All copyright © 2003 remains with the authors.
All copyright © 2004 remains with the authors.



Snapshots
10/08/03






Her e-mail ends: Thinking of you all,
with much love, Sophie
(or as I'm being called in Chicago: Sophia —
I love the way Americans say it,
Australians say S'fear and I hate it).

Dear S'fear! Max here, and look
what I've just written for you:

Sophie's laugh rang out in the bakery cafe
in Glenferrie Road, Hawthorn.
But Sophie's in Chicago!
We survey the faces nearby.
Easy to place the face —

the handsome smiling woman looking intently
into the eyes of her older woman friend —
some vibrant exchange
about the sharing of lives.

S'fear's laugh rings out again
in Hawthorn, Melbourne.
Also, we trust, Sophia's in Chicago...
we're listening intently; give us a tinkle.

- Max Richards, Melbourne, Australia 6.30 a.m

***


what is scary in my half-time
at a moving sky?

a tendency to lampoon the heart
slide easily into the world
debonair as a cocktail

a tango could whip it up
on the floor
as umbrellas have whisked
my wicked streets

clouds face down incidental music
effervescent rain could do it
wash my solo space
in tantalising spritz

it's only in the waiting
the grey notes

Jill Jones, 1.40pm, Surry Hills, Sydney, Australia

***


A hard wing brushed past you, touching your hands
but to no purpose — this was not your card.

Mottetti, Eugenio Montale

the telephone is a silence
your voice delivering itself
as a solitude

I cannot read my heart
it is a reticence
on the brink of invasion

the leaves of springtime shiver
under a metal sky
brushed by wings of wire

tangled musics
sweeter and more fierce
than hands can manage

Alison Croggon, Williamstown, Australia

***


Yesterday I was asked by the BBC to take part
in a late night discussion about modern British art.

I said I'd be their willing media victim
only if I came as a car crash victim:

you know, facial bruises, head bandage, puffed up eye
and lips, in hommage to the late Martin Kippenberger.

They declined, saying: 'it would undermine the show's
integrity.' I retorted, 'You wouldn't say that to Rose

Selavy! Anyway, who else is appearing?'
They said: George Melly, Tony Parsons, Gillian Wearing,

Tom Paulin, Paul Morley, and that clown
Brian Sewell. 'OK', I said, and put the phone down.

Anton Brasserie, UK

***


walking in a crowd
our smaller crowd of 4
investigates restaurants

there are many
up and down
Glebe Point Road

where we wander
in a 'winter sun'
full of summer

for Canadian bodies
in T-shirts
among all the local jumpers

and Pauline stops
before the open door
of a loud concerto

voices in raw counterpoint
from an old caf
so filled it almost overflows

we push in anyway
studying her mantra

choose the one that's full
it's bound to be good

which I've remembered
ever since

and it hasn't failed me yet

Douglas Barbour, Edmonton, Canada (in memory) 08:15

***


for the detainees at the Elizabeth NJ Detention Center (a former ShopRite warehouse)

falling off

the world we discover
is flat, imagine that we have been mistaken
misinformed, led astray
lo these many ages we took kindly
to the creed that life must be
global, encircling, sustaining
and, if not perfect, at least
certain as october's
moon coming round. it is our pride
ourselves standing brittle and dry like ordered stacks
at harvest awaiting the victor's parades
and the workers
illegal, undocumented, under the gun
following in groups like vessels
stem to stern, the nina, the pinta
the santa maria, the feastdays

our cristophers celebrate the passage
with the familiar, the communal, the original
words carried like testimony
and repeated so often, so mindlessly, so reverently
images were not lost, but stolen
taken hostage for triumph
and those who first crossed over
stand at the edge
of their own political science

Deborah Humphreys
Newark, NJ, USA 7:31 am

***


Verbs I Wish Were Dead

Calla lilies and crocus
late bloomers
a few brave mallards swim
cool depths
in alternating scapes
the memory in my head,
emerging, receding -
awakens senses
my tongue twists, strangles
chokes on words -
verbs, I wish were dead
ice crystals slow melt
into the path
damp
winter leaves
addressing the past
I search for answers
to questions never asked

deborah russell
8:37 am,
Baltimore, Maryland, USA

***


Slow exposure

A black bumblething
steers through the air,
light flows over
the fields, glazing them.
Quercus ilex glints
along the paths.
It's like a world
dipped in honey here,
autumn's finest. But
there's a chill wind
blowin' round the bend,
and the quick sweat
ices your skin
while the gold vines rot.
Autumn's funeste,
skyline detonates
and hills turn saurian in the dusk.

Martin Walker
Lagorce
17.30 - 18.30 Romance Standard Time

***


with
sort of
shaking hands
pounding head
in a sweat
he tried to
take his snapshot
he worried that
the picture would
be unclear-fuzzy
full of grain
out of focus
and filmspeed
he would be
overexposed!
underexposed!
mixed up clouds
all shadowy
and that stuff
but
then he thought
maybe that's okay
that's how he was
it would be anyway
after all
a true picture
of him
just now
today.

patrick mcm 8am
raynes park uk

***


"Ora e per sempre addio, sante memorie!"

