empty vessel

and now just smithereens,
this empty vessel

is trying to hurl itself
at itself,

collide like armies
of mad hadrons.

infatuated, intoxicated,
it tries to

glue its glass heart
back together,

just to re-live that bottled
up, deep love:

the one-more-time
weight, vanishing,

red with rage
in the spill

of having poured
out

all its secrets
to me.

– first appeared in PRISM journal Vol #3. I like wine.

politicians

it must be teeming
with life,

this spiderweb of
trapped fly galaxies.

some time from now
we’ll collide with

andromeda, meet
the new neighbours.

for now, though, such
vast beauty intimidates

such gorgeous violence
bruises only ego

and how to monetise
that sort of thing?

on this rocky blue gem
no-one is coming to visit.

when stuck in the web
we must make our own fun.

I guess we’ll send your sons
back to war

ideation

a hole in the heart -
a worm chasing the blood
downstream

down it goes,
down, down the old town’s
rivers

the one-way shit-carrying
streets
to the caravan’s abandoned block.

you dream of holidays
away from   barbed wire
henchmen

and of where things don’t need
to flow through tubes and
veins

and front pages

to get to where they’re going.

no undertow,
flagged nothing,
no sinister thump of machine

kicking you in the chest.

down the old town’s
rivers,
up over the walls to

where half-eaten figs hang
steadily more soft,
and through windows open

or not -
they have forgotten
last year’s frost.

now down, over, and into
the minds of the dreamers:
quickly, quickly now,

then seeping back, back
into the earth,
hiding the infiltrator, the dance,

that incursion of night
from the sun to set fury on
at dawn.

– ‘ideation’, from xor

I am sorting my bookshelf and managed to group all Australian poet single-author collections (e.g, excluding anthologies, journals and the like).

miguel_jacq_2014-Oct-04

Then, annoyingly, I found another few in the shelf that I had missed after I took the photo. So here they all are listed, in no apparent order other than the cold and brutally efficient ‘alphabetically by surname’ method:

Mathew Abbott ‘Wild inaudible’ (2012, Australian Poetry Ltd)
Luke Beesley ‘Balance’ (2012, Whitmore Press Poetry)
Luke Beesley ‘New Works On Paper’ (2013, Giramondo Press)
Julie Beveridge ‘Home{sic}’ (2012, Another Lost Shark Publications)
Lachlan Brown ‘Limited Cities’ (2012, Giramondo)
Andrew Burke ‘{QWERTY} (take my word for it)’ (2011, Mulla Mulla Press)
Andrew Burke ‘Mother waits for Father late’ (1992, Fremantle Arts Centre Press)
Ashley Capes ‘Between giants’ (2012, Ginninderra Press)
Eileen Chong ‘Burning rice’ (2012, Australian Poetry Ltd)
Aidan Coleman ‘Asymmetry’ (2012, Brandl & Schlesinger Poetry)
Jennifer Compton ‘Ungainly’ (2012, Mulla Mulla Press)
Luke Davies ‘Interferon Psalms’ (2011, Allen & Unwin)
Tricia Dearborn ‘The Ringing World’ (2012, Puncher & Wattmann)
Koraly Dimitriadis ‘Love and fuck poems’ (2012, Outside the Box Press)
Benjamin Dodds ‘Regulator’ (2014, Puncher & Wattmann)
Toby Fitch ‘Rawshock’ (2012, Puncher & Wattmann)
John Foulcher ‘The sunset assumption’ (2012, Pitt Street Poetry)
John Foulcher ‘Light pressure’ (2012, Pitt Street Poetry)
Lisa Gorton ‘Hotel Hyperion’ (2013, Giramondo)
Stu Hatton ‘Glitching’ (2014, (outer) publishing)
Andy Jackson ‘The thin bridge’ (2014, Whitmore Press)
Miguel Jacq ‘Magnetics’ (2013, hur, hur… couldn’t resist)
Jean Kent ‘Travelling with the wrong phrasebooks’ (2012, Pitt Street Poetry)
David Malouf ‘Earth Hour’ (2014, University of Queensland Press)
Kate Middleton ‘Ephemeral Waters’ (2013, Giramondo)
Omar Musa ‘Here come the dogs’ (2014, Penguin Books) – OK this isn’t strictly poetry but it blends poetry and prose
Ron Pretty ‘What the afternoon knows’ (2013, Pitt Street Poetry)
Angela Smith ‘The geometry of flight’ (2010, Pulse Publications)
Ben Smith ‘Horror Sleaze Trash’ (2013, Rooster Republic Press)
David ‘Ghostboy’ Stavanger ‘Station to Station’ (2006, ouTsideR Press)
Ed Wright ‘When the sky becomes the space inside your head’ (2012, Puncher & Wattmann)
Ouyang Yu ‘Self Translation’ (2012, Transit Lounge)

