Saturday

Uncollected Poems (2010-2015)


Bronwyn Lloyd: The Nightingale (2013)


  1. from Celanie (2010)
    1. Lunch [after Lady Daibu & Lydia Ginzburg] (28/4-11/7/10)
    2. Mr Lennon [after Charles Darwin] (3/5-11/7/10)
    3. Maggie’s Farm [after Ian McEwan & Margaret Thatcher] (4/5-16/7/10)
    4. Badlands [after Jonathan Raban] (22/4-16/7/10)
  2. Hamilton Stations of the Cross (23/4-7/5/11)
  3. Britain's Missing Top Model (23-7/5/11)
  4. Shorts:
    1. At the Magician's House (23/4-9/5/11)
    2. Destructive Element (3/2-9/5/11)
    3. Dollarton (8/2/11)
    4. Petition (8/2-9/5/11)
  5. Cook on Easter Island (12-16/5/11)
  6. Dark Night Reading in Titirangi (1/8/11)
  7. Oracle Couplets (26/8-30/9/11)
  8. Haiku:
    1. Shambling (7/9/11)
    2. CARIB 4WD (7/9/11)
    3. Peach blossom (12/10/11)
  9. The Nightingale (after Marie de France) (31/10/11-14/1/12)
  10. from Jueju (2013)
    1. Red Cliffs (after Su Shi) (6/9-17/10/13)
    2. Returning to Auckland after Dark (after Su Shi) (6/9-1/10/13)
    3. Spring Morning (after Li Qing Zhao) (6/9-1/10/13)
    4. Rural Life (after Xin Qi Ji) (6/9-1/10/13)
  11. Wallace Stevens Meets the Hole-in-the-Wall Gang (6/9-1/10/13)
  12. The Counterfeiters (2-9/11/13)






Reading these letters doubled with poems is also to delimit the space where Celan habitually deployed his language, and which he referred to – not entirely seriously – as his “Celanie”: the Rue des Ecoles, the Rue de Lota, the Rue de Montevideo, the Rue de Longchamp, the Rue d’Ulm, the Rue Cabanis (Faculty Clinic, Saint-Anne), the Rue Tournefort and Avenue Émile Zola …

– Bertrand Badiou, “Notice Editoriale”. In Paul Celan & Gisèle Celan-Lestrange. Correspondance (1951-1970). 2 vols. Librairie du XXIe siècle (Paris: Éditions du Seuil, 2001): 2: 10.


  1. Lunch [after Lady Daibu & Lydia Ginzburg] (28/4-11/7/10)
  2. Three fits (6/4-16/7/10)
  3. Mr Lennon [after Charles Darwin] (3/5-11/7/10)
  4. Substitutes only need apply (12/4-18/6/09)
  5. Maggie’s Farm [after Ian McEwan & Margaret Thatcher] (4/5-16/7/10)
  6. “The archaeologist of the present day” (5/4-18/6//09)
  7. Badlands [after Jonathan Raban] (22/4-16/7/10)
  8. April Fool’s Day (1/4-18/6/09)
  9. Leave [after Paul Celan] (8/2-25/4/10)


(24-25/8/10)

Publications:
  • "Celanie.” All Together Now: A Digital Bridge for Auckland and Sydney / Kia Kotahi Rā: He Arawhata Ipurangi mō Tamaki Makau Rau me Poihākena (March-September 2010).







[After Lady Daibu & Lydia Ginzburg]


Such was the upheaval in our world at the time of Juei and Genryaku 
that whatever I may call it – dream, illusion, tragedy – no words 
can possibly describe it: the lull of the siege day.

What can I say, what am I to feel about that autumn when I heard 
that those whom I knew were soon to be leaving the capital? Lunch 
was always a break.

None of us had known when it might happen, and faced with the actual 
event, we were all stunned, those of us who saw it with our own eyes 
and those who heard about it from afar. The earlier lunches cut 
across the day.

At that time, when all was in uproar and such disquieting rumours 
were reaching us, Sukemori was a First Secretary to the Emperor and 
seemed to have little time away from his duties. Lunch brings with 
it not only indolence and drowsiness, but also a sense of the onset 
of decrepitude, old age, exhaustion, the dying of the day.

On these occasions he would tell me, just as though it were a normal 
thing to say: “These troubles have now reached the point where there 
can be no doubt that I, too, shall number among the dead.” Now that 
people were in primitive dependence on time, the feeling of the dying 
day was especially concrete.

