The Child & Time

Published : Tuesday, August 28, 2007 | Label:   Poems  

For Henry

1
When I sit these days—
Or walk—
And wait for a poem
Mostly it’s a child that comes.
Saying, for instance,
Just past the rabbit in her sorry cage,
The convolvulus and the white roses,
I carry you?
Putting words in my mouth
And offering up the burden of himself in response.
Or at evening in the kitchen, saying
Where are you taking me?
Claiming my index finger in…

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Cowshed One

Published : Wednesday, April 25, 2007 | Label:   Letter From Cowshed    Poems  

Straight from throwing what’s left of yesterday to the hens
and loosing them into their yard, I walk
to the cowshed and I bank
a fire in the stove in the room
where by now in years now gone
sixty cows would already have stood
and let themselves be milked and sent back to the paddock and the river and I walk
back to the house for coffee
to let the fire make up its mind.

And through the French doors I…

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What’s Writing For

What makes writing worth writing—and reading—is what the story or the poem achieves beyond the tale it tells: its music, its wisdom, its form, the way it makes the ordinary world beautifully strange. A good tale is only good, in other words, if the telling is sound and memorable. It’s the voice and mood, the arc and flow, the poetry of the writing that endure when the storyline fades.

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