Fuji

 

[Fuji]

 

“Eight Views of Mount Fuji”

 

the iconic mountain still

without snow

the longest period since

 

remained snowless on Tuesday

latest date

slopes have been bare since records

 

the snowcap begins forming

October

on average detected

 

but because of warm weather

this year no

snowfall had yet been observed

 

Meteorological

Office said

climate change might have impact

 

Japan’s summer joint hottest

on record

visitors trudge up its slopes

 

climb through the night see sunrise

tourism

the symmetrical mountain

 

immortalised in artworks

it last e-

rupted 300 years ago

 

Found poem: ‘Mount Fuji snowless for longest time on record after sweltering Japan summer’ (Agence France-Presse), in The Guardian online, Wednesday 30 October 2024.

 

Image: Company still from Melbourne Opera’s production this year of Giacomo Puccini’s La Bohème, Act 3, outside the club, with Hokusai wave climbing up Hosier Lane wall.

 

Sense

 

Winter Leaflets No. 33

[Sense]

 

Anywhere you are

it is this place

you fell through space to be here

 

scents evanescent

momentary hint at your name

outcome of fertile start

 

sight everywhere at once

gives your presence

permanent possibility

 

hearing you in every word

music brush soft collisions

a fresh breeze

 

upon the skin

you scintillate every nerve end

warning or caress

 

watertight fruit thick

you taste fleeting solid

real bread of herewith

 

common sense discovery

it is this place

anywhere you are.

 

Bagging

 

[Bagging]

 

“Bagging the Romans”

 

Hard to believe Portentus

reader of where signs blow

became such a significant windbag

 

that Senatus the full quiver

of rebarbative barbs

is today Caesar’s handbag

 

how Rumorian Major fantasist

of gossip on his friends’ lives

is an autobiographical douchebag

 

or that the constant perfect flows

of Inundatus since earn him

the sobriquet The Sandbag

 

that that crafty Catullus

elegant darling of cut-throat wit

would turn into an orotund sleazebag.

Ciaccona

 

Winter Leaflets No. 1 (2021)

 

[Ciaccona]

 

Interest beckons from the very first

an emotion open to hope, ready to sight

free to judge measuring each new burst.

 

Sad it may be, hard to say in its flight

an emotion close to loss, fair wishes blown

caught between schemes and hopeless plight

 

or happy surely so, as the song is known

an emotion not everything, yet everything

flowing overflowing awhile, truth shown.

 

At times a question, doubt borne of fear

an emotion about to stop up further faith

sudden withdrawal and nothing left clear

 

or jealousy likewise a querulous fate

an emotion craving, not having, yearning

betraying secret wants in futile feats.

 

Anger erupts without forewarning

an emotion borne of need for control 

till day’s not afternoon or night or morning

 

till confusion trips the feet, senses roll

an emotion displacing learning, unreal

seeming disharmony its only goal.

 

Calm then is all the need, the real deal

an emotion an antonym of ‘all the rage’

brought down to earth, a balanced feel.

 

Nostalgia dreams, stays on the page

an emotion when time takes time to reflect

memory moonlighting and showing its age.

 

Excitement then again picks up, projects

an emotion where too soon the past is forgot

knowing not what possibly next to expect

 

shock horror, maybe not, disgust hope not

emotions that image up firm taboos

the line crossed, bad shot, the landscape’s blot

 

or romance perchance summons who it may choose

an emotion, if that, if not the entire urge

both antidote and elixir of the blues.

 

Amusement bides its time, trusts the surge

an emotion that gets the line and sees the joke

finding fears all but submerge, and tears, on the verge.

 

Compassion knows how the world goes for broke

an emotion born of suffering that amends

another’s suffering, a true love word spoke.

 

Joy of a sudden releases, ascends

an emotion surpassing emotion versed

a state beyond words, that might never end.

 

 

The chaconne is a dance form, music thought to have been imported into Spain from Mexico in the 16^th century. Italy was suspicious of this Hispanic form, but soon adopted it, hence the ciaconna music of the period. This terza rima poem is inspired by the Ciaconna of Antonio Bertali (1605-1669), played here by the San Francisco ensemble Voices of Music, with the glorious Alana Youssefian on baroque violin. Their version has been on loop at our place for some days. The chaconne or ciaconna expresses passing emotions, which is the motive of the poem, emotions felt, identified, and let go of in turn. 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yIQ6V38MkEw

 

 

Bio-line

 

[Bio-line]

 

Title: A chip off the old block

nuance and anti-nuance

through an unblocked lens

 