In the post-lunch depression the sense of over-satiety was now 
replaced by disappointment, and an exasperation brought on by the 
swiftness of lunch. Tears were my only reply.


(28/4-11/7/10)

Publications:
  • "Celanie.” All Together Now: A Digital Bridge for Auckland and Sydney / Kia Kotahi Rā: He Arawhata Ipurangi mō Tamaki Makau Rau me Poihākena (24/8/10).







[After Charles Darwin]


Started at midday for Mr Lennon's estate
the road passed through
a vast extent of forest
on the road we saw many beautiful birds

The slaves here appeared miserably over-worked
& badly clothed
we were obliged to have a black man
clear the way with a sword

On arriving at the estate
there was a most violent & disagreeable quarrel
between Mr Lennon & his agent
which quite prevented us from wishing to remain there

(In the evening it rained very hard
I suffered from the cold)
During Mr. Lennon's quarrel with his agent
he threatened to sell at public auction

an illegitimate mulatto child
to whom Mr Cowper was much attached
There's a more sinister way of looking at it
yet I will pledge myself that in humanity

Mr Lennon is above the common run of men


(3/5-11/7/10)

Publications:
  • "Celanie.” All Together Now: A Digital Bridge for Auckland and Sydney / Kia Kotahi Rā: He Arawhata Ipurangi mō Tamaki Makau Rau me Poihākena (24/8/10).







[After Ian McEwan & Margaret Thatcher]
	

How can a novelist achieve atonement when, with her absolute
power of deciding outcomes, she is also God?
    I have a problem, it is the Government's job to cope with it!

In her imagination she has set the limits and the terms
    I have a problem, I will go and get a grant to cope with it!

There is no one, no entity or higher form that she can appeal to, 
or be reconciled with, or that can forgive her
    I am homeless, the Government must house me!

There is nothing outside
    Who is society? There is no such thing!

No atonement for God, or novelists, even if they are atheist
    People look to themselves first

It was always an impossible task, and that was precisely the point
    Life is a reciprocal business
    & people have got the entitlements too much in mind

without the obligations


(4/5-16/7/10)

Publications:
  • "Celanie.” All Together Now: A Digital Bridge for Auckland and Sydney / Kia Kotahi Rā: He Arawhata Ipurangi mō Tamaki Makau Rau me Poihākena (24/8/10).







[After Jonathan Raban]


Aged 47
he chucked up everything
& just cleared off

Lacking a past of his own
he hoped to find
a history that would fit

A dead woodpecker 
on the floor
mud-igloos on the walls

•	

The letters B L M
– Bureau of Land Management –
are recorded several times

On page 3 of the ledger
a ringed figure shows up
like a Homeric epithet

How do you turn
2.54 debit
into five thousand, six hundred & eighty-eight dollars ninety?

•	

To lay a floor like that
was the work 
of a true believer

These houses
prairie schooners
lonely derelicts

awash in grass
a nest
for the neighbourhood birds


(22-27/4/10)

Publications:
  • "Celanie.” All Together Now: A Digital Bridge for Auckland and Sydney / Kia Kotahi Rā: He Arawhata Ipurangi mō Tamaki Makau Rau me Poihākena (24/8/10).







Around Station 10
    I found myself
        boxed in

by a baby carriage
    as the crowd
        filled up

behind    in front
    a water-maze
        outlined

by floating lights
    with a soprano
        singing

something from Mozart's
    Requiem
        I felt

as I once felt
    in Bangalore at
        that shrine

to the elephant-headed
    god Ganesha
        trapped
	
in the crush
    lost soul
        unable

to breathe


(23-7/5/11)

Publications:
  • The Winding Stair. Ed. Ila Selwyn & Lesley Smith. Titirangi: Lopdell House, 2011. 22-23.







