After Bukowski

For SPOKEN‘s Bukowski night, mistress of ceremonies Mandy Beaumont asked me to write a letter to the dirty old poet. Last week, before the gig, I shared his poem Bluebird. In reading Bukowski last week, I came to appreciate his honesty the most. So here’s my — hopefully — honest response to Bluebird.

To the dearest and dirtiest
after Bukowski’s “bluebird” 

how do you keep your aviary neat?
nobody sees the pretty bluebird
that sits so still in your dark;
does the stink not ring out?
is that what the whiskey is for?
are you trying to smoke out the bird? Continue reading

SPOKEN: Bukowski

This time tomorrow I’ll be getting ready to read at the Charles Bukowski-themed SPOKEN at the State Library Cafe. It runs from 5.30 till 7.30pm, and features Sommer Tothill, Kevin Spink, Dan Eady, as well as yours truly. There will also be live body art by The Pillow Book Girls, music by Bernard Houston and band, an open mic, and the raffling off of one of the very last copies of The Voyage, my first chapbook. All that for free!

Continue reading

Tales from the Gutter

It’s going to be a busy year. I’ve penciled in a nana nap in for November—so you know now not to disturb me then. Preferably for the whole month. Until then, a lot of black tea is going to pass these lips. And words.

On February 10th I’ll be reading some Bukowski-inspired poems at Spoken: Tales of a Dirty Old Man. This is a gig seriously outside of my comfort zone, and I’m researching, reading and writing this week. Who knows what might happen! Come along and find out. Here’s the poster: SPOKEN.

I’m delighted to announce I’ll be joining co-poetry editor Jessica Alice on the editorial committee of Voiceworks Magazine as something of a Brisbane representative. Express Media have supported my poetry for years, and I’ve always wanted an opportunity to help out–but Melbourne is even Down Underer than here is. Now we have the Internets and Skype and magic!

So far I’m sticking to my resolutions: write often, submit often (to journals and stuff, that is!), and read more. (I’m reading Damon Galgut’s In A Strange Room, Tom Robbins’ Skinny Legs and All, and Krissy Kneen’s sensual and touching Affection. Oh, and Thomas Harris’ Silence of the Lambs for funzies.)

Otherwise, I’m hermited away in my office writing grant applications and working away at freelance projects. This weather transforms our lower storey (i.e. where I exist) into a damp, chilly cabin in the woods, and “home office” comes to mean “in bed with hot water bottle, laptop, and giant octopus plushie.” But it works, and I have the company of Delirium and Sigmund, betta fish who determinedly blow bubbles at me when they’re happy.