Feature at West Word

On Sunday I had the good fortune of being the feature poet at West Word poetry in Footscray at the Dancing Dog Cafe.  The event had a real intimate feel. I read from my Diary of a Schizophrenic, and from a Schizophrenic on Artaud. It was also the first time I had the opportunity to read an extended set of my poetry to an audience.  This felt really great. I was able to for the first time see many of the tropes and obsessions I have in my poetry.  I could see that I love words like 'silence', 'dreams', 'places', 'clouds', 'rain' and a whole host of other notions and concepts that concern me deeply.  I could see how my form of oneiric poetry really has a strength of its own.  I love to capture the dream-like in my poetry, and bend associations, and fragment things, just like in a dream.

My next feature spot will be at the Dan O'Connell hotel on the 10th of November at 2pm. Hope to see you there!

Diary of a Schizophrenic on Youtube

We have recently posted a new video of me reading from my first book, Diary of a Schizophrenic, on Youtube.  The diary was kept during my first psychotic episode in 1998.  It has a real literary feel, and talks about writers such as William Blake, T.S. Eliot, Ludwig Wittgenstein and Homer.  The section I read from is later in the book when I have recovered from my episode, and discusses T.S. Eliot's work 'Tradition and the Individual Talent'.

You can watch the video here on Youtube!

Hope you enjoy!

Poem

Though I would simply post a poem for this blog. Its called 'Silence will have its way'.  Enjoy!

Silence will have its way

     [singing in the trees before first light]

                         

I know

                    that what this ritual

will give     to the remains of the day

          can still the hunter in his tracks

             what is now the silence     between heartbeats

was once the dew on  the ground during a twilight interlude

                         of dancing Naiads and their dreaming

life lived in the moment     between rings of a tower bell

   can placate the wind during its solemn journey

                   (it now picks up pieces of broken glass

and scatters them to where the light of tomorrow will not go)

                     what is left of this adventure

                               is written

        in the hearing     of an ancient rainbow’s restful sleep

                   as it lets the sea breathe a new breath

                          (I truly believe I have felt

              in the lashing of a wave on the rocks

                                the rain of all there is)

and when the stars have given up their claim on the dawn’s memories

                 the hope       that cradles our longing

                             will gather itself

                 as it has never done before

                             and what the clouds will never know

            is that the footsteps of yesterday’s travels

                   will only be enough

      to string       the bow of the last violin

that has ever grasped the air of our furthest wandering

                       [before then

                  silence will have its way]