I've only got
one hand
I'd like to be

a fashion model
Trying on her jeans
she finds a rip

on the morning
of her interview
with the Agency

This day can only go
uphill from here
heroic

nervous to the point
of near-paralysis
she manages to smile

at the brusque no-nonsense
manager
embrace the team

sit quietly while they
critique her
32 23 35

(too hippy)
23 (too old)
& then debate

her fate
cries when they say
they'll represent her

I need to tell my Mum


(23-7/5/11)

Publications:
  • Britain’s Missing Top Model. Poem by Jack Ross. Design by Bronwyn Lloyd. Pania Singles 2. Auckland: Pania Press, December 25, 2011.
  • Poetry Specials: 2008-2018. Papyri (28/12/2017)





Shorts

In the destructive element immerse
– Joseph Conrad (1897)







Karl's premonition at
the waterfall Let's
leave It's awful here A
week later they heard
on Sensing Murder
there'd been 3 bodies
found there


(23/4-9/5/11)

Publications:
  • The Winding Stair. Ed. Ila Selwyn & Lesley Smith. Titirangi: Lopdell House, 2011. 22-23.







CYCLONE BABY
BEING BORN IN
CAIRNS The baby
will not be called Yasi
said the English 
midwife Akiko does
n't like that name at all
She added that the
parents didn't know
the sex yet but
expected it to be
born in the next few
hours


(3/2-9/5/11)

Publications:







You see the dilem
ma? on the one hand
our instinctive o
beisance to Na
ture John Cowper Po
wys nodding to the
stones Malcolm Lowry
identifying
with the survival
of his pier at Dol
larton a facile
kinship with the de
structive element
designed to keep it out
side in the storm


(8/2/11)

Publications:







You are duty bound to
help the activities are
malicious menacing &
happening now do not
rely on other people I
am in fear of my life I
am seeking justice for
my stolen life I am open
to all offers of assistance
telecoms and industry
bodies must stop all
polluting frequency use
fix this problem now
this is a legal demand


(8/2-9/5/11)

Publications:







The island is full of statues
some in groups

on platforms of masonry
others fixed in the earth

& that not deep
the shade of one of these

a little past two o'clock
was sufficient to shelter

nearly thirty persons
we saw not an animal

of any sort
& but few birds

the captain determined to sail
the next morning

since nothing was to be obtained
that could make it worth his while

to stay


(12-16/5/11)

Publications:
  • Poetry NZ 44 (2012): 83-84.

Notes:
  • Source: Captain Cook’s Voyages of Discovery. Ed. John Barrow. 1860. Everyman’s Library, 99. 1906. Introduction by G. N. Pocock. 1941. London: J. M. Dent & Sons / New York: E. P. Dutton & Co., 1954. 162-63..







Reading in Titirangi                      La noche oscura
                                        


The song of some souls who felt          Canciones del alma que      
pretty chuffed to have reached           se goza de haber llegado
that high state of perfection            al alto estado de la
which consists of being asked            perfección, que es la
(& paid!) to read out your own           unión con Dios, por el
poetry in public, then have it           camino de la negación
reprinted in a special limited-          espiritual.
edition chapbook ...     


In the late afternoon                    En una noche oscura,
anxious about rush-hour traffic          con ansias en amores inflamada,
(not to mention the parking!)            (¡oh dichosa ventura!)
we drove off to Devonport                salí sin ser notada,
to pick up Michele Leggott               estando ya mi casa sosegada.

Fortunately she was ready                A oscuras y segura,
already & even agreed                    por la secreta escala disfrazada,
to leave Olive behind                    (¡oh dichosa ventura!)
since there was so little room           a oscuras y en celada,
in the car for a guide-dog               estando ya mi casa sosegada.

On the motorway                          En la noche dichosa,
no-one noticed                           en secreto, que nadie me veía,
as I chose the wrong turn-off            ni yo miraba cosa,
& had to go round again                  sin otra luz ni guía 
to find the right exit                   sino la que en el corazón ardía.

Bronwyn was determined                   Aquésta me guïaba
to check out the exhibitions             más cierta que la luz del mediodía,
in the Lopdell House Gallery             adonde me esperaba
I’d set my sights                        quien yo bien me sabía,
on Murray Gray’s bookshop                en parte donde nadie parecía. 

O Café that welcomed us!                 ¡Oh noche que me guiaste!,
O waiter who made such a song & dance    ¡oh noche amable más que el alborada!,
over pouring out wine!                   ¡oh noche que juntaste
O elegant curly fries                    amado con amada,
& soft, buttery loaves!                  amada en el amado transformada!

When we finally roused ourselves         En mi pecho florido,
to tool off to the venue                 que entero para él solo se guardaba,
in the ramshackle old lift               allí quedó dormido,
we found half the punters                y yo le regalaba,
flushed & loud on mulled wine            y el ventalle de cedros aire daba.

