I need to get off LiveJournal.

[crackling]

Today I combed through my local Borders for a copy of cummings' Eimi, an increasingly frustrating task. Apparently Australians are not pretentious enough to warrant stocking the entire oeuvre of inarticulate American poets.

I did find some David Malouf, though.

Comments

[anonymous]

[crackling]

Yes please! I may have been looking in the wrong section. Let me know if it's there after all

x!

[anonymous]

[crackling]

zomg DO IT. Which poem/line? For a long time I was all "oh man Cass and tatts do not mix" but the thought of maybe, like, a nice wrist design has been stealthily creeping up on me like a thing that is stealthy.

[sansplans]

may my heart always be open to little
birds who are the secrets of living

placement would be on my ribs. but i'll have to think about it long and hard. i've been toying with the idea a couple of weeks now. we shall see. :)

[crackling]

dkhgsdflf that gets a <3 from me!

I don't know what phrase I'd go for. All I know is that the most recent one that makes me go sjgns is
In your loins the dragon
howls for empire
but that's not a tattoo-worthy line. It's more of a launch pad for my own pretentious twittering :) :)

x

[anonymous]

[crackling]

I was talking to friends about poetry - normally I don't like it unless they're very specific writers - and they all have very different tastes and consequently favourites. Who do you like?

[anonymous]

[crackling]

Neither had I! He's an Australian poet/writer who gets a mixed response from the people around me. Sometimes I have to swallow my tongue before I make a spectacle of myself in public.

With the epic
two days out from land, a thousand
lines break loose, the apron
strings of a suburban
Dido snap, the new life
beckons - a coast whose every promontory
glitters with artefacts, plains
all air, by moonlight ghostly
with stick-white asphodel.
In your loins the dragon
howls for empire. Time
like a new land awaits
your entry. Give it
a name. Three syllables: say, Italy.

[anonymous]

[crackling]

Yis, I am skimming through the rest of this anthology and it is not particularly stunning but there are flashes here and there of really really nice writing.

Now time yawns and its messengers appear.
Like huge stick-insects, wingless, spoked with stars,
they wheel through the duck towards us,

the shock-wave of collision still lifting
their locks, who bear our future
sealed at their lips like urgent telegrams.

[crackling]

sdugihsgjids. one fucking letter. DUSK. not DUCK. perhaps I think about the paper too much.