In Aus­tralia, as else­where, there is con­sid­er­able debate on the future of the print­ed word. Faced with the rapid rise in pop­u­lar­i­ty of elec­tron­ic pub­li­ca­tions amid con­cerns about decreas­ing lit­er­a­cy of the younger gen­er­a­tions, many com­men­ta­tors have pro­nounced that the demise of the print­ed book is soon upon us. How­ev­er, no-one seems to have told this to the cur­rent crop of Aus­tralian poets and their publishers.

  A sur­vey of the Aus­tralian poet­ry scene reveals it to be alive and well, with lit­tle like­li­hood of extinc­tion in any fore­see­able future. Indeed, poet­ry abounds in a wide range of for­mats – print­ed antholo­gies, sin­gle author col­lec­tions, and edit­ed jour­nals; on-line jour­nals, blogs and col­lec­tions; and per­for­mances of spo­ken word.

A good place for the poet­ry tourist to start is Aus­tralian Poet­ry. Formed in 2011 from pre-exist­ing poet­ry sup­port groups, Aus­tralian Poet­ry is an over­ar­ch­ing organ­i­sa­tion with a “clear nation­al strat­e­gy to … pro­mote excel­lence in Aus­tralian Poet­ry … and build new audi­ences for Aus­tralian poets”. It works towards these aims via many mech­a­nisms, not least by pro­vid­ing mul­ti­ple avenues for pub­li­ca­tion in hard copy and on-line  (www.australianpoetry.org). The most recent issue of the Aus­tralian Poet­ry Jour­nal (vol­ume 2.1 #tech­nol­o­gy), edit­ed by Bron­wyn Lea, presents some 40 poems, select­ed from hun­dreds of sub­mis­sions. The qual­i­ty is high, the voic­es diverse, as might be expect­ed from most­ly well-cre­den­tialed poets with sig­nif­i­cant pub­li­ca­tion records.

Aus­tralian Poet­ry spon­sors a Nation­al Poet­ry Fes­ti­val, which this year was held in the trop­i­cal city of Dar­win. Fea­tur­ing dis­cus­sion pan­els, sem­i­nars, work­shops and per­for­mances, these fes­ti­vals are pop­u­lar with writ­ers and read­ers alike. The 2012 Dar­win Word­storm fes­ti­val was notable for includ­ing not only lead­ing per­for­mance poets, Ghost­boy (David Sta­vanger) and Emi­lie Zoey Bak­er, but also the inno­v­a­tive hip-hop artist, Joelis­tics (Joel Ma), sup­port­ed by local Dar­win hip-hop acts. Indeed, with the increas­ing pub­lic pro­file of poet­ry slams, per­for­mance poet­ry and spo­ken word events around the coun­try (eg. see australianpoetryslam.com), pro­duc­tive cross-over between poet­ry, hip-hop and inde­pen­dent music pro­duc­ers con­tin­ues to evolve.

Going Down Swing­ing, now in its 33rd year of pub­li­ca­tion, has led the van­guard in pro­mot­ing spo­ken word, per­for­mance poet­ry and poet­ry-music col­lab­o­ra­tions  (see goingdownswinging.org.au). For many years, each hard copy edi­tion of new writ­ing has been accom­pa­nied by a CD of poet­ry, spo­ken word and music. The lat­est issue, Num­ber 33, edit­ed by Geoff Lemon and Bhak­thi Puva­nen­thi­ran, is a typ­i­cal­ly eclec­tic col­lec­tion, nick­named “The Jesus Issue”, with a “dash of Sav­iour flavour in the mix”. There are poems, sto­ries, essays, graph­ics and, of course, the CD.  As in pre­vi­ous issues, the con­tent is gen­er­al­ly excel­lent, rep­re­sent­ing an edgy mix of nar­ra­tive, opin­ion, and rem­i­nis­cence, often by new or emerg­ing writ­ers. From the Jesus Issue, this sam­ple of Lent by Nan­cy Red­dy plays off the real and the metaphor­i­cal from the point of view of an ado­les­cent grow­ing up in the church :

           

           “The con­gre­ga­tion sit­ting and standing,

             kneel­ing and sit­ting in a stut­ter­ing unison

 

            as I replayed the rhythm

            of hand on — , tongue on -,

 

            my prayer-bent body arched 

            with aim­less lust. I knew.

