THREE POETRY ANTHOLOGIES

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Here are three of this year’s anthology releases and I’m thrilled to have a poem in each of them: Anthology of Australian Prose Poetry (MUP, eds. Cassandra Atherton & Paul Hetherington, RRP $39.99 pb, 232 pp), Australian Poetry Anthology, Volume 8/2020 (Australian Poetry Inc, eds. Sara Saleh & Melinda Smith), These Strange Outcrops: Writing and Art from Canberra (Cicerone Journal, RRP $10). Belated thanks and congratulations to all the editors. See the links for more information including how to buy.

 

If you'd like to know more about Canberra's iconic Cummings bus shelters (featured on the cover of These Strange Outcrops) visit Capital History Here. I used them on occasion — and got a poem or two — but mostly I saw them in passing as my Yass-based Transborder bus tootled through the ACT dropping us regional commuters off at key work spots. Also remembering now how much we all valued our Transborder drivers (I'm talking 1990s) — they were mates. Also remembering the day I could NOT stop coughing! Driver John handed  a Soother to the passenger in the front seat and it was handed along until it reached me, and I discovered Soothers really do work just like on the ads. Who'd have thought ...

 

 

POKING AT POETRY

 

 

 

 

Every now and then I poke at a filing drawer, a bundle, a stack, hoping it will magically shapeshift into an organized archive-worthy file. Doesn’t happen. At the moment I’m in nondescript early manuscripts. I’m talking 1990s. There’s the poem faded from memory, fade of dot matrix printing, the greater and more literal fade of correspondence on fax paper (I worked around librarians just long enough to know better), the correspondence that I hope has faded from the memories of the recipients.

 

People were so kind. ‘It seems cruel to write, returning your poetry manuscript …’ says one. ‘The poems to which I responded happily … … I feel ashamed of not doing you any good ...’ says another. ‘… it is not much help to say that the poems are fresh, alive and most unusual. However: quote me!’ Kind and generous. Sensitive.

 

Me? I’m grateful. Grateful these poetry editors took the time at all to read these premature and immature attempts. To let me down so gently that … I would then have the cheek and naivety to send them another! Poor bastards. I could be mightily embarrassed. But they helped me keep going and I have done alright. I’ve also had immeasurable pleasure. Not only from writing itself but from related activities and friendships.

  

I once had the opportunity to thank a poetry editor in person. I saw Judith Rodriguez sitting quietly by herself in a café during a literary festival. I wonder if it was in Melbourne? I had the great juggle in my head: is she needing space; is another bloody poet pestering her the last thing she needs; there might be a chance for a conversation with a great; I could at least say thank you. I said thank you. She didn’t seem to mind. I buzzed off quickly … it was a bit like a swatted blowfly impersonation.

 

Okay, back to poking old poetry …