Ashley Capes - Poet Series

Ashley teaches Media and English in Victoria, Australia. His first collection of poetry pollen and the storm was published with the assistance of Small Change Press in 2008, and his second collection Stepping Over Seasons was released by Interactive Press in 2009. A haiku chapbook Orion Tips the Saucepan was released by Picaro Press in 2010.

When did you first start writing poetry? What do you enjoy most about it?

During high school, I think I was about fourteen. They were a mixture of awful teenage poems and hopeless recreations of The Beats, and I think I was relying on the natural world a lot too. Probably the best thing about them was the simple fact that they could be finished in a reasonable amount of time. Not like a novel, and I liked that.

Tell me about the first poem you had published.

The first poem published was by the dubious folk known as, variously, ‘The International Library of Poetry’ the ‘International Society of Poets’ and the ‘International Poetry Hall of Fame.’ It was exciting for a kid, but after being given an ‘offer’ to pay a lot of money to travel overseas for their award ceremony, the shine was of course tarnished. It was about animals in a forest or a jungle (it seems to change a lot when I look at it now) and was heavy on imagery. And bad.

What is your usual writing routine? Do you write every day?

I do write every day, but it’s difficult. The time I have to write varies of course, and what qualifies as ‘writing’ does too. It might be part of a story, haiku, verse poetry, a lesson plan or something for uni. Like most of us, with obligations all over the place, that time gets eaten away – especially in daylight hours. I usually end up writing late into the night. It’s quieter and my mind seems to work better then, though in the morning I’m usually not impressed with myself for it.

What advice would you give a would-be poet?

Read widely, because in some ways that is your preparation – but just as importantly, don’t forget to actually write. Don’t think or talk about it, don’t plan to do it, just write. That one sounds obvious but sometimes it isn’t I guess, sometimes (in all fields) we can become obsessed with preparing.

I’d also suggest one of the best pieces of advice I’ve ever been given – that is to switch mediums. If you hit a wall with writing, paint for a while. Or turn to music, or something else artistic – or even something not artistic at all. Just get some distance, recharge with that other art form then come back to poetry and you should have some more ammunition.

What’s your opinion of self-publishing? Would you recommend it?

I am a fan of self-publishing if you have two things: a good instinct (or editor-friend) for quality control and a base in a metropolitan area. Make that three things, if you’re personable. If not, I think it’d be hard to sell your books. When you self publish you’re afforded control of your work, from layout to cover art to content, which is awesome. It’s tough however, when you get to things like distribution – which is why I mentioned that second point. If you live in or near a city at least, you’ll have easy (and cheap) access to events and markets and you should thus be better able to sell your work.

Do you perform your poetry? What are the differences between writing for the page and writing for the stage?

I do, though not as much as I’d like. The difference for me is in the audience – because, of course, it’s live. It’s immediate. I imagine it’s a bit like acting or standup vs a film. In a film, the reaction to what you’re doing or have done, it delayed (or absent). On stage, you hear the audience, see the audience, and get an immediate sense of what your material is like. It’s very nice – it can certainly be daunting, but it’s something you get at no other time as a writer.

Have you been inspired or influenced by a particular poet’s work? How did it affect your own work?

In the beginning it was the Beats, and rock and folk lyricists, but perhaps the most important influence would be from haiku poets. I think whatever imagistic elements are present in my work are due to influence of the haiku masters like Basho and Issa. What they did, I believe, is demonstrate beyond a doubt (among other things), that narration can be achieved indirectly, through images created by just a few words. I’ve since then continued to struggle to achieve that ‘economy of words,’ and to prune back my natural tendency to overwrite!

If you had to choose a favourite contemporary poet who would it be and what makes them your favourite? 

Graham Nunn. For his ability to floor you as a reader – whether it’s through his imagery, his tenderness or his insight, but for his commitment to the art form and to those around him too. (I thought I should mention that I added that last bit to my answer not to detract from his poetry, or as an attempt to bolster it, but rather as a very serious and equally important aspect to Graham as a poet. I don’t feel the worth of poet should be just the measure of their (published) output, and so I’d like to suggest that Graham’s skill as an editor, promoter, organiser, motivator and supporter is just as powerful and valuable to the community as his written work.)

What about the masters? Who would you choose and why?