The musicians on stage                   El aire de la almena,
were strumming & bashing                 cuando yo sus cabellos esparcía,
their drums & guitars                    con su mano serena
so we settled in                         en mi cuello hería,
for a bit of a siege                     y todos mis sentidos suspendía.

I found after a while                    Quedéme y olvidéme,
I was starting to enjoy it               el rostro recliné sobre el amado,
even after the crowd heckled             cesó todo, y dejéme,
my attempts                              dejando mi cuidado
to speak French                          entre las azucenas olvidado.

In the late evening                      En una noche oscura,
avoiding the rush                        con ansias en amores inflamada,
from the Lopdell House carpark           (¡oh dichosa ventura!)
we drove back from Titirangi             salí sin ser notada,
to drop off Michele                      estando ya mi casa sosegada.

We got back to the flat                  A oscuras y segura,
more dead than alive                     por la secreta escala disfrazada,
to find the cat yawning                  (¡oh dichosa ventura!)
(unaware we’d been gone!)                a oscuras y en celada,
so we turned off the lights              estando ya mi casa sosegada.

& crawled straight into bed              – San Juan de la Cruz
                                                (1577-78) 


(1/8/11)







Lugosi's Children, curated by Bronwyn Lloyd (2011)


  1. Disappointment is forever. Hope renews itself each day.
  2. Remember the tennis court oath: No Right Turn!
  3. Only deceit can come from deceitful mouths
  4. Look outwards. Great opportunities await.
  5. The horizon rises and falls but the path is certain
  6. As Spring approaches cracks appear in the ice.
  7. Hover on the wind – that is your element.
  8. The voice has faltered But the talking cure goes on.
  9. A migrating bird makes its nest on the waves of the sea.
  10. Enough, or too much? Turn the mirror around.
  11. A thousand blessings fall on the soul that dares.
  12. Industry is its own reward Make and do.
  13. Turning your face from the name. Turning your feet from the path.
  14. Ask the Dream Oracle in the Mirror World about your second self.
  15. The path that forks off from the narrow way traverses mountains.
  16. When the horizon is obscured, it’s raining. When the horizon is clear, it’s going to rain.
  17. The stick insect walks on the surface of the flowing stream.
  18. On a foggy day sightlines stretch forever.
  19. The mind is a diamond shining despite its setting.
  20. A direct gaze scares off the timid approach.
  21. Acting on the impossible. Living on the slope of the volcano.
  22. Look above the landscape Follow the hurrying clouds.
  23. Handle a hundred pieces of jade Cherish a thousand handfuls of air
  24. The power of stillness resists the waves of the sea.
  25. The nose is not the issue. Look for the cause elsewhere.
  26. The only ghosts that frighten you come from within.
  27. In the black forest you wait for a word in the heart.
  28. The long view is the true view. Raise your head.
  29. The change you desire is around the very next bend.
  30. The dead have no desires. Rain has no memory.
  31. The quiver holds six arrows. All will be required.
  32. In a thousand futures everything comes to pass.
  33. You ask a question to hear what you know already.
  34. A rock feels what it can feel - memories of fire.
  35. Fear besets the barque of the years. The sun comes up and turns the ocean to gold.
  36. Writing in moonlight ink freezes on the tip of your pen.
  37. The sickle reaps the field it has sown. A thousand blows cannot disturb the tower of hands.
  38. The Persian King wept when he thought in a hundred years his army would all be dead.
  39. Interrogate your dreams. How many corridors do you walk down in sleep?
