Skip to main content

the three popes / proclaim / the revolution / against teenage television


Experiments at night (with pants) # 1. Constitution Dock, Hobart. June 2011.

A: “This is a sorry sight.”

B: “A foolish thought, to say a sorry sight.”

A: “There's one did laugh in 's sleep, and one cried, ‘Murther!’ That they did wake each other. I stood and heard them; But they did say their prayers, and address'd them Again to sleep.”


Now we break for a poem...

Tonight, Elfriede Jelinek

tonight
my sparrows
let go
the snow
into fields of carnations swollen with anger.

tonight
the three popes
proclaim
the revolution
against teenage television.

seals smash
their heads
bloody
their heads
on the elevators
the paternoster elevators
which delays the holding of their conference.

tonight
my sister
the wind's bride
gives blood
for the cello
of the jericho desert
which prompts the trombones
to hold a protest meeting.

tonight
I hang your lips
like birdseed
outside my door
and observe
through the window
their death-struggle
with the she vulture.

tonight
let go
the snow



Experiments at night (with pants) # 2. Constitution Dock, Hobart. June 2011.

Madness? Who said anything about madness?


Experiments at night (with pants) # 3. Constitution Dock, Hobart. June 2011.

We were talking about art!

Labels

Labels:

Comments

Roddy said…
Magical mystery light show.
31 July 2011 at 20:18
Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Ah, Joe, you never knew the whole of it...

I still have the robot on the job. Here you can see the Tasmanian Museum and Art Gallery . And here is a poem: Soliloquy for One Dead Bruce Dawe Ah, no, Joe, you never knew the whole of it, the whistling which is only the wind in the chimney's smoking belly, the footsteps on the muddy path that are always somebody else's. I think of your limbs down there, softly becoming mineral, the life of grasses, and the old love of you thrusts the tears up into my eyes, with the family aware and looking everywhere else. Sometimes when summer is over the land, when the heat quickens the deaf timbers, and birds are thick in the plumbs again, my heart sickens, Joe, calling for the water of your voice and the gone agony of your nearness. I try hard to forget, saying: If God wills, it must be so, because of His goodness, because- but the grasshopper memory leaps in the long thicket, knowing no ease. Ah, Joe, you never knew the whole of it... I like Bruce Dawe. He just my be my favourite Austral...
5 comments
Read more

There was nothing left. No reason, no conscience, no understanding; even the most rudimentary sense of life or death, good or evil, right or wrong.

Here is a self portrait. I’m calling it Portrait of a lady in a dirty window . Shocking, isn’t it? However, it is apt! Samhain , Nos Galan Gaeaf , Hop-tu-Naa , All Saints , All Hallows , Hallowmas , Hallowe'en or HALLOWEEN . It’s Theme Thursday and we’re talking about the festivals traditionally held at the end of the harvest season. Huh? No wonder Australians have trouble with the concept of HALLOWEEN. For the record, in my thirty-two L O N G years on the planet, I can’t say I’ve ever seen ghosts ‘n goblins, trick ‘n treaters or Michael Myers stalking Tasmania’s streets at the end of October. [That said, I did once see a woman as pale as a ghost turning tricks that looked like Michael Myers in late November one time.] Despite the best efforts of Hollywood, sitcoms, and innumerable companies; it seems Australians are impervious to the [ahem] charms of a corporatized variant of a celebration of the end of the "lighter half" of the year and beginning of the "darke...
38 comments
Read more

Hold me now, oh hold me now, until this hour has gone around. And I'm gone on the rising tide, to face Van Dieman's Land

Theme Thursday again, and this one is rather easy. I am Tasmanian, you see, and aside from being all around general geniuses - as I have amply described previously - we are also very familiar with the concept of WATER. Tasmania is the ONLY island state of an ISLAND continent. That means, we're surrounded by WATER. That should help explain why I take so many photographs of water . Tasmania was for a long time the place where the British (an island race terrified of water) sent their poor people most vile and horrid criminals. The sort of folk who would face the stark choice of a death sentence , or transportation to the other end of the world. Their catalogue of crimes is horrifying : stealing bread assault stealing gentlemen's handkerchiefs drunken assault being poor affray ladies being overly friendly with gentlemen for money hitting people having a drink and a laugh public drunkenness being Irish Fenian terrorist activities being Catholic religious subversion. ...
62 comments
Read more