Abstract: I walked up to the podium

I talked up to the audience

I baulked the hard questions

 

Keywords: chunk, fragment, gobbet,

hunk, lump, microchip, paring, shard,

slab, smithereens, wedge   

 

Length: 50 minutes and questions

Musical version: 90 minutes

and standing ovation

 

Author: As/Pro Matt

(‘Shiver me’) Flinders

distantly related

 

Degrees in overthinking

missing linking double dinking

heavy late-night drinking

 

Institution: a personal chair

an essential organ a benchmark

part of the furniture

 

Publishers: Self First

Incremental Paperchase

University of Hard Looks Press

 

Monographs: The Chip : a Blockbuster

(2018) Chipping Away (2020)

Short Introduction to the Chip (2024)

 

Forthcoming: BIG BLOCK

Deconstructing the Chip (2026)

The Chip Encyclopaedia (2028)

 

Personal: lives in a leafy

with a just impediment

and their dogs Replica and Xerox

 

 Resemblances between this bio-line and anyone at all is purely coincidental or a product of your imagination. Image: Used blister packs, from ‘Winter Leaflets’ series No. 24, drawn during lockdown,  Winter 2021.

 

 

 

 

 

Pond

 

Pond Life, painting by Elizabeth Wade, 2023

[Pond]

 

Pond life the water drop

world suspended an eye

falling very very fast.

 

The tear too curving down

pond meeting a future

carrying consciousness

 

settled into contours

a bigger pond flows a life

in grasses just passing through

 

blessed reflections sun affords

thirst attraction

a puddle a lake a sea.

 

Head entailed

bursts hearts hundredfold

transitory bliss

 

and is it sufficient to say pond

has neither beginning

nor end

 

then the hard yards

inching expanding

into the sunlight of do and die

 

forms find form bodies

finding the balance

furrowing the pond water

 

rising from black soil, expanse

containing multitudes then

evaporated gone

 

to land elsewhere

bubble up or make maelstrom

one clear drop after another

 

sanctuary to egg and seed

the life of the age

breasting the swell.

 

Garden

 

[Garden]

 

After Li Bai (8^th century)

 

Warmth overly warm blows into the garden

Spring sweetness flows through porches

grevilleas spiral (something else again)

 

wattles pass gold froth to the breezes

a thousand cherry leaves flutter green on green

she-oaks reminders of storm cloud.

 

By the resplendent house

great branches move with one another

their long shadows weaving on white walls

 

spotted pardalotes tinker at windows

where they come from where they go

no one knows

 

and magpies on rooftops warble

to their mates down below

strutting the verges for something

 

clouds provided days ago.

Voices of spring are heard everywhere

at a thousand gates and a thousand doorways

 

here one Sunday one October  

crunch of secateurs

swish of uprooted weeds.

 

The sun, the ball of fun

its fiery flambeaux that are

life giver death dealer (something else again)

 

breaks all previous records

for such a tiny star

here and gone here and gone.

 

Coming forth from the house

the imperial cortege of latest news

is turned to something calm and Venetian.

 

Breathing noticed is time for tea.

The house, somewhere to escape the glare.

The sun, it is what it is.

 

Later, when day exhausts, random cockatoos

arrive call high in the sky.

The fruit trees, a thousand buds budding,

 

must be secured by netting and rio

against possums hopping fences, hoping

For a midnight feast. 

 

Wealth

 

 Reflections for the Twenty-First Sunday after Pentecost, the 13^th of October 2024, in the pew notes at St Peter’s, Eastern Hill, Melbourne.  Written by Philip Harvey.

 Wealth gets in the way. More and more gets even more in the way. Wealth often stops the wealthy from seeing anything other than through their wealth. Often there’s no way forward, no way at all. 

‘How hard will it be for those who love wealth to enter the Kingdom of God!” Jesus exclaims, editorialising with one of his quirkier expressions: “It is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for someone who is rich to enter the Kingdom of God.” Like the disciples, we are perplexed and astounded at this saying. What’s he mean?     

Literally read, entry for the rich is impossible: a dromedary cannot pass through a thread-hole. One legend says that the saying refers to a side gate into Jerusalem called The Eye of the Needle, used at night when the main gates were closed. Wealthy people had to unpack all the baggage on their camels to get through the narrow aperture into the city, the wealthy having a lot of baggage. Scholars question if such a gate existed, that this reading is a piece of later medieval embroidery, useful to our understanding of the passage but not historically verifiable. We get the point! 