  40. When you wake up are you a butterfly dreaming you are human?
  41. None of us deserves anything. All of us deserve everything.
  42. The act of asking a question sets ripples in motion across the stillest pond.
  43. The cat lies in the sun then shifts into the shadow.
  44. Don’t hurry the seasons. Wait till the Spring has come.
  45. A life is a long time. Be happy underground.
  46. It seems to look into the street. Its eyes are glass.
  47. The Monkey King was pinned under the mountain for a thousand years. He did not learn contentment.
  48. Your reward is coming soon. It will be what you need.
  49. Your question emphasises doubt. Don’t act as if you feel it.
  50. Beauty is a firefly in the night. A speck of ash in a furnace.
  51. Long enough to do all that you need to do.
  52. Your love will last. Its object may be the same.
  53. Whatever you achieve brings joy with it and sorrow.
  54. The ant burrows in the side of the hill. A pebble is a mountain to him.
  55. The bird flies above the hill. All it discerns is movement.
  56. The change has come already. Open your eyes.
  57. In the midst of pain one can still feel the desire to know more.
  58. Words are hard to trust in. They tell you more than you seek to know.
  59. There is no safety. There is only life.
  60. Clear your mind. Don’t try to steer the void.
  61. If your heart is in what you do energy will be given.
  62. Tigers cannot be tamed. The jungle is their home.
  63. The baby is a source of joy. Joy transforms everything.
  64. To be still in the middle of stillness To act in the midst of change.
  65. Watch your sister’s eyes. See what they follow.
  66. Step further back. Don’t ask ‘could’ but ‘should’.
  67. The fabric of the night shadows all who stand under it.
  68. Ask and it will be given Under the protection
  69. Give back what you’re given Don’t hold back.
  70. Speech sounds harsh after silence. Persevere.
  71. A fish lives in the water. Can it be successful on dry land?
  72. Change of skies denotes a change of heart.
  73. Ice moves across a scoured landscape. Lichen grows on the rocks.
  74. You’ve already left. Look around before you close the door.
  75. Your joy will be accompanied by grief. How else would you know the difference?
  76. The cicada’s song stops when you get too near.
  77. Try giving it away Then you’ll see.
  78. Happiness lies in yourself not in what you own.
  79. At a quantum level nothing can be known for sure.
  80. The goldfish swims around the bowl and meets itself.
  81. Your paths diverge in the forest. Who knows if they will meet again?
  82. The roots of the birch tree spread further than you can know.
  83. Write a letter to yourself White tracks in the snow
  84. Swans guard their lake. Learn to be a swan.
  85. Only when you are lost can you start to see the way.
  86. The water sits at the bottom of the well The weight of the mountain cannot move it.
  87. Joy in the world outside Trust in the world within
  88. Clear your mind Open your eyes behind their lids
  89. Red is the colour of riches Gold is the colour of spring
  90. If you walk far enough You'll meet yourself returning
  91. Open the door Walk out into the garden
  92. Follow the circle round and round You'll never find an end
  93. Don't look at the summit Climb one ridge at a time
  94. One law for the All Black or the reject is expectation
  95. At the end of a year the project turns back on itself
  96. The word enlarges The 'I' becomes an 'eye'
  97. Walk in the forest until you find a clearing
  98. Nothing stays the same Change or die
  99. Solder the broken wire It will come out stronger
  100. From inside the mirror reflections seem like shadows
  101. A pouty face sees nothing but itself.
  102. Be a wolf in the night A seashell in the day
  103. We accept your libation A drop of wine for the fates