Here I can combine a few things together – this one is a haiku that Graham reminded me of when I interviewed him last year.

on Starvation Ridge

little sticks

are trying to grow

and it’s by Jack Kerouac, so there’s an Australian poet, haiku and The Beats all in one answer! What I enjoy about this most is probably the verb ‘trying’ or perhaps the simple, effective contrast between ‘Starvation’ and ‘grow.’ It’s also a great demonstration of why the 5-7-5 syllable count isn’t needed in English language haiku. This doesn’t adhere to those limits but it is undeniably a haiku, and it evokes a story through the image.

Please include a favourite poem of your own to be published with your interview.

other objects

my wedding ring is a plain silver

barrel band. same as dad’s, very modest

and very hard to keep smooth,

with scratches I can’t keep track of and

don’t want to hide. it’s no good pretending

the marriage is perfect, no use

hanging all our memories and every

step of the future on just one symbol. other

objects speak of love, too. the weeping

maple we’ve shifted to every house, the

cup we fill with knives and forks

or the handwritten address you gave me

the night we met, walking the city

and flinging orange peel into hedges, things

that endure, things that have lines

and marks to prove them.

Why is it your favourite?

Other Objects is probably my favourite because it’s hopeful without being treacly, and I usually find those poems really difficult to write. I think it paints a realistic picture of marriage, and it was through this poem that I was able to recognise a habit I’ve picked up, of writing about objects and the store of emotion we seem to place within them.

Where was it first published?

July 2009, in Island – a journal I’m very happy to have appeared in, it’s always beautifully presented and has such great material, cover to cover.

What was the inspiration for, or story behind, the piece?

I suppose it addresses my belief and concern, perhaps, that my marriage not become snagged on a single symbol, and that the wear and tear of the marriage is ultimately just as important as any other aspect. It runs through a few other objects that have memories attached to them, triggering for me, the night I met my wonderful wife. 

Find out more about Ashley here.

Stu Hatton - Poet Series

 

Stu Hatton is an editor, writer and reader, currently based in Melbourne, Australia. In 2006 he was awarded a mentorship through the Australian Society of Authors, which he completed with the late Dorothy Porter.

When did you first start writing poetry? What do you enjoy most about it?

I’ve always been drawn to language that is strange, unsettling, magical, impossible. And for as long as I can remember I’ve enjoyed playing with language, exploring its possibilities and flaws. This love of language-play began before I could write. As a child I tended to create stories and songs as opposed to poems, and I loved Lego. Perhaps in a way poetry took the place of Lego. The latter probably left its mark on me in various ways: a kind of faith that anything can be constructed from anything, the possibilities of construction and collage, combining fragments in unlikely ways. So poetry is a form of play for me, which doesn’t mean it isn’t vital, political, spiritual … it can be all of these things.

Tell me about the first poem you had published.

I had a satirical poem about the film Jurrassic Park published in the school magazine in year 10. It had a line in it about ‘converting to Spielbergism’ or something. I have to laugh at my 15-year-old self there.

What is your usual writing routine? Do you write every day?

Yeah I pretty much write every day. I tend to do most of my reading in the morning, and writing often sparks off from what I’m reading. I carry a pen and notebook most of the time, or else I type notes into my phone. I’m always collecting words or phrases to use later.

What advice would you give a would-be poet?

To experiment with different practices of reading, writing, thinking, questioning. Try anything once. Break habits, be flexible and try to cultivate open-mindedness.

What’s your opinion of self publishing? Would you recommend it?

I self-published my first book How to be Hungry through the print-on-demand service Lulu. I’d recommend self-publishing if you’re prepared to be a hardworking ambassador for your work.

Do you perform your poetry? What are the differences between writing for the page and writing for the stage?

