheard of). I chopped the lyrics of the Talking Heads song out early when I chopped the intro out; I named characters just two drafts ago. I cut and I cut and I listened to my mates on a poetry list, PoetryEtc, and to my wife Jeanette. So, it hasn't turned into a camel but it has been written with the input of a lot of minds. Hopefully it is clear and evocative now; hopefully this is the last draft. But it may not be ... Time will tell.

If you are too young to remember Hoagland Howard "Hoagy" Carmichael (November 22, 1899 – December 27, 1981), he was an American composer, pianist, singer, actor, and bandleader. He is best known for writing "Stardust" (1927), "Georgia on My Mind" (1930?) and "Heart and Soul", three of the most-recorded American songs of all time. He also read contemporary poetry very well, and - from memory - appeared on a poetry & jazz album called Jazz Canto. He is not a man to be forgotten.

As some wise person once said, Poems are never finished; they are merely abandoned. I abandon this poem.

Hear ye! Hear ye!

ABC Radio National
Books and Drama newsletter
2-10 October 2008

4/10/2008 15:00
9/10/2008 15:45
Robert Lowell
Robert Lowell was one of America’s most famous poets of the 20th century. This program features a range of poems taken from his collection, Selected Poems, published by Farrar, Straus and Giroux.


4/10/2008 15:45
9/10/2008 15:45
The naming of roses
The rose is an ancient bloom of which there are now thousands of varieties, with hundreds more new types introduced each year. Gardening writer, Roger Mann, tells of the history of their naming.


5/10/2008 08:30
The Bathe - A Grotesque by Henry Handel Richardson, read by Sarah Aubrey.
When two women decide to ignore convention at a lonely beach, a small girl has her first sight of naked adults and is not impressed.