This was written last week and is currently in the mid-polish state.

Thirteen Hours Into Summer
 
Melbourne. We are
thirteen hours into summer
and I have not seen the sun.
Have you lost it? Did you look?
 
The clouds rolling overhead are
too busy, too majestic to help find
what you are looking for.
Did you ask them? Did they respond?
 
We are running out of time.
We have only ninety days, eleven hours
but you seem unconcerned.
Aren’t you worried? Do you care?
 
Unemployed shadows are
jammed into cracks and corners.
Wait nervously for their cue
how long their wait? when can they breathe out?
 
Put your name on the sun, Melbourne,
when you find it. This time put it down
in the first place you would look,
not the last.
 

Reading: “Penguin Modern Poets 17: Gascoyne, Graham, Raine”
Listening: “Don’t Send Me Onions” – Miles Hunt

That’s Chiroptera to you Mr. Lawrence.
 
I watch them camouflaged against deep plum evenings
Swirling commas and quotes,
        black escapees from café menus.
Coffee ground golems given liberty.
        Stacatto chatter
of urgent evening gate screeches
amongst crepuscular tree branches.
 
Blind twilight heralds taking images from each sound.
I spy their tall inverted colonies
        with neither fear nor disturbance.
        as integral to my city.
 
I see their existence
Mr. Lawrence, I cannot share your disgust of bats.
 
You say they change guard with the sparrows.
Then they are important!
Though they have a human imitator, they
humbly maintain their routines.
Then I say they deserve respect.
 
No Mr. Lawrence, I speak for Chiroptera.
They don’t think much of you
nor your opinion.

Reading: “The Best Australian Poetry 2005” – Edited by Peter Porter, Bronwyn Lea & Martin Duwell
Listening: “Born To Run” – Something For Kate

While I rather liked the poem, especially the description of bats as “Swallows with spools of dark thread”, I felt I couldn’t let the opportunity pass to speak up in defence of an animal that I’m rather fond of, having become accustomed to their presence in the parks around Melbourne.

So, here is D. H. Lawrence’s poem, which will be followed in short order by my response.

Bat
 
At evening, sitting on this terrace,
When the sun from the west, beyond Pisa, beyond the mountains of Carrara
Departs, and the world is taken by surprise …
 
When the tired flower of Florence is in gloom beneath the glowing
Brown hills surrounding …
 
When under the arches of the Ponte Vecchio
A green light enters against stream, flush from the west,
Against the current of obscure Arno …
 
Look up, and you see things flying
Between the day and the night;
Swallows with spools of dark thread sewing the shadows together.
 
A circle swoop, and a quick parabola under the bridge arches
Where light pushes through;
A sudden turning upon itself of a thing in the air.
A dip to the water.
 
And you think:
“The swallows are flying so late!”
 
Swallows?
 
Dark air-life looping
Yet missing the pure loop …
A twitch, a twitter, an elastic shudder in flight
And serrated wings against the sky,
Like a glove, a black glove thrown up at the light,
And falling back.
 
Never swallows!
Bats!
The swallows are gone.
 
At a wavering instant the swallows gave way to bats
By the Ponte Vecchio …
Changing guard.
 
Bats, and an uneasy creeping in one’s scalp
As the bats swoop overhead!
Flying madly.
 
Pipistrello!
Black piper on an infinitesimal pipe.
Little lumps that fly in air and have voices indefinite, wildly vindictive;
 
Wings like bits of umbrella.
 
Bats!
 
Creatures that hang themselves up like an old rag, to sleep;
And disgustingly upside down.
 
Hanging upside down like rows of disgusting old rags
And grinning in their sleep.
Bats!
 
Not for me!

Reading: “Cultural Amnesia” – Clive James
Listening: “Ocean Of You” – The Blackeyed Susans

Reading: “Cultural Amnesia” – Clive James
Listening: “Change” – Tears For Fears

Actually, dear readers, while I’m enjoying putting this up in the name of new content I’d appreciate not only feedback but grammatical correction if it’s required. I’m not 100% certain that I have it right.