I’ve performed my poetry publicly many times, though not so much recently. I guess I’ve tended to see myself as writing for the page more than the stage. Sometimes I’ll adapt a poem slightly for performance, perhaps if there are visual aspects, puns or other elements that might not be conveyed by voice alone. One thing that can irk me as an audience member at poetry gigs is that if you miss part of a poem, that’s it: it’s gone. The mind wanders, there are distractions, sometimes you can’t hear every word due to the poet’s delivery or other sounds intruding. Listening to readings takes a certain kind of discipline. Not to take away from the possibilities of mishearing, or only hearing fragments: these are interesting possiblities if you’re open to them. But generally I prefer to be able to sit with a poem, consider it, put it aside and come back to it. Or in the case of recordings, to be able to play it again, hear it again if I want to. So I’m interested in forms of performance that go beyond simply reading a poem. Performance poetry goes beyond ‘simply reading’, but I guess I’m mostly interested in multimedia performance, video poetry, etc, where oral and visual text can be combined.

Have you been inspired or influenced by a particular poet’s work? How did it affect your own work?

I’ve given this some thought, but it’s very hard to pick just one! I’m inspired and influenced by countless poets. In my late teens it was Eliot, Yeats and Cummings. Then I discovered the Beats, then as an undergrad I gravitated towards the New York School and Language Poetry. I guess I’ve tended towards the experimental/avant-garde end of the spectrum in terms of finding models for my practice. John Cage is definitely an inspiration to me, as is Gary Snyder – both, in their own way, pull down the fence that’s sometimes erected between art and life.

If you had to choose a favourite contemporary poet who would it be and what makes them your favourite?

Once again I find this almost impossible to answer! I have too many favourites I guess. In terms of contemporary Australian poets I’m drawn to, and who are maybe operating in similar ballparks to me, here’s a list (though I’m probably forgetting a few people): Patrick Jones, Pam Brown, Michael Farrell, Jill Jones, Laurie Duggan, Ted Nielsen, Tim Wright, Ken Bolton, Emma Lew, Astrid Lorange, Derek Motion, Peter Minter, John Tranter, Ania Walwicz, Lionel Fogarty, Joanne Burns, Martin Harrison, Paul Hardacre, Keri Glastonbury, Neil Paech.  

What about the masters? Who would you choose and why?

Okay, for this one I’d have to say William Blake. Poet, painter, printmaker, prophet. His legacy is fascinating, illuminated, sort of infinite. Perhaps more so than any poet who has written in English, he broke free of the ‘mind-forged manacles’ of his time. That is something to aspire to.

Could you please send me a favourite poem of your own to be published on the blog?

 

coastal

‘too hot to get busy anyway’

unused sky bestowing confidence

we’ll take the coastal road

Aussie flags hoisted on roofs, in sandy gardens

‘fuck off we’re full’ sticker

           on a ute’s rear panel

letting the sunset beach do the tender talking

the brewery will do the rest

the sea:
            yet more fields to be farmed

parasails sweep, flip
                          as tankers ride the horizon

Why is it your favourite?

I think a lot of things I’m trying to do in my poems cohere in this one: it’s kind of a constellation of fragments, but there are narratives rubbing shoulders; it’s satirical, kind of comic, yet serious. It was also one of the first poems where I managed to turn my eye towards the troublesome beast of Australian culture/identity. This is something I’m still exploring – I’m currently working on a poem/essay/ethnographic piece regarding Australia Day.

Where was it first published?

It first appeared on my blog in late 2009, then in my book How to be Hungry the following year.

What was the inspiration for, or story behind, the piece?

It was written while I was travelling along the coastal road towards Fremantle, WA. It was a series of snapshots, thoughts, impressions over the course of a few hours. I was entranced by the beautiful coastline but also by the nationalist symbolism and the forms of commerce and recreation that were taking place. There was plenty to take in and think about.

How to be Hungry, published 2010, available through Lulu.com: http://www.lulu.com/spotlight/stuhatton

Audio poem ‘power ballad’ on SoundCloud: http://soundcloud.com/wordy/power-ballad

Twitter: @StuHatton

Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/stu.hatton

Web: http://www.stuhatton.net

Kevin Gillam - Poet Series

 

Kevin Gillam: is a West Australian poet with three books of poetry published,  "Other Gravities"(2003) and "Permitted to Fall"(2007) with Sunline Press, and "Songs sul G" in 'Two Poets' with Fremantle Press (2011). He has also had two chapbooks published with Picaro Press, "shouting, drowning" (2006) and "closer to now"(2009). He works as Director of Music at Christ Church Grammar School.

When did you first start writing poetry? What do you enjoy most about it?