(26/8-30/9/11)

Publications:
  • Lugosi's Children. Curated by Bronwyn Lloyd (Auckland: Objectspace, 27/8-1/10/2011).





Haiku:







across the road
looking at nothing
except your phone


(7/9/11)






As enjoyable as communing with
Nature is the comfort of cruising
through the tree-line boulevard


(7/9/11)






on the windscreen
as we set off
to work


(12/10/11)






(after Marie de France)


The story that I’ll tell today
the Bretons made into a lay:
Laüstic they called the tale
French rossignol – or nightingale.
   By Saint Malo there was a town
famed far and wide, of great renown.
Two knights lived there in luxury:
fine houses, servants, horses, money.
One had married a lady fair
wise, discreet and debonair
(she kept her temper wonderfully
considering her company).
The other was a bachelor
well known among the townsfolk there
for his courage and his courtesy
and for treating people honourably.
   He went to all the tournaments,
(neglecting solider investments)
and loved the wife of his neighbour.
He begged so many boons from her
she felt he had to be deserving
and loved him more than anything –
as much for the good he’d done before
as for the fact he lived next door.
   Wisely and well they loved each other
avoiding undue fuss and bother
by keeping everything discreet.
This was the way they managed it:
because their houses stood side by side
there wasn’t much they couldn’t hide
behind those solid walls of stone.
The lady, when she was alone,
would go to the window of her room
and lean across to talk to him.
They swapped small tokens of their love:
he from below, she from above.
   Nothing interfered with them.
No-one noticed, or poked blame.
However, they could not aspire
to reach the peak of their desire
because there was so strict a guard
on all her movements. It was hard,
but still they had the consolation
of leaning out in any season
to exchange sighs across the gap.
No-one could stop that access up.
   They loved each other for so long
that summer came – green buds, birdsong:
the orchards waxed into full bloom
bringing amorous airs with them,
and little birds carolled their joy
from the tip of every spray.
The knight and lady of whom I speak
felt their resistance growing weak –
when love wafts out from every flower
it’s no surprise you feel it more!
   At night, when the moon shone outside,
she’d leave her husband sleeping, glide
wrapped only in a mantle, till
she fetched up at the window sill.
Her lover did the selfsame thing,
sat by his window pondering,
and there he’d watch her half the night.
This simple act gave them delight.
   So often did she do it that
her husband started to smell a rat.
He asked her where she went at night
and why she rose before first light.
   “Sir,” the lady said to him,
“It’s more than just a passing whim.
I hear the nightingale sing
and have to sit here listening.
So sweet his voice is in the night
to hear it is supreme delight,
the joy it gives me is so deep
I can’t just close my eyes and sleep.”
   Her husband heard this glib reply
and laughed once: coarsely, angrily.
He thought at once of thwarting her
by catching the bird in a snare.
his serving men were rounded up
and put to work on net and trap
to hang on every single tree 
in his entire property.
   They wove so many strings and glue
the bird was caught without ado.
When the nightingale was caught
they brought it living to the knight.
This exploit pleased him mightily;
he went at once to see his lady.
   “Lady,” said he, “where are you?
Come here; this concerns you too.
I’ve snared that little bird, whose song
has been keeping you awake so long.
Now you can sleep the whole night through,
Rest easy: he won’t bother you.”
   When the lady heard him speak,
she felt crestfallen and heart-sick.
She asked a favour of her lord,
if she could have the little bird.
At that he did something macabre,
snapped its neck in front of her,
and threw the body at her dress
to bloody it above the breast.
Then he stalked out of her door. 
   The lady picked it from the floor,
and sobbing, called a living curse
on those who’d made her prison worse 
by hanging nets in every tree
to snare the bird who set her free.
   “Alas,” said she, “I am undone!
I can no longer rise alone
and sit by the window every night
to watch my lover, my sweet knight.
There is one thing I’m certain of:
He will believe he’s lost my love
unless I tell him what’s occurred.
By sending him the little bird
I’ll warn him of what’s befallen me.”
   She wrapped it in embroidery
and cloth of gold, and asked a page
to deliver this last little package
to her friend who lived next door.
   The page walked over to their neighbour, 
saluted him on her behalf,
and gave what he’d been asked to give:
the bird’s body, the lady’s message.
   When he understood the damage
his love had done to this lady
the young man did not take it lightly.
He had a cup made out of gold,
studded with precious stones, and sealed
against the corrosive outer air.
He put the nightingale in there,
then shut it in its little tomb
and took it everywhere with him.
   The tale could not be hidden long
so it was made into a song.
Breton poets tell the tale;
they call it “The Nightingale.”


(31/10/11-14/1/12)

Publications:





Xu Yuan Zhong, trans. Golden Treasury of Chinese Lyrics:
Chinese-English / Chinese Phonetic Alphabet
(1990)





(2013)


lyrics were originally songs written to a certain tune by unknown authors for beautiful songstresses to sing in wine shops or at farewell banquets

– Xu Yuan Zhong, Golden Treasury of Chinese Lyrics


  1. Transcultural Imaginaries (for Yang Lian) (18-23/6/13)
  2. Make-Up (after Wen Tingyun) (6/9-1/10/13)
  3. On City Streets (after Wang Anshi) (6/9-30/10/13)
  4. Hunting in Palmerston (after Su Shi) (6/9-17/10/13)
  5. 40 Bogan Anthems (after Axl Rose) (24/8-5/9/13)
  6. Red Cliffs (after Su Shi) (6/9-17/10/13)
  7. Returning to Auckland after Dark (after Su Shi) (6/9-1/10/13)
  8. Inferno 13 (after Dante Alighieri) (21/8-1/10/13)
  9. Spring Morning (after Li Qing Zhao) (6/9-1/10/13)
  10. Rural Life (after Xin Qi Ji) (6/9-1/10/13)
  11. Thinking of My Father (after Liu Ke Zhang) (6/9-17/10/13)







