Jennifer Liston

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  • Rescue Tuesdays #6: Dark kite

    This week’s rescued piece is from Reading in the Dark by Seamus Deane (p105) and Flying the Kite by John Button (p31). Enjoy!

    Dark kite

    Fifty of the fattest
    clumped hands
    grabbed
    petals of roses
    on sacred rolling waves
    in California.

    An economy possessed.

    Broken spirals
    dashed arms
    whirling in whitedown waters
    clean cheeks
    and fuck the flatter father
    shocked the children.

    Brothers, mothers, sobbing
    a million marines marching
    Jesus’s sacred tabernacle
    angrily stripped
    pickaxed
    in red cement.

    In Australia
    an array of undernourished millionaires
    panic.

  • NaPoWriMo 2 April 2012: Yesterday

    Here’s my day two poem offering.

    Yesterday

    Yesterday was Palm Sunday.
    I remembered only towards day’s end.

    I remember well
    in the Holy Weeks of my childhood
    the smell
    of fresh-cut pine tree branches,
    sacramentals in the box at the church entrance.

    We’d choose a blessèd stem
    symbol of adulation
    of imminent betrayal,
    reminder of how we blow with the wind:
    cry ‘Hosanna!’ one day
    cry ‘Crucify Him!’ the next.

    Yesterday was also April Fool’s day.

  • NaPoWriMo 1 April 2012: Damp gossip

    Just because I haven’t enough writing commitments on my plate, ha ha, I’ve signed up to National Poetry Writing Month (NaPoWriMo). This means I’ve set the intention to write a poem every day for the month of April.

    What you’re going to see here every day for the month of April 2012 is a poem that I’ve just written, all raw and unedited (gulp).

    Maybe this should be called Naked Poetry Writing Month?

    When I write a poem I usually do a quick first edit, then I leave it for a week or so and revisit it and give it a good going-over with my red pen. (And sometimes that’s not enough to make it decent.)

    But National Poetry Writing Month (NaPoWriMo) doesn’t afford me the luxury of that time.

    So prepare yourself for some self-conscious naked poems this month.

    Of course I’ll still be posting ‘rescued’ poems every Tuesday. That won’t change.

    Okay, so here’s the first offering, inspired by the name of a book club mentioned over at L L Barkat’s website Tweetspeak.

    Damp gossip

    Rumours of water
    oozed along
    long-forgotten river courses
    trickled through
    gaps in creek-bed memories
    flowed silently towards
    dry-boned cemeteries
    eventually torrentialled
    through the shrivelled awareness
    of grain-dusted farmers
    of thirsty settlers
    of leathered drovers and their
    scorched bullock teams
    in the parched plains
    going nowhere
    from nowhere;
    the promise
    of drought broken
    more welcome
    than breaking bread
    than breaking through
    the dam of reasons for being
    in this god-forsaken place.

  • Rescue Tuesdays #5: Curious room

    This little rescue-ee is from Eva Luna by Isabel Allende (p217) and The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-time by Mark Haddon (p207).

    Curious room

    Beneath the hoping measured
    narrow echoey train
    was roar roar
    was stutter stutter.

    Machines in rows,
    silently fluorescent.

    Spindle factory,
    quota weighed.

    Damn bitches
    in windowless cubicles
    served the silent treatment.

    Lipstick, ribbons, makeup, hair creams, boots, skirts
    never paper-wrapped gestures.

    Unappetising lunchroom leftovers:
    beans and custard creams.

    Walls that wear eyes.

  • Rescue Tuesdays #4: Remember code

    I rescued this poem from This is not a novel by Jennifer Johnston (p33) and If on a winter’s night a traveller by Italo Calvino (p148).

    Remember code

    perfect pushed-pulled champions of the sea
    scorching first;
    rinsed towel
    squeezed uneasiness

    gentle ghost
    brushed
    wiped down dismay
    dry half-felt wet
    under well eyes
    somehow the naturalness of tears drown
    rippling recognised
    faceless but familiar
    watching silent shadow lingered
    indifferent to the moment

  • Rescue Tuesdays #3: Disgrace

    It’s that time of the week again!

    I rescued this poem from Disgrace by J M Coetzee (p27) and The Shipping News by Annie Proulx (p193). What do you think? Or maybe I should ask how you feel.

    Disgrace

    Beer fingers pressed
    his face towers
    leaning like a lover
    whispering wary affairs

    &nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbspmurmurs &nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbspno
    &nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbspwhispers &nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbspno

    raise sweater
    rip singlet
    kick shoes
    slip stockings

    &nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbspsays &nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbspno
    &nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsprepeats &nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbspno

    wracked forehead, mouth, shoulders, arms, hands, wrists, fists, buttocks, legs, ankles

    &nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbspsnarls &nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbspno
    &nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbspcrying &nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbspno

    clinking movement
    honey drinking
    warm unfurled crushed will

    &nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbspno
    &nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbspno

    heavy hands stroke folds
    looped to bottles of misery
    snake uncurled, hard against belly
    intoxicating rock of female
    clasped to a basket of heat
    perforated prisoner

    twitched, transfixed, then flicker
    suddenly the idea of ice, blackening, double-towered, in waves
    reared storm tilting soundlessly, quickly.