My first poems were written while studying creative writing at Curtin University (Post Grad Diploma) and I enjoyed the succinctness of the form and the fact that it could be left open to a variety of interpretations.

Tell me about the first poem you had published.

The first poem I had published was an extract from a short story that I had sent to Grok, the Curtin Uni newspaper. They had taken a portion of the story and printed it in the poetry section. So I thought that if they liked the excerpt as a poem, then I should concentrate on this type of writing.

What is your usual writing routine? Do you write every day?

Yes, I write every day, and my routine is to collect lines/thoughts and then talk them through in my head on long walks. Upon returning from a walk, I immediately write down the lines concocted, and then later deduce a form.

What advice would you give a would-be poet?

Write down all your thoughts as they come to you….you won’t remember them later. Read lots of contemporary poetry. Join a writing group or association and write/share ideas. Send out poems to journals. Subscribe to as many poetry journals as possible. Try reviewing some recent poetry and send reviews to appropriate journals.

What’s your opinion of self publishing? Would you recommend it?

I’m not against self-publishing, but I wouldn’t recommend it to any aspiring poet. Better to get your work published in some reputable journals and enter some poetry competitions. Then you have an established and creditable body of acknowledged work to send to a publisher.

Do you perform your poetry? What are the differences between writing for the page and writing for the stage?

Yes I do perform my poetry, sometimes with ‘cello music spliced between the lines. Performed poetry needs to be immediately accessible to the listener (no chance of re-reading or re-hearing!), and needs to embrace the mood and emotions of the performance and surrounds as much as rely purely upon the text.

Have you been inspired or influenced by a particular poet’s work? How did it affect your own work?

One of my favourite poets is Sylvia Plath. I love the way the poems live on the edge of literal meaning and symbolism, and the use of diction is superb. I try to emulate this in my own work, leaving a poem open to a number of readings.

If you had to choose a favourite Australian contemporary poet who would it be and what makes them your favourite?

I don’t have a favourite Australian poet, but I read a fair amount of Australian fiction including work by Richard Flanagan, Tim Winton, Gail Jones and Peter Carey.

What about the masters? Who would you choose and why?

I would have to include Sylvia Plath, Dorothy Porter and Seamus Heaney. All three use language and form to intensify to poetic intent.

Could you please send me a favourite poem of your own to be published on the blog?

the unwritten blue was first published by Fremantle Press in 2011. The poem tracks some thoughts/ideas/images from a holiday in Nannup, and was an attempt of mine to embrace a more ‘prose-like’ feel in the poetry. It was awarded 1^st Prize in the Reason-Brisbane Poetry Award in 2010.

 

                              the unwritten blue

remember, in that bruised light – we had dozed in

          the loft of the A-frame, woken

then walked – the tuarts browning skyward, warblers

          and wagtails flitting – you were talking about that book

‘Life of Pi’- then the river, fat, white froth,

          moving left to right as if having been read.

I don’t remember who noticed the dead bird first,

          one wing pointing skyward, the unglazed eye.

a bush parrot, burnt red and khaki plumage

          already being reclaimed by bracken. you went to touch it,

saw an ant, pulled away. we were silent then,

          hushed by fate and its casual cruelty,

late afternoon painting in charcoal around us.

          re-tracing our steps, a symphony of drips

and burps from rain and frogs, you on about

          slivered moons and life and fiction and

narrative’s tidal pull. it was then,

          in that falter in your voice,

that staccato within legato, that you hinted

          at some loss deeper than sense.

that night, in the warm cusp of the A-frame –

          the tropical triangle we called it,

pot-belly below having been going all day –

          you told me about your twin sister that

died at birth, how some days you saw her

          as a bird, flying above and ahead, calls of

kinship or warning, other days as the sky,

          how you’d noticed, out walking and looking up,

that while the gates and letterboxes and gardens stayed still,

          the clouds and unwritten blue moved with you

Other Gravities Sunline Press 2003

shouting, drowning (chapbook) Picaro Press 2006

Permitted to Fall Sunline Press 2007

closer to now (chapbook) Picaro Press 2008

songs sul G in ‘Two Poets’ Fremantle Press 2011

(Last two books available from The Lane Bookshop and Planet Books)

Libby Hart - Poet Series

Libby Hart’s most recent collection of poetry, 'This Floating World' was shortlisted for a Victorian Premier's Literary Award (CJ Dennis Prize for Poetry) and 'The Age' Book of the Year Awards (Dinny O'Hearn Poetry Prize).

