A few weeks ago I wrote a little
blogpost on celebrating National Poetry Month and since it's Poetry Monday today I thought I'd check in with my progress. I've now written four poems this month and although I can't put them up here, I can tell you that the first three were sent as submissions to
Cordite for their Issue 43 which has, as its theme, "masque" and is being guest-edited by the wonderful poet and scholar Ann Vickery. Though I've had reviews published there, and submit to them often (who can resist their calls - they're always so evocative ("Bold Interiors of Poetic Fancy and Brocaded Rewindings, Lyricised run-ons and flirtatious Kinks in the Narrative."), I've never had poetry published there, but I read each issue eagerly, commend it to you, and will continue to submit indefinitely (how's that for a lyricised run-on?).
The fourth poem, titled "Bringing You Back", written for my grandmother, was sent, with some other, as yet unpublished (and re-polished) poems to a newish site called
Silent Things. I always try to send my work somewhere (rather than just publish it myself) as it helps with the all-important curation process. In my case, I tend to hone more, and read in a more objective way (imagine I'm someone else reading my work) if I plan to send it somewhere. So I think I've met my target. Nevertheless, I've got one more to write before I focus my attention heavily back into novel 3, and it's a big one. That's my annual entry to the
Newcastle Poetry Prize. Yes, it's competitive. It's worthwhile just looking at previous winners' work as it's among some of the most exciting and enticing work being published today. First prize is $12,000, Australia's most lucrative poetry prize. There's a maximum of 200 lines, and I think it's probably a wasted opportunity to send short poems, though poem cycles are allowed. It's a reasonably substantial piece of work they're looking for. If you're an Australian poet, I urge you to enter, not because I need any more competition (it's always a long shot anyway), but because the discipline of writing for such an illustrious, big prize will push you to your literary limits, and that's always a good thing for a writer. I'm thinking that one might be worth getting some extra help with. The great
Jean Kent is doing a poetry workshop at Morisset Library on Wednesday 22 May 9.30am - 12.30pm and though I count Jean as a friend, I'm also a fan and Jean has actually won second prize in the Newcastle Poetry Prize, so a workshop with her certainly wouldn't hurt. How is your poetry month coming along?
Do you know how to read? Well of course you do or you wouldn't be reading this, but in his latest book How to Read Literature, professor Terry Eagleton argues that we no longer read properly. As someone who spends a lot of time analysing both form and content and reading deeply, I'm afraid I find it hard to agree. Even at the most cursory level, I seem to have conversations nearly every day with people about books, sometimes in a great deal of depth, and often without advanced planning. Yes, I'm a book reviewer and an author, but the people I talk to often aren't. My experience has been that many people, and not just ex-English majors, do indeed read deeply, thoughtfully and enjoy exploring the meanings of what they're reading. This is substantiated by the continual increase in online book bloggers, book discussion groups, and book clubs, both in person and virtually. In a ten year study carried out in the UK, Canada and the US, Danielle Fuller and DeNel Rehberg Sedo analyse and chart this growth, looking, in particular, at 'shared readings' in Reading Beyond the Book: The Social Practices of Contemporary Literary Culture. Of course Eagleton argues beautifully in his usual chipper style about the need to read more slowly, more thoughtfully, and to do more analyses of what we read. I agree wholeheartedly with him on that point. Speed reading and cliff notes just don't cut it for a wonderfully crafted novel or poem, and every reader could benefit from slowing down and taking more time over our books, looking with more care at things like sylistics, form, structure and references. Objectivity in criticism is important, but so is subjectivity. We read, above all, with love, giving ourselves up to the story, the characters, and the sheer beauty (and sometimes horror) of their transitions. Talking about books in those terms is no less valuable than talking about tone, texture, syntax or structure. That said, Eagleton's book is great fun in itself, and covers a pretty wide range of literary examples. I just don't think it helps to be too elitist about reading. What is obvious to me and to Fuller and Sedo (even if it isn't always obvious to Eagleton) is that we're not only reading properly (in our own myriad of perfectly valid ways), we're analysing and discussing books to a greater extent than ever before.
I first came across Philomena van Rijswijk when I read her novel The World as a Clockface, an extraordinary work full of magic, bizarre mayham, and twisted humour as it worked its way clockwise, around the mythical state of Esmania, past a small island to the east called Aotearoa, Antartica, Tierra del Feugo, Paraguay, the Cape of Africa, and back to the Antipodean mainland Incognita. I've never forgotten that wonderful book and have been waiting eagerly for more. So when Philomena offered me a copy of her new poetry book Bread of the Lost came out, I was excited. The book is very sensual, funny, erotic and intense. As with all of van Rijswijk's work, the metaphors are strikingly original and often extended into fantasy. It's a heady and fun collection which I'll be reviewing in-depth shortly. I'll also be interviewing Philomena at 
Bistro it felt a bit like fate. Everywhere we went, from the wineries to the shops, we met transplants and tree-changers - people who had left the big smoke to do what my characters did. Without exception, the real people we met seemed happy and didn't look back, but in 'real life' you rarely get the juicy under the skin backstory (especially not at a brief counter meeting). None had gone the full self-suffciency route either, but the dream of escaping the 'big smoke' for a bucolic, slower paced lifestyle built around food, drink and farming is obviously one that is relatively common. Just a few minutes walk (steeply uphill if you take the Zig Zag path or an easy but stunning walk over the Kings Bridge, created in 1867, if you're feeling lazy) is the Cataract Gorge. Though I'm a writer (and obviously not a photographer), it's hard to describe the sheer (shear) beauty of the place but considering its access to the city and the remote ancient setting, it's pretty close to perfect. As soon as you're hungry there is amazing food and a very cosmopolitan city close at hand. I'm still not over the delicious smoked trout I had at the 