 

            I had learned in church: to be bodied

            was to be sin­ful. I gave up milk,

 

            gave up spoons, shaved the thumbnail

            down to meet its fleshy bed.

 

            Gave up chick­en and carved each night

            the pan-fried meat from the thigh-bone,

 

            fork-stabbed the nob­bly joints. Wished myself

            up out of my limbs and aches.”

 

Estab­lished in 1997, Cordite Poet­ry Review has been exclu­sive­ly on-line since 2001, usu­al­ly pub­lish­ing 3 issues a year of new poet­ry (cordite.org.au). It aims to “mobilise the poten­tial of the phrase words are bul­lets by pro­mot­ing both irrev­er­ent and exper­i­men­tal poet­ics”. As well as poems, Cordite fea­tures reviews, occa­sion­al essays, and inter­views with writ­ers. Most issues are themed with guest edi­tors mak­ing the selec­tions, all of which are freely avail­able to on-line read­ers. Cordite has tak­en full advan­tage of on-line tech­nol­o­gy to pub­lish audio poems and visu­al poems employ­ing elec­tron­ic or ani­mat­ed text. As such, Cordite pro­vides an excit­ing glimpse of the more adven­tur­ous domains of Aus­tralian poetry.

The use of themes by Cordite has led to some out­stand­ing col­lec­tions, most notably issue 35 (Oz-Ko, 2011), which fea­tured 3 sets of bilin­gual poems in Eng­lish and Kore­an, devel­oped as a col­lab­o­ra­tion between Aus­tralian poets and poets from the Repub­lic of Korea and edit­ed by David Prater. There is much fine work here and I can only assume that the trans­la­tions, by Gai­hyun Kim and Sunghyun Kim, do the orig­i­nals jus­tice. Five Sijo for My Raider by Michelle Cahill in issue 35.1 (Hoju-Hanguk) draws on the author’s own Indo-Aus­tralian background :

        

           “From the far east, when the riv­er broke, came rumours of a tribe

             I was alone that dawn, milk­ing the soy­beans, har­vest­ing rice

             With a bronze arrow you annexed my body to this design”

 

Essay, short fic­tion, poet­ry and crit­i­cism also are sta­ple fare in a quar­tet of long estab­lished lit­er­ary mag­a­zines. The old­est, Souther­ly, began in 1939 and con­tin­ues to pro­mote new writ­ing, with reg­u­lar themed issues, as well as a com­ple­men­tary on-line edi­tion, The Long Pad­dock (southerlyjournal.com.au). Always stim­u­lat­ing, some issues real­ly stand out. For exam­ple, A Hand­ful of Sand: Words to the Front­line (2011), guest edit­ed by promi­nent Indige­nous poets Ali Cob­by Eck­er­mann and Lionel Fog­a­r­ty, presents a cross-sec­tion of con­tem­po­rary Aus­tralian Abo­rig­i­nal writ­ing that both chal­lenges and engages with provoca­tive view­points and raw emo­tion. There are hun­dreds of Abo­rig­i­nal lan­guages, many of which are at risk of dying out. This excerpt from Yankun­yt­jat­jara Love Poems by Ali Cob­by Eck­er­mann skil­ful­ly com­bines Eng­lish and her tra­di­tion­al language :

            “I will show you a field of zebra finch Dream­ing in the shad­ow of the

                        puli puli ochre

            when the soft blan­ket of lan­guage hums kin­ship and campfires

                        flavour windswept hair

 

            lit­tle girls stack sin­gle twigs on embers under tja­mus skin of painted

                        love

            the dance of kalaya feath­ers will sweep the mun­da with your smile

 

            do not look at me in day­light; that gift comes in the night

            tomor­row I will show ngun­ytju our mar­riage pro­pos­al in my smile”

 

Mean­jin, pub­lished quar­ter­ly out of Mel­bourne (meanjin.com.au), was found­ed in 1940. Fea­tur­ing high edi­to­r­i­al and pro­duc­tion stan­dards, Mean­jin is con­sid­ered by many to be the leader of the Aus­tralian lit­er­ary pack. The cur­rent issue (71.3) has ele­gant design with inter­spersed poet­ry pages (about 20 in total) sub­tly sep­a­rat­ed from sur­round­ing prose (most of the remain­ing 200 pages) by the use of dif­fer­ent­ly coloured paper.

