Face (March)

[Portrait] Eyes, that have read uncountable words, retained books, seen things we’ve never seen, watched everywhere, laugh still at childhood view of the same sea. Mouth, that’s said wrong things at the right time, right things at the wrong time, and so on, and who of us hasn’t. Ears heard even music of celestial night, the very best instruction followed usually, unutterable gossip, and like us their fair share of crapola. Hair, that’s been combed every day every way, what to do with it, the agreed routine, rather like us, rainbow roots even, but still it will snow before March.

Calligraphy (March)

[Interior] At night the room rests us, after dinner, after talk. A blue book’s open on the couch, ‘Insomniac City’, but that restlessness of mind is only something we read about here, someone else’s reason for writing. Reading lamps emphasise wooden sideboards, sideline the ceiling. Cream curtains are drawn against the dark, that for the first time this March has turned cold. Inside, the table has been cleared. The wall of art books is like a city grid of thin buildings, all names unreadable. A calligrapher’s pennant hangs from a brass hook: ‘The Unexamined Life Is Not Worth Living. SOCRATES’

Qwerty (March)

[Still life] Under the circle of nightlamp, magnifying glasses, dark-blue dictionary, saucerless Spode cup of espresso. Lengthy black shadow top left is the screen. Bohemian glass candlestick, two parcels of ‘pure white’ Reflex paper, a little jade cat. Collecting together some mind words, what else to do on a Thursday night, in March, before dinner, if not some writing? Gleaming tin of pencils and biros, Great Aunt Hilda’s framed photograph of an Alice Springs gumtree (circa 1950), landline phone. Foregrounded awkwardly, a qwerty keyboard signals these letters, through leads and cables and satellites, inexplicably and ever so nicely, to you.

Meaning (March)

[Imprint]  Robert Creeley was an American poet. This is not so important in the general scheme of things. Every day I catalogue books that people really need. Sometimes a borrower holds a book in their hands, saying they can hardly believe that we have this book. I sometimes wish he would say something that was really worth saying, Creeley I mean. He describes March, everyday events, how the parts of speech relate. In his effort to avoid universalising, he universalises. Other times there were probably days Creeley didn’t know what to make of anything at all. Time for ‘time out’.

People (March)

[Sumi-e landscapes] An old person sweeps his porch in early morning light. Someone sits in their car in the car park texting endless messages. Two schoolchildren sit at a stop not talking, as above them tall trees start losing March leaves. A bicyclist’s having terrible trouble getting her helmet strap to click. Two dogs explore the tall grass while their owner keeps to the path. Solitary passenger in back carriage gazes out over warehouses and creek beds. Before vast sky and cityscape someone at an upstairs window turns on the computer. A couple kiss and part when the lights change.

Dolphin (March)

[Duotone] In the years before he started drinking as a method of living, the artist made paintings. He found b&w photographs, templated copies, maximised them on large balsa boards. Memorable was his ‘kangaroo amidst saplings’ series, also his dolphin series. In the March after university he set to on duotones. A Victorian lithograph of a man bottle-feeding a dolphin obsessed him. The artist conjectured about alcohol. It was no ordinary seaside scene. Where are these paintings now? Gone to a skip? Bonfire? Storage? Before he went to Byron Bay, to set up the drinks at opening time, already too late.

Unspeakable (March)

[Found poem] Living with flat screen of ‘unspeakable terror’, unspeakable news from every cable, fed up being amused with the idea ‘Unspeakable is a single from Ace of Base’s 2002 album Da Capo. The single peaked at number 45 in Sweden and 97 in Germany’ I turn off flat screen and escape into March garden to gaze at unspeakable (Adjective: Not able to be expressed in words) native grasses, clumped into place in new rain, unspeakable tendrils of grevillea, unspeakable look of my cat, her retina looking up at me, unspeakable sky of further rain cloud, unspeakable cause of All.

City (March)

[Chorale] Laughing voice of Björk concatenates from a streetfront record store. Crestfallen voice of Thom Yorke ice-ages the beat-up beatbox. Majestic voice of Martha Reeves throws down the lowdown downtown. Iridescent voice of Frankie Valli wings from automatic wind-down windows. Metallic voice of Madonna mosquitoes in an earplug. Charmed voice of KC warms the sunless waiting room. Plaintive voice of Donald Fagen laments again on download, lost March. Droll voice of Taylor Swift trolleys along miles of supermarket aisles. Shouting voice of John Lennon attacks the languid Mason Jar café. Thin voice of Stevie Nicks quavers from a train door.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=psFQMKcsIF8