Poetry

A Bastard Supermarket Terzanelle

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Here is a poem I wrote a long time ago for my favourite (no, seriously) check-out assistant at a Brisbane supermarket. I had always intended to give him a copy, because I wrote this with a lot of affection, but I figure some people might be offended by being labelled a satyr in disguise. But I saw this character again recently — looking much happier in his human skin, by the way — and remembered this paean.

He does not belong in Woolworths

He does not belong in Woolworths,
He does not belong in Woolloongabba.
Even those with no imagination

can tell; they avoid his check out,
avoid his lopsided smile.
He does not belong in Woolloongabba.

He’s not a bad-natured Thing;
he’s just awkward in his human skin.
Avoid his lopsided ‘hullo’ grin

if his gaze makes you fidget; I understand
he tries too hard at small talk.
He’s just awkward in his human skin,

and it isn’t nice to stare; after all,
he’s only trying to fit in, though
he tries far too hard at small talk.

He walks as though his legs are hocked.
His goateed chin juts out before him,
but he’s only trying to fit in.

His feet are uncloven by bitumen.
He catches my bus, but I doubt he goes home,
though he follows the snout that juts out before him.

Have pity; he’s not a bad-natured Thing
and he can’t pay a tailor for that ill-fitting skin.
He doesn’t belong at Woolworths, but
you’ve got to admire his attempt to fit in.

 

Zenobia Frost

Three Score Years in Verse

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The Space, a very splendid UK arts publication, recently launched 60 Years in 60 Poems. I mention it here because it’s one of the coolest things I’ve found on The Internuts in recent times.

The design shows the potential for online publications to be delicious, even tactile things. The poems, as far as I can see, have been commissioned for the project, which has audio, text, visuals, and all sorts of buttons longing to be clicked.

I keep getting stuck in a loop of listening to poems, hypnotised by the spinning record design. Then, I read over the text of the poem, or read it aloud myself. It’s a wonderful platform for savouring words: the flavour of them, textures, sounds, and smells.

In “1962”, Brian Patten writes:

Words smelled of tulips and marigolds
Their fumes made sentences
That the bees stole for themselves

Avid Reader: Voiceworks #89 Launch

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Express Media’s awesome Voiceworks Magazine is slowly working their way to world domination, and Brisbane is next on the map. VW #89 — Space lauches at Avid Reader on July 26, and we’ve got a super-cool trio of Brisbane writers to help us: Michelle Law, Jack Venig, and Alberto Vasquez Sanchez.

Voiceworks publishes the words and art of Australians aged under 25. Come along to learn more, hear awesome writerly talents, buy Voiceworks, and find out how to submit your poetry, prose and non-fiction. Also there will be wine.

Find out more on the FB event page, or follow @Express__Media for updates.

How seapunk is our cover?

A Poet in Every Home

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Monty Python’s Flying Circus: Episode 17

Mrs Potter ‘Ere, there’s Alfred Lord Tennyson in the bathroom.
Mr Potter Well, at least the poet’s been installed, then.
Cut to an officious-looking man in Gas Board type uniform and peaked cap.CAPTION: ‘SALES MANAGER EAST MIDLANDS POET BOARD’
Sales Manager Yes, a poet is essential for complete home comfort, and all-year round reliability at low cost. We in the East Midlands Poet Board hope to have a poet in every home by the end of next year.
ANIMATION: an advertisement.
Voices (singing) Poets are both clean and warm
And most are far above the norm
Whether here, or on the roam
Have a poet in every home.
Cut to middle-class hall. The front doorbell rings. Housewife opens door to Gas Board type inspector with bicycle clips, rubber mac and cap and notebook. In the background we can hear muffled Wordsworth.
Voice I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high…
Inspector Morning, madam, I’ve come to read your poet.
She Oh yes, he’s in the cupboard under the stairs.
Inspector What is it, a Swinburne? Shelley?
She No, it’s a Wordsworth.
Inspector Oh, bloody daffodils.

Thanks to Ib Rasmussen for the script excerpt.

Cordite news!

/ Zenobia Frost / 4 Comments

I’ve been bouncing up and down for a couple of weeks waiting to share this news: I’m Cordite Poetry Review’s new assistant editor. I’d be copyediting and proofreading all sorts of things. (Hooray!) Corey Wakeling is the new interviews editor, and Kent MacCarter is the newishly appointed managing editor.

Here’s a Cordite blog post about our appointments: Wakeling, Frost and a Sydney Prelude.

Samuel Wagan Watson is guest-editing the next edition of Cordite, Jackpot! Submissions  close May 14. Get cracking!

After Bukowski

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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

/ Zenobia Frost / 5 Comments

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 →