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Pam Brown
Pam Brown, since 1971, has published many books and chapbooks including Text thing (Little Esther Books, 2002), Dear Deliria and True Thoughts—both from Salt Publishing in 2003 and 2008 respectively. She has also written for film and theatre. She collaborated with Seattle-based Egyptian poet Maged Zaher on a collection of poems called farout library software published by Tinfish Press in 2007. Her next book Authentic Local is forthcoming from Papertiger Media. For five years, from 1997 until 2002, she was the poetry editor of the Australian literary quarterly Overland and currently co-edits Jacket magazine. Born in Seymour Victoria, in a parallel life Pam Brown lives in La Reunion, in real life she is currently doing time in Blackheath, in the Blue Mountains, just west of Sydney. Her blog The Deletions can be found here.
Day
and night,
your poems for
Ken Bolton
what else am I meant
to be doing today
I can't stop reading
your poems the
wind cools now through a gap
the sash window up a
little
the windy air swirls,
annoyingly, around my legs I
should put the window down
the day so bright grey
and so breezy saying
summer's nearly over
I have only one hour
spare
before I am to drive
over to Fox studios
I
can't stop reading your poems
I like the way you say
'coffee shop' it's
Australian
never 'café'
nor 'bar'
which is what you'd say in old Europe
where you take a
coffee at a bar or bar tabac not
that what is said being 'Australian'
matters more or less,
it's the way it sounds that
I like
I've said 'café' in a
poem
just to set a neater rhythm around
thirty years ago I called a book of
poems 'Café Sport'
after the Italian
Caffe Sport in Leichhardt
though I'd never
written anything there I'd drunk innumerable
espresso coffees
brewed by Lucia
who kept the chess
players' grappa
under the counter
hidden from the law
*
there's the key at the
door to the flat
the clockyclunky sound
of the lock barrel turning as it
opens and
Jane arrives, back from the city,
happy with the book
she's bought
from the Language Book
Centre
'Advanced French
Grammar' by Monique L'Huillier not
much time to leaf through it though
and now no more time for your poems
either
we're off to Fox
studios Entertainment Quarter
to see a
film *
I couldn't stop
reading your poems yesterday
and last night I
finished them reading
reading night and day
this
morning I've placed the book on top of the portable tv set
next to this small
table - the cover and spine remind me
of its pleasures how
you blend poetry and daily life
or, really,
how you mix thinking about poetry, thinking
about everyday life,
like an easy
interaction of light and geometry
setting an example or,
even, a standard
for me - here in this
poem I'm trying to write to yours -
it should be quiet
here today
Jane's exercising in the pool at Easts club
I imagine her splashing up and down a lane or
standing in a gentle whirl of ripples
I'm
here in the flat
at the laptop
again
a flock of Eastern Rosellas
or Rainbow Lorikeets
or whatever those plump little coloured parrots are
are squawking in the fig trees outside the
roof man's here
blowing leaves from the building's gutters with a petrol blower so
- not quiet
as I wonder about that habit in contemporary poetry
you identify in a poem called 'Coffee'
how so many poets are fond of using the word 'blue' -
I'm guilty -
cobalt blue, saxe blue, small blue view
-
but I rarely say 'coffee' or 'coffee cup' in a poem
except for this one my
problem is that so many poets start with nature
I'm guilty there too or
another problem
so many poets
write about politicians who are, really, as ephemeral as nature
I'm occasionally guilty
of passing mentions, snide -
written in a fury *
what do I remember ?
how many lines from the hundreds and hundreds, probably thousands,
of poetry collections I’ve read
and the poems submitted to the magazines I’ve edited ? I
sometimes think of some of yours -
'awake & refreshed
tho with nothing on the page'
can come to mind almost regularly these days
and, for me, a craved nostalgia in
'Rome's night air outside the window, spelling Rome' 'I
don't have a Cruel Theory
in my body'
has become an in-joke between me and myself 'the
terrific days
of summer' from
earlier terrific days, and your
poem 'Day & Night'
your Berrigan-dreaming drinks with friends
'I think continually of those who were truly great,'
someone said'
there
it is now in the someone said your poems to John Forbes
remind me to think of him and of his great poetry
and your living friends floating through your lines
they're signifiers, ne'er-do-wells in art'n'life and greats participants
all in an array of tasks and pleasures of, mostly, an intellect
that stays up that extra hour
so as not to miss the dawn
and to later amble down to Hindley Street breathing in the pungent air of a coffee shop
opening
for the day
Antipodean Default Mode
No
worries
les nouilles ne
sont pas toutes dans la soupe
not
all the noodles are in the soup
(Québecois
saying) flat out, too tired to die flying across the country of soundbites, sleeping sitting up is impossible but bedroom-eyes slumbers on the aisle, his casual orange sweater emblazoned, kind of gothically, ‘Military Order - Devil Dogs’
* real live mesa on the ground miles below Utah, or maybe Nebraska, jet-zone puzzles like how IS a mountain formed if not volcanically ? slow progression * charged-up the camera, going on a day tour pretzel dogs, a positive snack discovery waxed cardboard cups, regular means giant * all day all night on CNN economies are tumbling
(Baudrillard would have loved this ‘dead cat bounce’ of stocks & shares) the Canadian dollar is a ‘loony’ (he’d have liked that too) * up in Québec - an actual ‘arts constituency’ * panhandlers, I have to ask, what’s my ‘social contract’? * exhorted to ‘live better’ yet feeling worse * watching a photographer conceal himself behind a column, then a curtain then a large loud speaker, now I find him everywhere - through a potted palm, a half empty bookshelf * a spotlight catches a few silver hairs on the back of the neck of the poet who has been sleeping through everyone else’s reading * three empty bottles and how many years have I put into this, the meh of z z z z ?
* from now on I will certainly decline invitations to travel far, I’ll never see China, for instance I don’t really mind not seeing anywhere I’ll meander around some bend like Lucky & Pozzo, arrive from nowhere make a speech and leave only half genuine, you disappear before you’re gone no worries
copyright © Pam Brown |