Over­land was found­ed in 1954 with the mot­to “tem­per demo­c­ra­t­ic, bias Aus­tralian” and it con­tin­ues to cham­pi­on pro­gres­sive cul­ture both in print and on-line (overland.org.au). Although social cri­tique is a fea­ture of all the jour­nals men­tioned here, none pro­motes a Left view of cul­ture and soci­ety as con­sis­tent­ly as Souther­ly. In addi­tion to its hard­copy edi­tions, Over­land reg­u­lar­ly pub­lish­es time­ly com­men­tary on cur­rent affairs via its web­site and Face­book feed (www.facebook.com/overland).

Island is a lit­er­ary quar­ter­ly, based in Tas­ma­nia and estab­lished in 1979. Despite devel­op­ing from a poten­tial­ly parochial view­point, Island pub­lish­es a wide range of qual­i­ty work from a live­ly mix of new and well-known writ­ers. As they say on their web­site (www.islandmag.com), “grown in Tas­ma­nia, Island writes for the world.” 

Island also sup­ports the pres­ti­gious Gwen Har­wood Poet­ry Prize, named after one of Australia’s best loved poets (1920–1995) who lived most of her life in Tas­ma­nia. This prize is one of sev­er­al high lev­el awards that are avail­able for Aus­tralian poets. Com­pe­ti­tion is intense, with most prizes attract­ing hun­dreds of entries, pre­sent­ing judges with dia­bol­i­cal­ly dif­fi­cult choic­es. Indeed, the judges of the 2011 Gwen Har­wood Prize, Sarah Day and John Kin­sel­la, raised more than a few eye­brows when they decid­ed not to award a win­ner, but instead nom­i­nat­ed four poems (by BR Diony­sius, Sarah Rice, Mered­ith Wat­ti­son and Chloe Wil­son) for high com­men­da­tions. All are excel­lent works, show­ing strong com­mand of form. Diony­sius’ His­to­ry is a sequence of five son­nets nar­rat­ing a life recalled :

 

“Years lat­er in the choco­late suit­case buried under stacks

Of the washhouse’s mouse-chewed Toowoom­ba Chron­i­cles

& Dal­by Her­alds, he dis­cov­ered that his dead father read.

Cow­boy nov­els & soft porn paper­backs that he scanned

Rapid­ly for erot­ic depic­tions of love mak­ing, ears pricked

For the screen door’s incrim­i­nat­ing squeal & bass clomp

Of his parent’s work­books as they brushed off their dirt.”

 

The New­cas­tle Poet­ry Prize (newcastlepoetryprize.com) stands out among the nation­al com­pe­ti­tions by encour­ag­ing extend­ed poems or suites of poems up to 200 lines. First prize is sub­stan­tial: $12,000, and short-list­ed poems are pub­lished in an annu­al anthol­o­gy. Over recent years in par­tic­u­lar, this anthol­o­gy has show­cased excep­tion­al work, much of which push­es hard at the lim­its of what poet­ry, espe­cial­ly in long form, can do.

In addi­tion to poet­ry prizes fund­ed by lit­er­ary jour­nals and writ­ers’ organ­i­sa­tions, most State Gov­ern­ments as well as the nation­al Fed­er­al Gov­ern­ment offer sub­stan­tial poet­ry prizes amongst their arts and lit­er­a­ture awards. The win­ner of this year’s inau­gur­al Prime Minister’s Poet­ry Award of $80,000 was Luke Davies’ col­lec­tion, Inter­fer­on Psalms (2011). This is an astound­ing sequence from Davies, already high­ly acclaimed for his fic­tion (eg Can­dy, 1997; God of Speed, 2008). The text soars and swerves, take side-tracks through space and time, love and loss, com­ments on lit­er­a­ture and pop­u­lar cul­ture, con­fronts sci­ence and reli­gion, mor­tal­i­ty and pain: dis­ease and death nev­er seem far below the sur­face. Look­ing hand­some on the page, these poems beg read­ing out loud in all their chang­ing voic­es. This exam­ple is from the start of the penul­ti­mate sec­tion 32, and recalls images occur­ring in ear­li­er sections :

            “I land­ed in this world of bro­ken vessels.

            All this erod­ed des­o­la­tion, all this demon-rid­den expanse.

