Tuesday, December 27, 2005
In Wellington when you go for your morning walk you sometimes see empty Lion Red cans left on the pavements; as I walk up to Ponsonby road for my morning coffee I notice empty Deutz bottles left upright against tree trunks as polite memorials to a night on the town.
Monday, December 26, 2005
I'm working on a new poem set in Singapore. God, that was not a happy time in my life!
Monday, December 19, 2005
Birds doesn't have tunes? I must have been Beethoven. (Deaf, you know). What about the terrific 'No crying no more"? Nick Bollinger has an excellent review of the CD in the current NZ Listener that came in the mail this morning. I'll link to it if it ever goes online. Bic Runga's Birds has more than a touch of the new gothic about it; as if goth music offers yet underappreciated textures and hues. The stark black and white photograph and typography add to the atmosphere. Yes, I'm waiting for the cover to go online.
Friday, December 16, 2005
The holidays mean listening to Brittle Lemon's superb Christmas CD compilation as well as Richard and Linda Thompson's I want to see the bright lights tonight.
I see that Under the Bell is now in Dutch--but at least we still all get to appreciate the photos.
Saturday, December 10, 2005
If you're interested in reading this blog and don't know my IRL name then you can email me at email@example.com or leave a query on the comments pad with your email and I'll email you the URL. I'm hoping, of course, that a kind soul like Ikrek Hava will come to my aid and develop a decent template for me!
I'm not sure what will happen to this blog. It's all a big experiment! I'm not sure if I can run two blogs or that readers would want to read two blogs--I certainly wouldn't want to read two. I just feel that it's time to drop the mask now and start writing on the net using my real name. It's time to move on which isn't the same as closing up shop.
My life is taking a new, very positive turn. My writing's going well and word-girl's starting to have real success with her fiction writing. I teach at a secondary school in a position that's now become permanent and I'm very happy with my job and the school--though it's tiring.
All the best
Thursday, December 08, 2005
Tuesday, December 06, 2005
Well, I'm sort of like 'haven't I already seen it?'
Well, I'm sort of why even bother seeing it?
What about the much underrated 'dark is rising' sequence?
The ring films are good--but they must be viewed as 'adaptations' rather than films (which is why I never feel the need to watch them again: now).
Could not sleep last night so wrote/channelled this weird poem called 'The Footballer.'
Where does this shit come from?
Listening to Bic Runga's new CD Birds.
But it ain't doing much for me, truth be told.
Much for me now
I will be patient.
Listening from the library to Scritti Politti's (one t or two ts?)
early compilation &
'how the hell did you make the pop jump--production must be everything'
Oh the high high theory days
C. K. Stead has a line something like
"they think they know everything but know Foucault about anything"
he was right
but he's still a miserable cantankerous git
Sunday, December 04, 2005
And the children's poem I wrote last year for 'W' is to be published in a poetry collection of alphabet poems. Wicked!
Friday, December 02, 2005
drew a line there, in the centre.--
I know that fading in the afternoon light. Gone to autonomy, an infinite space under a walnut sky; a singular interior within the contracted horizon of an outside. Spring says summer might be the last one in town. I'm humming that tune again, you know, the one about how if soldiers have lost a limb then they still feel that limb; the one about men. The one about the if that's come and gone but they don't know it yet. Protocols of disappearance; leavetakings: I know how it is when something goes wrong. You just get so tired of the words when there's no other conversation to be had at the table other than future plans and problems. You start to think in dipgraphs (crow, snow, throw); you step inside because outside you've lost the chance of a fine thing, you've lost a piece of your vision.
--It was done; it was finished. Yes, she thought, laying down her brush in extreme fatigue, I have had my vision."
Thursday, December 01, 2005
The month of Gemini
They are going to hang that boy on Friday and it's all a big show of power. The same old show. Standing beneath the shadow of the elder gods without the strength to dream and all the while insects under the grass.
Old show of the same. The show says: whatever you call to us is of no consequence. No need.
Without commas, one line touching another.
The guards take everything--
After the emergency is over they say "there's no need for you to write, no need for you to even live, for no-one is reading and you live under our shadow, all the while insects under the grass."
See, we have take away your lights.
There's no mail, only fog drifts over the barracks
Could Cheney be tried for war crimes? Ikrek Hava reminds me that this is an interesting question: but you and whose company would be able ask it in such a way that it's an important, pertinent question? It's interesting for Cheney in a way that a game of Sudoku might while away an hour between briefings. Looking at (the) war (again), I'm still baffled by the question of advantage. What was the advantage to the player of the invasion? But here the player breaks down into a Pynchonesque multiple: the players behind the players who remain a faceless network of interests who assemble phantom players for their own ends. So Mike Moore probably provides so far the only plausible thesis: the war was staged for Cheney & Cos interest. But I
balk at the cynicism of this view.
Even the 'oil grab' thesis doesn't quite hold sway for me now. Just how much oil control has been gained by the US? Meanwhile the conflict has shifted as Iraqi society dissolves. The conflict isn't about 'insurgents fighting US or democratic forces'; the conflict is Iraqis versus Iraqis, Shiite versus Sunnite, and no amount of dithering changes this reality while the earth burns.
All of this is unreal, really. Only our relations with other people
People are real; history, races, sides and nations are our most