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I planned to go along to Poet’s Corner Monday evening to hear fellow poet and friend Cary Hamlyn read, but unfortunately couldn’t make it.

Attending this event would have been a first for me, which runs six times a year at the Effective Living Centre in Wayville.  A guest poet is invited to read, share their poetic journey and any particular creative process they follow.

Cary is a wonderful poet, who I got to know through the Lee Marvin Readings, and after chatting to her a few times found out she was relieved to now know who the girl in the green coat is!

I heard Cary captivated the audience and the event was well attended, more so than when Cary read at Lee Marvin.  And I’ve no doubt Cary shared some poems from her debut collection Scraping the Night published by Ginninderra Press in their Picaro Poets series, and what a fine first collection it is.

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Cary’s poems explore pertinent themes – psychology, humour, loss, love – and in the title poem ‘Scraping the Night’ there is much to admire.  Essentially about a couple making out, ‘moonlight leers through the car window etching the valley of your cheek’ while ‘outside the stars open and shut like clams’; such vivid images.

So I’ll be keeping my eye out for who the next guest poet is, as it sounds like a wonderful way to spend an evening.

is a must have collection. Published by Puncher and Wattmann and edited by Martin Langford, Judith Beveridge, Judy Johnson and David Musgrave, this 658-page book anthologises Australian poetry for the last 25 years.

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Taking 10 years to compile over 200 poets and 500 poems, it really is a landmark publication, a credit to the Australian poetry scene, and includes some incredible poets – Ken Bolton, Jennifer Compton, Peter Goldsworthy, Jill Jones, John Kinsella, Mike Ladd, David Malouf, David Mortimer, Les Murray, Jan Owen, Dorothy Porter, Mark Tredinnick, Fiona Wright, not to mention the editors themselves.

It’s being launched in Adelaide at the SA Writers Centre next Friday, which unfortunately I can’t make (off exploring Noosa), so I promptly ordered a copy. Flicking through for the first time, because this will need endless reads, two poems caught my eye – ‘Grief’ by Elizabeth Allen and ‘Snowflake’ by Anthony Lawrence.

Elizabeth is a Sydney-based poet and her chapbook Forgetful Hands is on my wish list.  Hers is a powerfully poignant piece about her sister, who having lost her ‘Botticelli curls’

‘…has been looking into people like mirrors

but does not know how to make a face

that resembles the pain inside her.’

Anthony I saw at Mildura’s Writers’ Festival the year Sharon Olds headlined, who I was lucky enough to meet.  His poem centres around his mother who cultivates a snowflake in the freezer ‘between the peas and the ice cream’, setting sapphires into her teeth:

‘At dinner I would pretend

to be a good son, and her smile

enameled the table

with points of dark blue light.’

This is a remarkable anthology, to be read, smiled, laughed, cried and absorbed between breaths, bit by brilliant bit.

I’m a bit behind the times, having only just gotten around to reading The Outcast by Sadie Jones.

 

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Originally published in 2007 by Vintage Books, the story is a harrowing one punctured with beauty.  Lewis is a young boy trying to cope with the aftermath of a tragic accident, surrounded by people who don’t understand him nor want to.  With the exception of Kit, four years his junior, suffering stifling domesticity herself and who has him on a pedestal, until the day he falls and saves them both.

 

The book won the Costa First Novel Prize, was shortlisted for the then Orange Prize and is a number one bestseller; you can see why when you read it.  Jones is a talented insightful writer with the ability to deliver haunting prose in vivid fluidity:

 

At the top of the stairs he stood in front of the door and it seemed to him that his mind was so noisy it would shake the air in the still house…

 

Similarly, after a particular brutal event at home, Kit reflects on her situation:

 

Her head hurt, under her hair, where she had hit the floor, and it made her whole head feel full of tears that she couldn’t cry. 

 

Jones conveys the pain and struggle of both Lewis and Kit with conviction and compassion; it’s absorbing from the start – the repression and menace elegantly done.

 

So I’ve just ordered Jones’s latest novel Fallout, which I anticipate to be just as enthralling.

I’ve recently discovered a series of interviews with poets in The Paris Review through one of my poetry groups and what a find it’s proving to be.

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The Paris Review is a quarterly journal out of New York all about the arts – be it poetry, memoir, fiction, photography, film, painting, theatre – anything creative they’ve got it covered.

With the first chatting to T.S. Eliot in 1959, The Art of Poetry interviews provide an invaluable insight into some of the world’s finest poets – A.R. Ammons, Elizabeth Bishop, Billy Collins, Allen Ginsberg, Seamus Heaney, Ted Hughes, Philip Larkin, W.S. Merwin, Marianne Moore, Les Murray, Robert Pinsky, Anne Sexton to name a few.

An interview to stand out was with Henri Cole, a Boston-based poet who’s published eight books of poetry to date with the next out shortly.  Cole describes himself as an autobiographical poet finding pleasure ‘from assembling language into art’ and believes a poem is something to be made.  When not writing, Cole maintains an ideas envelope – snippets of thoughts, lines, images, overheard conversation – essentially an array of prompts to help him ‘when he sits down cold.’

Which has inspired me to start one of my own for the new year, so best get to it.