(after Su Shi)

The Empire, long divided, must unite; long united, must divide.
    – Luo Guanzhong



I watched Red Cliff
the movie    that is
subtitled    hard to follow
for those unacquainted with

The Three Kingdoms
the Peach Garden Oath
the Empire divided
into South & East & West

Disgraceful really
to fixate on such things
when the mud-walls roll down
to carry whole towns away

when the last home left
is besieged by taxmen
when the heroes of Tiananmen
Square

lie in their rows
forgiven
        not forgotten
as the Corrs would say


(6/9-17/10/13)






(after Su Shi)

their theme is usually parting and sorrow of lonely woman
    – Xu Yuan Zhong



Drinking at evening in the airport bar
I try the pinot gris then the Monteiths
the Jetstar flight’s on time    surprise surprise
even a little early maybe

will Bronwyn be awake
when I get home?
or Zero perhaps
 – less liable to forgive

my absences?
What can I do but listen to the sea
pounding on Mairangi Bay beach
like the hum of the supermarket

air-conditioning units?
audible    strangely
halfway up the hill
rather than where we are

She’s off herself
on Saturday morning
Zero & I 
will hold the fort alone


(6/9-1/10/13)

Publications:







(after Li Qing Zhao)

The lyric, an expression of the human heart and mind, and of 
human perception of the world, is one path leading to an 
understanding of beauty and goodness.
    – Miao Yueh



The red should languish
    & the green should grow
on the crab-apple tree
    she said

I’m forced to remind myself
    of Jack Reacher’s rules
There aren’t any
    Spem successus alit
	
success breeds hope
    or failure, for that matter
languid reflections
    this side

of the blind


(6/9-1/10/13)






(after Xin Qi Ji)

I was the giant great and still
That sits upon the pillow-hill,
And sees before him, dale and plain,
The pleasant land of counterpane.
    – Robert Louis Stevenson



Missing a wedding is nothing
    to be proud of
but when you have a good excuse
    like a hastily improvised

trip to Melbourne
    for a ‘cultural weekend’
you feel somehow absolved
    of the need to account

for your actions
    even when 
you’ve been planning this evasion 
    for months    for years

if you like
    & are living up to your rep
(once again)
    as the ‘irresponsible ones’


(6/9-1/10/13)






Let be be finale of seem
    – The Emperor of Ice-Cream

Who’s to say it couldn’t have happened? the young Wallace Stevens born in 1879 in Reading, Pennsylvania might well have travelled out west sometime before going to Harvard in the Fall of ’97
It wasn’t till 1896 on his release from Wyoming State Prison that Butch Cassidy put together the Wild Bunch (Stevens was 17)
It wasn’t till 1901 that he and Etta Place & the Sundance Kid left for South America (Stevens was 22)
It wasn’t till 1908 he was shot down in San Vicente, Bolivia (Stevens was 29)
It wasn’t till 1916 that he moved to Hartford becoming Vice President of the of Hartford Accident & Indemnity Company in 1934
(6/9-1/10/13)


Publications:
  • "Wallace Stevens Meets the Hole-in-the-Wall Gang". The Imaginary Museum (14/10/2013)
  • "Library Dreaming: Wallace Stevens Meets the Hole-in-the-Wall Gang." The Ultimate Reader of Love for the Book: An Anthology of Writers Deeply Concerned about Massive Book Disposals occurring at the National Library of New Zealand / Te Puna Mātauranga o Aotearoa (the wellsprings of knowledge). Ed. William (Bill) Direen. ISSN 1953-1427. NZ: Phantom Billstickers, 2021: 34.

Notes:


Wallace Stevens: Saved by Florida Cowboys (1931)


  • An interesting sidelight is thrown on the events recorded in this poem by the article "Saved by Florida Cowboys", by Wallace Stevens. Atlanta Journal Magazine, May 31, 1931.







All New Zealand poetry
is crap
        said David Howard's pal
on our ritual roadtrip north
to the Unicorn Bookshop
                        Warkworth

Oh I don't know    There's Smithyman
Curnow
        He wasn't impressed
                             Most
of you are trying to be as good
as Jenny or Bill    not Homer or

Virgil
       I had to admit he had
a point    but what street-cred did
he have?
        He'd spent the whole journey
wanking on
            about André Gheed ...


(2-9/11/13)

Publications:







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