Reading: “Cultural Amnesia” – Clive James
Listening: “The Point Of It All” – Amanda Palmer

Ballard Days

We live in the Ballard days.
We bare our bullet torn flesh,
our steering wheel cracked ribs
but deny the pierced heart of
our internal bleeding.
 
We bare the radiation burns
as marks of piety
but think nothing of the cancer
and how it quietly spreads within us.
 
We inure ourselves to the constant
degradation of our bodies
and wake up every morning
a little further behind the 8-ball.
 
We wake every morning
change the bandages
and recycles the letters
from the doctor saying
“Your results are back. Call me.”
 

Reading: “We Will Disappear” – David Prater
Listening: “Money Changes Everything” – The Smiths

Eulogy for the Polaroid Camera

This year we shake our head
and mutter to ourselves
Another One Gone!
 
Your loss makes us feel
the weight of ages
We are taken
 
back to a time there was
a shutter, a whirring
Seconds later
 
Shaking, we discovered what sins
we had committed. Oh
Cassandra
 
Camera, you displayed to us the future
But we couldn’t see it.
Not enough time
 
Spent waiting for these pictures to form.
Too much time spent
looking through
 
The glamorous liquid crystal aperture
to see too little
could be seen
 
Through a tiny LCD screen.
We didn’t see
you had run
 
Out of film, while our data chips fill with
disappointments
and regrets.
 

Reading: “Mean Time” – Carol Ann Duffy
Listening: “Shipbuilding” – Elvis Costello & The Attractions

I have news however!! I will be featuring at the Spinning Room on April 1st. Oh yeah, I’m well aware of the importance of the date. My set list will be tailored accordingly. Come see the funny.

What: The Spinning Room featuring Tim Hamilton
Where: ET’s Hotel. 211 High St., Prahran
When: 8pm, Tuesday, April 1st 2008.
Why: I’ll have new stuff, old stuff, and just about every silly poem I have in the set list.

Reading: David Prater – We Will Disappear
Listening: Ani Difranco – Wish I May

I mention this, not only because I’m more than happy to laud the work of my friends, but also because I made reference to one of my poems on his site and thought I should log it here for sake of reference.

Another World was written as a meditation on the point that person A can only really transmit a concept of what they are saying to person B. The simple act of saying “blue” generates two different shades of the same colour in the minds of the two people discussing the colour because at a basic level, our experiences are different.

Another World

I cannot hold my experiences
and speak to you of this world,
any more than I can hold sand
and speak of deserts to a fish.
 
What I can do
is assemble these words
in the shape they make for me,
and send my thoughts through them;
not to show you how things are
but to put your hands
on handles to doors
closed inside your head,
and suggest
we take a walk outside.
 
Outside,
we will see what we will see
and name what we see with our names,
taking it on faith that
when I speak to you of sand,
you will think of dry, wide deserts
and when you hold your experiences to me,
I will see another world.

Reading: The Rattle Bag (ed. Seamus Heaney & Ted Hughes)
Listening: “Ceremony” – Joy Division

I went to the Dan O’Connell gig on Saturday, my reading went OK (Culture & Politics, Dr. Frankenstein, Eulogy For The Cassette), Anne & Norman’s set was amazing as per usual and I seem to be having more luck writing than I had last year. One poem, two close to poems and another that I’ve been working on for nearly a year is getting closer to the finish line.

For the last few years I’ve been making a new year’s resolution to write at least one poem a month. Admittedly, not the most grandiose of resolutions, but I figure it’s something I can build upon. So this month I’ve already got two poems, and hopefully a third on the way!

Anyhow, my second work this year is something of a dramatic monologue, all the questions you want to ask in different circumstances but are never quite sure if you should or not. I found it interesting how, while separate thoughts, they tell a story as a whole. Have a look under the cut.

Questions Left Unvoiced
 
Have you ever wanted…
Does it feel strange when…
Was there a time when you…
How long have you been…
When will you be able…
Do you…
Is it ever going to…
When will this…
Could there have been…
Would things be different…
Is it…
When did this all…
Are there answers…
Did I make this…
What have we…
How do we…
Is there any hope we…
Do you remember…
How can you not…
How can you…

Listening: Do Re Mi – Idiot Grin
Reading: City Lights Pocket Poets Anthology (ed. Lawrence Ferlinghetti)