Hello once again. The writing is actually going better right now than it was same time last year. Work is flat out and things are afoot personally that keep me busy (the joy of wearing more than one hat).

I’ve found a collection of poetic prompts that I’m slowly working my way through, in the absence of original ideas, I’m into week 2 at the moment (writing when time allows doesn’t allow me to write one poem a day). But my usual annual challenger of getting out 12 poems a year looks like it will be knocked over rather soon. Anyhow, this was from Day 4 of the prompts. Write a ‘containment’ poem. I started with being in a bookstore and went from there.

Here is the place I lost myself
and the reference section
that atlased me back home
 
Here is the poetry section with
its small and empty shelf telling me
the books aren’t going to write themselves.
 
Here is the where I fell to pieces
and the architecture guide
that blueprinted me again
 
Here is the sci-fi shelves who say
this is the future if you please
If not, who are you to the future anyway?
 
Here are the books written about music
and all the songs about writing.

Reading: “The Michael Palin Diaries: The Python Years”
Listening: “Ramona Was A Waitress” – Paul Dempsey

New mini-moleskine notebook

…or I need to spend more time waiting for her to arrive from her travels. On Sunday Nicole, my wife, returned from Sydney after visiting the Sydney Vintage Fair. Being the nervous sort, I usually turn up to collect her from the airport far earlier than is necessary, preferring to be too early than too late.

In this instance, I was two and a half hours too early which then became three when her flight was delayed.

It’s National Poetry Month in the US and Robert Brewer has been attempting a Poem-A-Day challenge, publishing the results on his blog, Poetic Asides. Taking a look at the prompts he’s been posting, and armed with a large amount of time to kill, an internet accessible phone and a notebook, I had a shot at writing some poetry while I waited.

Total poems written to date in 2010: 2.
Total poems written in two hours: 5.

I can’t vouch for their quality. Yet. It’s five rough drafts, but I don’t recall ever being quite so productive in such a small amount of time. I’ll be posting them as they get a suitable amount of polish to them.

Reading: “Infinite City” – Alex Skovron
Listening: “Ramona Was A Waitress” – Paul Dempsey

Went to Passionate Tongues last night and had a marvellous old time catching up with people and enjoying the work of the features Ian McBryde and Amelia Walker. The open stage was also a good opportunity to hear the work of poets I know from around the scene, but had yet to hear properly. Ben “I.Q.” Saunders and Jo Mundy spring to mind here.

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

So, here’s my response to D. H. Lawrence’s Bat.
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I was recently on holiday in Katoomba where I found an anthology of poems called “The Poet’s Voice”. Printed in the 30s and edited by John Garrett and W. H. Auden, it contained, amongst others, the following poem by D. H. Lawrence.

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

Tim Hamilton reading at Candy Stripes

Well, I had an excellent evening being part of a great performance at the Candy Bar on last Thursday night. Anthony O’Sullivan (of Spinning Room fame) was an excellent host as per usual, presiding over an enthusiastic turnout.

I was grateful to find that I was opening as it meant I would be less stressed and could enjoy the show in its entirety. This was handy as, apart from Josephine, I had seen little to no of my co-stars previously, knowing them only by reputation, and was able to enjoy their work with fresh ears.

The set list for me was: If Poetry, Mokita, Ballard Days, Eulogy for the Cassette, Eulogy for the Polaroid, Tomorrow’s Ghosts, Concerto in B-Flat for Piano and Phlegm and I finished with XXI – The World

If the night made anything clear to me, it was that I really need to learn how to perform without my notes! Apart from seeing some marvellous performances being done by people who were free of having to look at paper every couple of seconds, it felt a lot better being able to concentrate purely on what I was saying without having to read at the same time.

Photos of the night were taken by Michael Reynolds, who has kindly shared them to the world on this link.

Overload this year produced something of a record for me. Five gigs in one week I think is something of a record in the decade-and-a-bit that I’ve been attending and reading in open stage gigs. By the time Sunday’s closing event rolled around, I was too tired to attend. Hats off the Overload organising committee for bringing in festival number seven!

Candy Stripes, part of the 7th Overload Poetry Festival

I will be performing at Candy Stripes, a one-off gig as part of the Melbourne poetry festival, Overload. Along with me will be Josephine Rowe, Benezra, Jess Friedmann and Felix Nobis!

What: Candy Stripes
Who: Tim Hamilton, Jess Friedmann, Josephine Rowe, Felix Nobis & Benezra with your most marvellous MC, Mr. Anthony O’Sullivan.
Where: Candy Bar, 162 Greville St., Prahran
When: 8-10pm, Thursday 7th August, 2008.
How: much? $10 ($7 concession) entry.
Why: I’m featuring! My fellow features are made entirely of awesome! We’re reading in a really good place! It’s part of the Melbourne Showcase series for the Overload Melbourne Poetry Festival!!

Another marvellous feature by Rosanne Bersten at the Spinning Room poetry gig last night. Her poems gave a preview of her upcoming California vignettes series and went through a series of works on people in her life. It also reminded me of how well she can switch between free and structured verse.

The night was also notable for the really rather impressive collection of new poets appearing in the open mic section. At least two new poets who I hope to see more of, one getting a callback.

For my part, I think I did OK, I’m more comfortable reading the revised version of Tomorrow’s Ghosts now, Ballard Days still feels a little unbalanced, though I’m not sure why. Either way, I think it needs a little more tweaking.

This sprung out of reading an article about JG Ballard and watching people on Brunswick St.,

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
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