St Cyril of Alexandria (5^th c.) thought it a typo, that a scribe had copied the Greek kamelos (camel) instead of kamilos (rope or cable). This actually makes sense when we consider how Jesus’ gifts of generosity are expressed frequently, e.g. worrying about the speck in our neighbour’s eye when we have a plank in our own eye. This exaggerated surprise humour is picked up by the German philosopher Arthur Schopenhauer (19^th c.) in his version of this verse: “It is easier for an anchor cable to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich person to come to God’s Kingdom.” It’s a big ask. Again, we get the drift. 

The young man of prosperity in Mark’s story keeps all the commandments, but Jesus confronts him on the one thing he takes for granted. He cannot give away his worldly goods; he cannot follow. Like many Gospel stories, we don’t know what happens next, whether the young man will give away his attachments, or not. He is, for now, placed in a state of grief, which we may read as the beginning of wisdom about his lot. Just as we as readers are made to consider wealth, our relationship to it, and how we use our wealth. Jesus takes this much further. If we give away everything for the good news, we will inherit more than we can ever imagine, eternal life which is beyond the powers of simple exaggeration.      

 

Image: Camel (Albino) Contemplating Needle (Large). Installation by John Baldessari (1931-2020), executed in 2013, fiberglass, aluminium, stainless steel, acrylic and paint © Photo Courtesy of Beyer Projects, New York.

 

 

 

FB

 

Image: Iso-mandala No. 181, October 2020.

[FB]

 Flowery Banter Flotsam Bombshell Flowing Benchmark

Forgettable Booty Flimsy Beauty Foreign Body

Farce Brook Fall Back Feeding Break

 

Flatscreen Bunfight Fickle BinNight Formal BendLight

Faulty Businesses Fluff Busters Fun Buttons

Flimsy Bios Fresh Bile Freight Bills

 

Frittering Behaviour Faux Bohemia Funky Believers

Faithful Blests Frightful Bests Filmy Beasts

Fuse Box Flash Backs Fast Bucks

 

Friends Bytesize Fibbing Byways Fantasm Beehive

Furtive Blasts Feature Blitz Fitful Bursts

Frost Bite Phish Bait Fast Bets

 

Fraudulent Bullies False Bulletins Fake Bullshit

Faze Blaze Fulsome Blues Fan Bliss

Fur Ball Final Bow Finish Blip

Anatomy

[Anatomy]

 

In one ear and out the other

what a piece of work is a man

when he gets it between the eyes

 

when he bites off more than he can chew

cops it on the chin

winners are grinners, original sinners.

 

What is a man

holding on for dear life

all thumbs and no fingers

 

a flick of the wrist, all elbows

putting his back into it even when

he hasn’t the stomach

 

ready to shoulder responsibility

or keep everything at arm’s length

too hot to handle.

 

One day congenial his heart so light

a sight for sore eyes

bottoms up, here’s looking at you

 

then when he’s too hip for his own good

never a foot wrong

he gets it in the neck, his achilles heel

 

the next day congenital, a total balls-up

his heart heavy, hair of the dog.

I’m not feeling too well myself.

 

One minute his words are all cheek

pay lip service to fair forms

skin deep

 

next second mouths words

he believes in his very bones.

The nerve!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Isolation

 [Isolation]

 never before

black cockatoos in our tree

yellow-tailed black cockatoos

 

thinks by the time

I get the camera

they’ll have flown away

 

three of them

the usual racket

I almost fell over

 

Cloudland 13^th of May 2020

Copious Notes: Found this short haiku-like poem today in a file. History tells us that Victoria’s initial state of emergency notice on 16^th March 2020 was extended on 12^th April and again on 11^th of May, constituting the First Lockdown. Cloudland is a name we sometimes use at home for Macleod, the secluded suburb where we reside in the NE of Melbourne. The image is a recent illumination of street badging in the Richmond area, a large suburb in the inner east of Melbourne.   

Nile

 [Nile]

 

In the blue Nile underwater

listening to the cool music

propped through the gallery’s airwaves

 

free to walk away

matching profiles in case glass fix

the gaze of another millennium

 

mysteriously behold

in their matching masks of covid blue

blinking the unblinking sphinx.

 

Imperial stone dropped into the space

cranes lifted and landed, the pieces

the latest update of emboldened empire

 

their lineaments imploring

Do not forget us! Be mindful

ours too was a care for town and blossom!

 

Even as latter-day droves of visitors glance

towards the vague direction of the exit

an exodus from the drowning present

 

its promise of a next pandemic,

visions of seasons turned golden dry,

pharaohs who have lost the plot.