           All this Anni­hi­la­tion. The black vol­ca­noes. The ruins.

           Tec­ton­ic rest­less­ness of plates.

 

          She had said: I want to talk to you, at rough­ly four removes.

 

           I felt that con­ver­sa­tion had had its day.

 

           I had land­ed in this world of bro­ken ves­sels. I had sensed

           the empti­ness as a bound­less blessing.

 

          For as long as it could, my blood would be fine.”

 

Sit­ting beside the lit­er­ary jour­nals and com­pe­ti­tions are the antholo­gies of Aus­tralian poet­ry. Some are one-off col­lec­tions with a spe­cif­ic aim in mind, such as a mam­moth his­tor­i­cal com­pendi­um of more than 1000 pages (Aus­tralian Poet­ry Since 1788, edit­ed by Geof­frey Lehmann and Robert Gray, 2011), or an ele­gant anthol­o­gy of more recent women’s poems (Moth­er­lode: Aus­tralian Women’s Poet­ry 1986–2008, edit­ed by Jen­nifer Har­ri­son and Kate Water­house, 2009).

Oth­er antholo­gies are pro­duced more or less reg­u­lar­ly, such as Black Inc’s annu­al The Best Aus­tralian Poems series that has been run­ning since 2003. The 2011 edi­tion, edit­ed by John Tran­ter, con­tains around 100 poems select­ed from almost three thou­sand sub­mis­sions. A col­lec­tion like this nec­es­sar­i­ly reflects the bias­es and inter­ests of the edi­tor, but there is lit­tle doubt that this edi­tion, as did pre­vi­ous vol­umes, presents a diverse and (usu­al­ly) fas­ci­nat­ing assort­ment of con­tem­po­rary Aus­tralian poet­ry. As such, it offers anoth­er excel­lent start­ing point for a lit­er­ary tourist to begin explor­ing the Aus­tralian poet­ry land­scape. Although most poems do not reveal obvi­ous ref­er­ences to spe­cif­ic coun­try or place, some build heav­i­ly on Aus­tralian ver­nac­u­lar and his­tor­i­cal con­text, as in this exam­ple from Oth­ers in the Town by Neil Boyack :

            “the whip hangs on the wall of the long-drop

            with the view of the mountain

            where ghosts main­tain fame

                        through leg­endary gam­bling debts

                                   bestiality

                                   lean­ing on the shov­el at

                                   the shal­low graves of native men

 

            Bill Menan­gar­towe is home

            dream­ing of new teeth

            so he can eat Har­court apples and his wife’s dry roast beef

            that he com­plains of …”

 

Any doubts about the on-going pop­u­lar­i­ty of Aus­tralian poet­ry in print should be dis­pelled after explor­ing the web­site main­tained by SPUNC: Small Press Under­ground Net­work­ing Com­mu­ni­ty (spunc.com.au), rep­re­sent­ing Australia’s small press and inde­pen­dent pub­lish­ing com­mu­ni­ty. Cur­rent­ly, over 100 pub­lish­ers are list­ed as mem­bers of SPUNC. They include not only the pub­lish­ers of lit­er­ary mag­a­zines men­tioned above, but mid-sized inde­pen­dent pub­lish­ers (eg Black Inc, Text Pub­lish­ing, and Wake­field Press), and small­er spe­cial­ist poet­ry pub­lish­ers, includ­ing such diverse imprints as Bran­dl & Schlesinger, Five Islands Press, Gira­mon­do, Parox­ysm Press, Punch­er & Wattman, Red Room Com­pa­ny, and Wal­leah Press.

Let’s fin­ish our tour with a review of a recent col­lec­tion by Ade­laide poet, Amelia Walk­er, pub­lished by the long-lived inde­pen­dent, Inter­ac­tive Press (ipoz.biz). Walk­er already has pub­lished two pri­or col­lec­tions as well as poet­ry work­books for school chil­dren. Her new work, Sound and Bundy (2012), is an ambi­tious mul­ti-lay­ered, mul­ti-voiced sequence that draws its inspi­ra­tion from Australia’s most famous lit­er­ary hoax, the Ern Mal­ley affair.