Don't speak save your strength
I do not need to hear your voice
need to talk to you
you amidst the hospital smells
I married your daughter
love you better than she
no strings attached voluntary
commitment her I loved
not wisely not too well either

Look at you not say goodbye
as though to say so is a curse
See you tomorrow instead
her face silent animated yet
twists putty gray
then the smile audible
"Only if you are prepared
to follow me tonight!"
Silence beneath not silence
but the wounded-beast tenor
the pain pounding tympanic.

Kenneth Wolman. USA

***


I'm trying to rewrite my heroes
But nobody even knows
the meaning in their names
without annotation and endnotes

The poet laureate told a casual acquaintance
that all of his unforgettable moments
are protrusions of his wang
as everyone hustles towards the multiplex
and you can't blame them
that so and so is one poetic piece of ass
There. Let's say it all in unison.
The chorus enters to explain the opening credits.

Michael Cole

***


windy and cold - the rain last night cleaned today
an inside one - papers and people - a screen
I also remember a fall -
I'll take out its paramount colors
& project them on this white word page
add to it different characters
a new collage with a fireplace and screeching wooden stairs
books without alarm clocks or homework to correct
while the still green leaves embrace the air
& the white geranium tolls in the void
upward and elegant its hitching scent
with peaks briefly viewed in-between squared concrete
while cycling black ribbons from here to there
this morning - the power of a day in my hands
tonight - rest for a consumed end

10.51 pm
Bozen, Italy, Anny Ballardini

***


Sunrise and sunset seen from a moving coach themselves unmoving.

Wetness on the ground
warming and cooling.
Silver threads of rain.

Headlights in transit,
glories of the mundane.

Dominic Fox, Leicester UK, 22:21pm

***


Stinnur vngur straukst vi ig, snart hendur nar
en n tilgangs - etta var ekki korti itt.

         Mottetti, Eugenio Montale

                   A hard wing brushed past you, touching your hands
                   but to no purpose - this was not your card.

                                    Mottetti, Eugenio Montale


sminn er gn                              the telephone is a silence
rdd n berst af sjlfsdum      your voice delivering itself
sem einvera                                    as a solitude

g er ls  hjarta mitt                I cannot read my heart
a er orvana                                it is a reticence
skmmu fyrir innrs                    on the brink of invasion

titra lauf  vori                              the leaves of springtime shiver
undir mlmkenndum himni       under a metal sky
sem vravngir strjka               brushed by wings of wire

tnlistarflkjur                             tangled musics
stari og ofsafengnari                 sweeter and more fierce
en hendur ra vi                        than hands can manage



Tr. rni Ibsen                                Alison Croggon


***


overnight the trees

stripped bare by their

bachelors the winds, even

(the large glass) shattered

the image which reflected

my summer now for the

cold fast food buffet

instant winter playing

a slow game of chess

rni Ibsen, 9:30 p.m.
hafnarfjrdur
iceland



***


CAN I WRITE OFF SCOTT BURTON?

Reappearing
between
arch
&
dec.

Rediscovering
artifactual
categories.

Rethinking
performance.

Fewer
stages.

TABLEAUX VIVANTS (via Scott Burton)

Parallel & independent
activity displaced
totally upon
instructed performers.


Real furniture
meant to be used
to get more suppleness
of mind in Omaha.

Barry Alpert / Silver Spring, MD USA / (9:49 PM)

***


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{ Halvard Johnson, NYC, 10/8/03 4:02 pm, EDT 


***


thirteen ways of listening to a cricket

i.
all day
drizzle flecked

ii.
on air sweating
copper lawn

iii.
sirens across asphalt
ground

iv.
in a veil
of Texas

v.
crude & yellow
leaf turning air

vi.
through the salt alphabet
of infant

vii.
tears
naming a first noon

viii.
or day breaking
its noun porthole

ix.
of two
ampersand rigs

x.
in almond reverb
light

xi.
& neighbor's
asparagus fern spreading

xii.
oak breeze ting-ting
wind

xiii.
chime, your bare lips
slowed to a word

chris murray 10:41 p.m. 8 Oct. 03 Dallas, TX, USA

***





Poetryetc is a listserv relating to poetry and poetics which provides a forum for poets to debate their critical and creative work. The list has over the years run a number of projects for its members, of which Snapshots has been the most enduring.

Every Wednesday, Poetryetc members were invited to post short poems on any subject or in any form they chose. The idea was to make a poetic collage of instamatic “snaps” of that day that reflected the international membership of the list. The project has generated an astounding number of poems.

The first two runs, of six weeks each, and the first ten weeks of the third run, are archived at Wild Honey Press www.wildhoneypress.com under Poetryetc Project. The rest - amounting in all to a run of a year - are archived here.

Poetryetc, like its affiliate Salt Publishing (http://www.saltpublishing.com), was founded by Australian poet John Kinsella. Salt is managed by Christopher Hamilton-Emery (cemery@saltpublishing.com), while Poetryetc is owned by Alison Croggon (ajcroggon@bigpond.com). Poetryetc is now archived at http://www.jiscmail.ac.uk/lists/poetryetc.html. and anyone interested can join from that url.

To contact the listowner: Alison Croggon


These pages are designed, maintained, and hosted by Rebecca Seiferle, the Editor of The Drunken Boat. To email.


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