When did you first start writing poetry?

I started writing poetry in my early twenties. Poetry hovered around me like a longing before I began writing it. At the time I was an avid reader of poetry and still am of course, any writer is an avid reader, but I suppose it was my own insecurities that blocked me from allowing myself to say: Yes, I could do that too.

In so many ways poetry is an apprenticeship that perhaps you never graduate from. I always enjoy quoting that story by Annie Dillard about French workers. When an apprentice gets hurt or is exhausted, the experienced workers say to him or her: It is the trade entering your body. Poetry enters the body every day. It enters you and you enter it. There is mystery and joy and heartbreak and exhaustion. Sometimes all at the same time.

What do you enjoy most about it?

I think enjoy is the wrong word for me. Poetry is sanctum – it’s where I live and breathe, and find shelter when it’s most needed. And this extends to all poetry, not just my own.

Poetry is a very organic thing for me. It is about capturing what enters your body, what touches you: a place, a moment, and a ‘matter of the heart’. Words walk through me very organically. I am touched by them and I have to capture them and make them into something more than a fragment or a line of poetry. So these are the two things that go side by side: the moment of connection or response to place, event or subject; and then the action to articulate. Sometimes these can be years apart.

Tell me about the first poem you had published.

The first poem I published was titled, ‘Rebecca’s Hands, 1923’. It was published in 1995 in the Australian Multicultural Book Review (Issue 2) and it was in response to a Paul Strand photograph of his wife’s hands. The composition was very tight and composed only of Rebecca’s hands, hence the title of the photograph and the poem. This is still one of my favourite photographs. I am a very visual person and I love black and white photography. I have a profound respect for the likes of Strand and other groundbreaking US photographers of that era, including Edward Weston, Dorothea Lange and Imogen Cunningham to name but a few. The poem discussed the photograph and branched out into such things as palmistry and fate.

What is your usual writing routine? Do you write every day?

If I have a routine as such it is largely about keeping focused. I have a full time job, so it is actually really hard finding the time to write and unfortunately I never do as much as I want to. But my routine goes beyond the physical act of writing. I do a great deal of thinking and feeling my way through a poem. This entails notes, fragments of lines, a lot of reading and research, and I am also always reading other people’s work which helps keep my mind open and fresh.

I do all of this each day and wherever possible I escape at lunch time to scribble away, edit drafts of poems or go to the library to search out a research title or poet or subject matter I have been thinking about. I try to do at least an hour or two of work in the evenings and wherever possible I dedicate at least one day of the weekend to writing.

What advice would you give a would-be poet?

I often say that I didn’t choose poetry, it chose me. I’m not really sure why it decided to tap me on the shoulder. There have been moments in my life when I really wish I knew the answer to that question, but each time I ask it I come up empty-handed. What I know is this: I write poetry because I don’t have a choice. I write poetry because it is sanctuary. I write poetry because it gives me a voice. I write poetry because it allows me to unravel a situation, an event or a subject and make sense of it. Poetry is mystical and mysterious, and I honour it as best as I can.

My advice is always to read, read, read. Read other poets. Learn from them. Read non-fiction and fiction. Learn from them too. Question. Observe the world around you. Live as authentically and as fully as you possibly can. Listen to music. Listen to what a song is telling you. Go to galleries and explore the visual. Watch films. Good films. Listen to the language that is going on underneath the conversations. Use all of your senses. And get very familiar with your gut instinct because this will be your long-time companion in writing poetry. Travel as much as you can. Go to places that make you uncomfortable and make you question. Live in the world and respond to it. Know your stuff, but also remember that it takes time to grasp it. And allow yourself to keep learning. The keep learning part is the most crucial. Be patient. Have an editor’s eye. Don’t be a smart arse. Always listen to constructive criticism. Remember that you learn something from every poem you write or read. Don’t ever think poetry is an ‘elite sport’, you are only competing with yourself. Be professional and reliable. And more than anything else: ‘know thyself’ and make sure you have something to say.

What’s your opinion of self publishing? Would you recommend it?