In 1944, a series of abstract poems, pur­port­ed to be writ­ten by an oth­er­wise unknown Ern Mal­ley, was sub­mit­ted to the mod­ernist arts mag­a­zine Angry Pen­guins, found­ed and edit­ed by Max Har­ris. Har­ris con­sid­ered the poems to be bril­liant work (as many are still regard­ed today), but it tran­spired that they had been con­struct­ed as a delib­er­ate hoax by con­ser­v­a­tive poets, James McAuley and Harold Stew­art (for the full sto­ry see, www.ernmalley.com and read the poems at: jacketmagazine.com/17/ern-poems.html).

In his Fore­word to Sound and Bundy, “Har­ri­son Lomax” makes spe­cif­ic ref­er­ence to the Ern Mal­ley affair in the con­text of his research into the life of  “recent­ly deceased Aus­tralian poet, Jason Sil­ver” who turns out to have been a cre­ation of three oth­er poets, Pete Lind, Shan­non Wood­ford and Ang­ie Rawkins. The book then goes on present col­lec­tions of poems from each of these three poets, as well as those attrib­uted to Jason Sil­ver. Each writes with a dis­tinct style and brings a range of view­points and com­men­taries on the events of the time.

Pete Lind tells ele­gant sto­ries of dam­aged rela­tion­ships and per­son­al­i­ties, includ­ing his own  (That Sort, 1998) :

            “I’m the sort you see at bus shelters,

            the guy with tatts and the fad­ed black jeans,

            the sort who pays the dri­ver all in five cent pieces,

            who gives up his seat for the blind girl,

            then stares and won­ders what it’d be like to fuck her.”

 

Shan­non Wood­ford writes in vil­lanelles, ses­ti­nas, and oth­er con­strained forms, while Ang­ie Rawkins uses the short­hand of street talk and text mes­sages, as in Checkd / But Not For Free, 1999 :

            “Th title Check-Out Chick

            doesn’ giv you per­mis­sion to do so / bro /

            so check yrself

            & cut it out or y’ll wind up checkin’ in

            to E.D. afta I get you chuckd

            & pluckd like a chickn /”

 

Final­ly we get to poems by the neb­u­lous Jason Sil­ver. They are a mixed lot, style and con­tent diverg­ing, per­haps reflect­ing the inputs of the three pur­port­ed hoax­ers. One of the more lyri­cal pieces is the bleak rosie n me, 2002:

            “i close my palm, open it

            to find a sharp blue shard of bro­ken glass

            ‘from the win­dow to my soul’ she mutters

            and i bleed a lit­tle so she knows

            i’m kiss­ing her back.

 

            we light up

 

            our cigarettes

            —  church can­dles, memorials

            for the dead, our selves.

            togeth­er we pray for cancer.”

 

Walk­er is an accom­plished per­for­mance poet and it is easy to hear her tak­ing on the dif­fer­ent per­son­ae of the poets in this book. But even bare on the page, the char­ac­ters emerge from their words, some­times free-flow­ing, some­times self-con­scious­ly fit­ting a pre-deter­mined style.

All too often poet­ry is seen first and fore­most as an expres­sion of an oth­er­wise hid­den emo­tion­al state of the author. Indeed, many of the poems in this col­lec­tion have a stream-of-con­scious­ness feel that reflects the appar­ent states of minds of the poets. But we have to keep remind­ing our­selves: this is all fic­tion. They are fic­ti­tious poets, who, with­in their own imag­ined world, invent­ed anoth­er fic­ti­tious poet. This is a com­plex writ­ing envi­ron­ment and, over­all, Walk­er keeps her nerve and con­trol through­out. Verse nov­els can be tedious and forced. How­ev­er, through her inno­v­a­tive use of an anthol­o­gy for­mat, Walk­er has avoid­ed this trap and let the poet­ry itself tell its tales.

It might be argued that the only peo­ple who buy and read poet­ry books are oth­er poets. Maybe so. But there are prob­a­bly a hun­dred or more poet­ry titles pub­lished each year in Aus­tralia, and there are very many more peo­ple writ­ing poet­ry, some­times just for them­selves, but more often with the expec­ta­tion of being pub­lished and read. So, if poet­ry writ­ers real­ly are poet­ry read­ers, there must be a large pool of poten­tial buy­ers of print­ed verse. With such a strong cre­ative base, the out­look for Aus­tralian poet­ry and its pub­lish­ers is pos­i­tive. And thanks to the all-per­va­sive inter­net, it is increas­ing­ly acces­si­ble to the rest of the world.

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