Tuesday, April 24, 2012

Tuesday Poem: Dear Ruamoko


I want you to know how much I admire you.
You have to be a male God, right?
All that tectonic testosterone. Looks like
you’ve done some great bad things
but I’m sure you were provoked and besides,
I ain’t lily-white myself. Check out my photo –
how cool are those fangs and the hair style
with the writhing snakes. You might have heard of
our sisters gang, the Gorgons. We did some
neat bad shit before Medusa got her head cut off.
Anyway, maybe when you get out
we could hang and do some stuff –
I’m ace at turning men into stone
which you could use in your rock and roll thing.

Yours immortally

Stheno


Here is another of the Ruamoko (Earthquake God) poems I am writing. Keep an eye out for future Ruamoko poems on this blog and visit Tuesday Poem for more poems this week.  

Tuesday, April 10, 2012

Tuesday Poem: I want to write a poem like Billy Collins does


I’d start with an incident
or observation about ants
angels, a wet dog, hats
or note an object in my life
in the kitchen, on my desk
its relativities to writer’s block
woods, or kings.

I’d quiz its antecedents
linking odd things
with poetic velcro
fixing the words
on leaves just so
juxtaposed to score a grin
or make you think –

I would never
have thought about
the man in the moon
marginal notes
or undressing
Emily Dickinson
like that.


I'm a great fan of Billy Collins poetry and find it very accessible, funny, and a great motivation source (particularly when I, or someone I know, have writer's block').

Visit Tuesday Poem  to view the special Birthday Poem,  a poem in progress (Tuesday Poem is two year's old this month).

Tuesday, March 13, 2012

Tuesday Poem: Misinterpretations of two sessions at Writers and Readers Week, 2008


Bill introduced Paul. He said Paul is possibly the planet’s pre-eminent poet
Princeton poetry professor, a prodigy, prolific.  Paul didn’t demur.
I don’t think Paul is a morning person.  He brought about four of his
published works on stage with him.  He hadn’t used post-its to mark
the poems he was going to read.  Bill said Paul said poets try to re-write
the work of past poets when writing new poetry.  Or something like that.
(Harold once said something similar in a different way – didn’t he?)
Paul thought a nine-thirty in the morning reading was a bit different.
He waffled a bit while trying to find the poems he was going to read.
I don’t think Bill is a morning person either.  He didn’t ask questions
when Paul left him gaps to do so.  So Paul waffled a bit more.  It was
a little disconcerting.  Perhaps there had been a welcome party the night
before.  Paul was disconcerted by the jackhammers behind the stage.
Paul’s poems were good.  Bill thought we should hear some songs written
by Paul and played by the guitar band he’s in.  I’m not sure who was singing.
Some people got up and left then.  Paul finished with a witty comment
about poetry.  I suspect he’s used it at other readings.  Everybody clapped.
Bill said to stay seated while Paul and he exited.  More got up and left then.


Christian said he is a ‘sound’ poet.  He read several poems very loudly.
Some people put their fingers in their ears.  A few got up and left.
Most of the poems he read didn’t have intelligible words in them. Christian won
a very big award and lots of money for writing some long prose poems.
All the words in each poem have only the same one vowel in them.  Christian said
he doesn’t write conventional poetry because he doesn’t want to inflict his ego
on anyone.  ‘Chapter i’ was the single-vowel prose poem he chose to read to us.
He said it was his favourite chapter.  Christian is conducting a GE project
in which he will alter the genetic structure of a microbe by implanting a
mirror cipher on its genome.  The cipher will write a poem.  When the microbe
regenerates, new poems will get written on the genomes of the offspring.
He thinks this will be a nearly foolproof way of communicating the high points of
human culture to ET beings who find our planet.  Christian doesn’t seem to be into
GE ethics, unintended biosphere-experiment consequences, or planetary safety.
I mean, what if all the poems the mutant microbes write are really, really bad?


I went to my first 2012 Wellington Festival Writers and Readers Week event today. It was really good then I remembered the 2008 Festival and a poem I had written after attending a couple of the readings.  Visit Tuesday Poem for more poems this week. 

 

Tuesday, February 28, 2012

Tuesday Poem: Grounds for a Protection Order

I don’t unpack
my bags anymore
Ruamoko. I know
how volatile you are.
All day, all night
you devise
your next violation
your next vicious act.
Each night I lie awake
waiting your hammer
feeling your vice
tighten my heart
tracing the scars
you've carved on my life.

This is another in a sequence of Ruamoko (Earthquake God) poems I am writing. Keep an eye out for future Ruamoko poems on this blog and visit Tuesday Poem for more poems this week.

Tuesday, February 14, 2012

Dance lessons

I didn’t join the blue-dressed, barefoot girl
as she pranced alone upon her toes
at the after-wedding dance last Saturday
her male and female partners coming, going.
Neither did I sidle up beside the five men coalesced
each dancing self-obsessed with Saint Vitus
nor crib some space among the solo swayers
nor nudge aside the twos and threesomes.
But this odd menagerie of motion
led me to a dance floor long ago
where matrons with a record player
showed spotty boys and girls with sweaty palms
where to place their feet and hands
should a waltz be struck up by the band.


Funny how memories are triggered – anyone else experience the dance lessons of a previous age? I seem to remember they were pretty excruciating all round.

Visit Tuesday Poem for more poems.

Tuesday, January 31, 2012

Tuesday Poem: The ordinance of clowns

I heard a man on the radio say
there’s more to clowning than

oversize bow ties, banana skins
bandanas, braces, and

button hole flowers that spray.
No, the Whiteface, the Hobo

the Character, the Auguste
(the one with the big nose)

have slapstick codes to uphold.
Unruly tomfoolery

gives clowns a bad name.
True clowns, he said

hose down each other
not the crowd.

How funnily sad, I thought
how comically ironic.

You can’t just bend the rules
when clowning around.



Sometimes I write poems after listening to interviews on Radio New Zealand (usually while driving into town – the listening, not the writing). Visit Tuesday Poem for more poems this week.

Tuesday, January 17, 2012

Tuesday Poem: A wing and a prayer


The fundamentalists boarded the flight
bearing crosses. Grim-faced, grey-haired women
scarved, not one low decolletage in sight
eyes averted, deferring to their men
the way old handmaidens do. The men got
through security somehow, clay tablets
taped to their chests, bags full of brimstone pots
stones for casting clicking in their pockets.
Silently, on drop-down video screens
Goldenhorse’s female lead was singing.
The clip zoomed in to pink lip-glossed lips, green
long-lashed eyes shadowed black, hair flaming.
I prayed they’d not ask God to smite her down
after our plane unshackled from the ground.


Happy 2012 to all and may your year overflow with poems.

I wrote this sonnet a few years ago after a plane trip. Probably no further explanation is needed. Visit Tuesday Poem for more poems this week.

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