I haven’t really given a lot of thought to self publishing, so I can’t discuss this issue in any great detail. I think if a poet is intending to self publish then I would strongly advise them to get assistance from an editor, designer and possibly an artist or photographer. What makes a book a beautiful object is good design and excellent editing. The work is fundamental of course, but it takes skilled editing and design to really make your poetry the very best that it can be.

Do you perform your poetry? What are the differences between writing for the page and writing for the stage?

I write for the page and I read my poems, but I am in no way a performer. There is a great deal of difference between the page and the stage, if you are talking about performance poetry. I can’t really discuss this in any great detail because it’s another world to me and for the many performance poets I know they feel the same way about ‘page’ poetry. Sometimes I get a strong suspicion that there is a line firmly drawn between the two, as if we’ll all break out into a dance from West Side Story, but it really doesn’t have to be like that. After all, poetry is as widely diverse as the people writing it.

Have you been inspired or influenced by a particular poet’s work? How did it affect your own work?

I don’t think I could ever pinpoint just one poet or piece of poetry. There have been many, many instances in my life where a poet has shaped my perspective. But if I had to give one example today what springs to mind is when I first discovered Michael Hartnett in an unassuming anthology of Munster poets about a year before I visited Ireland for the first time.

The first poem by Michael Hartnett I ever read was ‘Death of an Irishwoman’ and anyone that is familiar with this poem will know what a powerful introduction that must have been. What I remember most about that first experience was that I read this poem with all of me being present. That’s the one thing that struck me most – that he made me sit up and take notice from the very first line. I also knew from that moment on that he was telling me something in a way no other person could – and how attractive is that for a person such as me who, like Ruth Stone, ‘decided very early on not to write like other people’.

Michael Hartnett was my introduction into what I would describe as an un-homogenised Ireland. And he spoke of it in his own way, with his own gripes and philosophies. He also introduced me to the bards and helped me reacquaint myself with my love of the Irish language, something that had lain dormant for about fifteen years. Michael Hartnett is spectacular because he is achingly real. He wrote it (and lived it) like it was, in all of his contradictory ways. He was at times uncompromising, but always heartbreaking and authentic. My favourite Michael Hartnett poem is ‘Sibelius in Silence’, it’s an extraordinary poem of great deft and vision.

If you had to choose a favourite contemporary poet who would it be and what makes them your favourite?

I can’t choose only one and my favourites list will inevitably change again and again, but for today I would say John Burnside and Carolyn Forché. I respect them both for writing uniquely and full of spirit and intelligence. Both poets tackle very different terrain, but they do loop up somewhere in the soul department, as they are both preoccupied with existence and what it means to ‘be’. John Burnside just keeps getting better and better, and I highly recommend his latest book, Black Cat Bone. I’m sure Carolyn Forché has another book just around the corner, but her 2003 volume, Blue Hour, was breathtaking to read for the first time and I pick it up again and again and again to help me clear away the clutter of my thoughts and anxieties about writing poetry. Her poem, ‘On Earth’ is one of my very favourite pieces of poetry.

What about the masters? Who would you choose and why?

I’m not crazy about the word, ‘masters’. It makes me think of Elizabeth Gilbert’s TED lecture and her discussion around genius and its Roman roots. Each comes from the same place and each is more complicated than a label. But who do I respect? Whose legacy is it that I return to again and again? I would say Ted Hughes, Homer, Ovid, Rilke, Shelley and Shakespeare. And there are others such as William Carlos Williams, Pablo Neruda, William Stafford, TS Eliot, Rimbaud and a whole heap of others including James Joyce and Chekhov (Chekhov may have never written a poem in his life, but he had a poet’s heart).

For the first six poets I am thinking it would be self explanatory, but Ted Hughes is pitch-perfect time and time again. His vision is mind blowing, really. We are forever in debt to Homer and Ovid. Rilke’s mysticism is his finest attribute. Shelley’s authenticity and wild intelligence was my way into writing poetry thanks to the wonderful Richard Holmes and his beautifully written biography, Shelley: The Pursuit. And Shakespeare... what could I possibly say about the man that has not already been said? Hamlet is my favourite of all of his work. I reread it recently and it still blew me away after all these years.

What, of your own work, is your favourite poem?