    &nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbspRepeat &nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbspno.
    &nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbspMeant &nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbspno.

    Dead-man’s-fingers cover absence.

  • Poetry at Adelaide Writers’ Week 2012

    These recent days have been poetry-filled and frilled with meeting many new and fascinating people. Although poetry is not a major feature of Adelaide Writers’ Week, I was delighted to meet and chat to Dennis O’Driscoll a couple of times at the event. Dennis is from Tipperary (not too far from my home town) and I can tell you now: his poem ‘Someone’ is guaranteed to give you goosebumps. And his poetry books sold out at the event! (I remember this happened a few years back when Simon Armitage’s poetry collections raced out the tent door and there wasn’t a copy left anywhere in Adelaide.) However, I was lucky enough to bag one of the last remaining few copies of Stepping Stones, a collection of Dennis’s interviews with his friend and fellow poet, Seamus Heaney.

    I also attended the session with Mike Ladd and Les Murray in conversation. Les Murray’s most recent collection, Taller when Prone, won the 2012 John Bray Poetry Award. Mike compared Les’s poetry about place and surroundings with that of Irish poet Patrick Kavanagh, who believed that ‘All great civilizations are based on the parish’. Kavanagh wrote about everyday farming life (for example ‘Spraying the Potatoes’) and said ‘…the things that really matter are casual, insignificant little things’.

    In another session, Dionne Brand (Canada), Aidan Coleman (Adelaide), Michael Hulse (UK), Mike Ladd (Adelaide), Dennis O’Driscoll (Ireland) and Jan Owen (Adelaide) read a selection of their poems. It was a delight to hear each poet voice his/her own work. I bought a copy of Aidan Coleman’s new book, Asymmetry, which I’m looking forward to experiencing. The poems navigate the challenging path of the author’s recovery from a stroke; the collection has had rave reviews.

    I was disappointed that I couldn’t make it to the launch of Friendly Street Poets ‘New Poets 17’ (which features gareth roi jones, John Pfitzner and Rachael Mead), as well as the launch of Friendly Street Poets ‘Flying Kites’ edited by Judy Dally and Louise McKenna. I bought a copy of each, however, and I’m looking forward to dipping in.

    All in all, mad March has offered Adelaide a nice polite pot of poetry.

    In the next post I’ll update you on some slam and spoken word events.

  • Rescue Tuesdays #2: Mastery of the night

    I rescued this short and sharp poem from End of the Night Girl by Amy Matthews (p61) and Mastery by George Leonard (p122).

    Mastery of the night

    Sometimes we breathe miracles.
    Sometimes we thank black larcenous fuck
    chewing curiosity on the couch,
    lacking dark remorse
    strangling charms
    peeing persuasiveness;
    every phony Einstein
    catches nervous villains and depressed psychopaths:
    from drunk to superhuman
    let’s toast the holy hero.

  • Rescue Tuesdays #1: Asylum renovations

    I rescued this poem from Angela’s Ashes by Frank McCourt (p115) and Secret Wisdom – Occult societies and arcane knowledge through the ages by Ruth Clydesdale (p148).

    Note: ‘jakes’ is pronounced ‘jacks’. It’s an old Irish slang word for ‘toilet’.

    Asylum renovations

    Her alchemy torments the planets,
    his philosophy:
    sour sweepings
    from desperate universal truths pamphlets;
    the lunatics, understanding divinity, drink hard.
    Meanwhile,
    &nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbspteihr wolrd reraangred
    their asylum
    protected
    they throw themselves reality
    bake &nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbspflour &nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbspbake
    pints &nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbspdrink &nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsppints
    loaves
    &nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbspand
    &nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp&nbspdrinks;
    now, drinking champion

    bring the loaf of science
    bring the pint of politics
    Copernicus is in the jakes:
    you’re the astronomer.

  • My ‘rescued poems’ project: tune in every Tuesday

    One of our writing exercises in uni last semester (thank you Amy) was to create a collage poem. This was based on exercises from chapter four, ‘Writing as Recycling’, from The Writing Experiment, Strategies for innovative creative writing by Hazel Smith.

    We had to copy a slab of text from a random page from two books into a Word document and print it out. Then we had to cut out each word using a scissors, mix up the words, select words from the jumble and assemble a new piece of text as a poem.

    I modified the process to make it more efficient: I found a nice online word scrambler here and avoided the messy, fiddly cutting and sorting part of the process.

    I was intrigued by the result. I prefer to call the resulting poem a ‘rescued’ poem instead of a ‘found’ poem or a collage. It’s more dramatic, isn’t it? I feel that the poem is hiding and that it’s my job to look for it using this special recovery mechanism.

    Some poems are so thrilled to be rescued that they jump out and do a little jig; others are hesitant or shy and need plenty of encouragement and time. (You see, we can make a story out of anything!)

    My rescued poems are different from the poems I usually write. They are dense and jagged; I like to think that they are a bit unstable and could freak out at any moment.

    To honour my rescued darlings (rather than killing them) I intend to start a ‘Rescue Tuesdays’ post on this site.

    Every Tuesday I will post one of my rescued poems, so bookmark this site and remember to visit each week. Better still, subscribe to the newsfeed to be notified when I update the site.

    Tune in on Tuesday 28 February for the first rescued poem.