Looking at the list, it is obvious that 2012 was the big year for me in terms of Australian poet discovery. I lack a great deal of older works, but have hunted down a few such as that of Andrew Burke.

What am I missing that you have? Or feel free to write your own list (if it doesn’t take too long!) and link back to it in the comments.

dust

all my writings
are like dust
in september space

whirling away
from me to

you, you
who are distant systems
infeasibly

wielding vast
invisibility,

influencing me,
my words
into supermassive

sentence.
or perhaps you are

an immense
nothing
at the core of

everything,
condensing all

my efforts into
silence.
one thing only

is for sure:
that we seem

to travel
on light and pulse -

we are forgotten,
maybe,

we may not burn
brightly,

but we are spun
from dust
and we thus arrive so

brilliantly

the decision

they say you’ll
see red
but all I got

was white
with specks of blue
like gaunt

atmosphere.
I heard no searing
roar

of flame, felt neither
cold
nor heat.

somewhere the faint
tune of a song
echoed, looped back

on itself.
I knew the lyrics
like I know coffee.

I know how to
break
an addiction.

now is the time
to take the white
and that blue mottle

up on the human
breeze, to where
the humidity is

just right,
keeps monsters
from forming

on surface ripened
soul

untitled

it is the last day
before the night
of my second trip
back

and all the differences
I’ve ever made are standing
on the bank, forming a
path in ink.

they are here to hand
back the burgled time
I’ve stolen.
One last time I offer

‘I’d always intended
to give it back’
– they say nothing -
they can’t say anything.

I have turned my tongue
anti-clockwise,
or at least otherwise
somehow wound whole armies

up, given life to ghost
myself, echoes of light
in ideas to conquer
or be conquered.

they unwind but don’t
slow down, unlike my hand
tapping as I float through
inky procession,

coaxing as sirens do;
encouraging a wave
to arch its fluids to
foolish lengths

in its best attempt
to seduce.

think I just needed to recharge

how did it come to this?

strung out on silicon,
hot for the chase of satellite signals.

because I’m so hungry for data
I got up three times
before the last five words got down.

think I just needed to recharge

before the last five words got down.
I got up three times
because I’m so hungry for data,

hot for the chase of satellite signals,
strung out on silicon.

how did it come to this?

Frost

onset of winter
I bent the back
of an older man
to take a photo of

a cobweb
wearing frost like
dangerous jewels
on the path.

but the light
was all wrong
on the forest floor
where beasts like this

blot out the sun.
and my knees
indignant
at cold concrete

– previously published in ‘Jellyfish Whispers’ by Kind of a Hurricane Press, 2013

light-hungry

I am standing on fertilised ground
when the man asks me if I’m hungry.

I tell him ‘not for a long time’,
not since I’ve been consumed,

afraid of the sound of making
an impact on others.

of accidentally ringing
the emergency number

on the screen-locked phone
in my pocket.

I had been ravenous once,
scattered breadcrumbs of light

for snacking later.
I did get so hungry at night

but it crept into everything
in the way that sand does,

leaves no stone unturned.

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