That’s a very hard question for me to answer because I am over critical when it comes to my writing. What I will say is that ‘This Floating World’ is the poem that means the most to me.

‘This Floating World’ is a very long piece (46 pages in book form). I had parts of the poem published in a variety of journals both in Australia and overseas, but the work as one whole poem was published in my second collection of poetry, This Floating World, published last year (2011) by Five Islands Press. The songline makes up the bulk of this collection although there are four ‘overture’ poems in the first section.

What was the inspiration for, or story behind, the piece?

‘This Floating World’ is a songline or oral map of the island of Ireland. The reader is guided through the songline by an omnipotent force who listens in on the intimate soliloquies of people, ghosts, birds and animals. Even the landscape and ocean have the opportunity to speak from time to time. The work is essentially a celebration of how, in some small way, we are connected to all things.

‘This Floating World’ was born from an extensive road trip I embarked on when I first visited Ireland in 2005. The journey of the songline is largely influenced by the route undertaken at that time. I was then fortunate to receive an international residency from the Australia Council for the Arts to spend time at The Tyrone Guthrie Centre at Annaghmakerrig in County Monaghan (Ireland) in 2008 in order to write the first draft of this book.

The work is faithful to the elements and the ethereal. Water holds a strong presence in Ireland, whether it is through rain, mist, bogs, loughs, waterfalls, holy wells, seas and ocean. Wind also, particularly in the west of Ireland, is a force to be reckoned with. Because of this I shaped a poetic narrative that is dictated by the direction of the wind or rain. Fluid and transient in nature, ‘This Floating World’ is full of rushed thoughts, forgotten histories and quiet contemplations that reiterate transience and mutability.

Obviously I can’t include the whole poem here for you today, but I will give you an abridged version of it in the form of one voice from the songline. This particular voice is called ‘Dreamer – Trá Chloichir’ and it is placed about three quarters of the way into the poem.

One thing I will stress about ‘This Floating World’ is that time is elastic inside the work itself. Both the present and the past intermingle with ease. So too do both this concrete world in which we live in and the Otherworld. And although I created an Otherworld that was eclectic and full of creative license, it was still faithful to the idea that there are two worlds connected to the island. This belief system is still prevalent in everyday Ireland, most particularly in remote areas, and I do admire this side of traditional Irish culture very much.

The voice, ‘Dreamer’, chiefly concerns the legend of the selkie-folk or seal people who transform themselves from seals to human. I have loved this legend for many, many years so I was very keen to include a selkie in the work.

Dreamer – Trá Chloichir

Dark one are you restless to this sea inside you?
To the chill that seeps into marrow
when you circle your secrets?

Altered and sooty-eyed
you haul a billowing scent
when you come to the surface.

A wave made flesh, made of bone.
Slip of sealskin, the chuck of it,
a seaweed of your own making.

You are naked now, you are glorious.
You are a man upon the land who needs time
to find his feet.

You take back your shadow
and gaze out to sea,
drinking in the memory of it

while the shrug of your wet skin
lies loosely in your arms.
The pelt of bog will keep it moist

fostering desire
until the pull of your second life
hooks you again.

You fold its enigma
with new found fingers,
heed it like a breathing creature.

You use your hands
like they’re the centre of things,
the cusp of things.

Are they indeed your soul, those hands?

Notes: ‘Dark one are you restless’ is from Thomas Kinsella’s translation of The Táin (Oxford University Press, Oxford, 1970). Reproduced with kind permission of the translator. ‘A man upon the land’ is from a traditional Irish poem (‘I am a man upon the land / I am a selkie in the sea’). ‘Are they indeed your soul, those hands’ is from, ‘Anatomy of a Cliché’ by Michael Hartnett from Selected and New Poems (The Gallery Press, Oldcastle, County Meath, 1994). Reproduced with kind permission of The Gallery Press.

This Floating World, Five Islands Press, 2011, Melbourne
To order: http://www.fiveislandspress.com

Fresh News from the Arctic, Interactive Press, 2006, Brisbane
To order: www.bookdepository.co.uk/book/9781876819347/Fresh-News-from-the-Arctic

Website: libbyhartfile.blogspot.com
Blog: theworldasaroom.blogspot.com
Five Poetry Journal (which I edit): fivepoetryjournal.tumblr.com