Louise Oxley

States of Poetry 2016 - TAS | 'Green Mountain (Fiji)' by Louise Oxley

States of Poetry Tasmania - Series One • 22 February 2016

Green Mountain (Fiji)   after Brett Whiteley’s The Green Mountain (Fiji) (1969)   The skyward pitch of the hill in its green gloryrising heavy and indolent as the knee of a womansunbathing in a sarong,and the thigh that leads from this knee,an emerald downswelling syncline,end where the womb’s elastic triangle,fronded and flowering, holds threeimperfectly white eggs,expectant, fr ... (read more)

States of Poetry 2016 - TAS | 'Reply from the Women of Tangier' by Louise Oxley

States of Poetry Tasmania - Series One • 22 February 2016

Reply from the Women of Tangier   after Brett Whiteley’s The Majestic Hotel, Tangier (1967)   So secretly together do we wearour separateness, we’re so completehe gives us the white stare. Easy to see decay and disrepairin the spittle and hashish-ruined streets.But secretly together we all wear our place and time, our rightness here,our journey from antiquity.He gives us the wh ... (read more)

States of Poetry 2016 - TAS | 'Woman in Bath' by Louise Oxley

States of Poetry Tasmania - Series One • 22 February 2016

Woman in Bath  after Brett Whiteley’s Woman in Bath (1964)   There was fog on the windows,inside and out.She wound her hair into a bunand eased into the shallow water.I stood in the doorway, squinting.                              &nbs ... (read more)

States of Poetry 2016 - TAS | 'Notes from the inland' by Louise Oxley

States of Poetry Tasmania - Series One • 22 February 2016

Notes from the inland   When he goes into that country,a man loses his thinking                                  Patrick Mung Mung   A tree opensa crack in the landscape – stars bolt from daybreakand earth themselves i ... (read more)

States of Poetry 2016 - TAS | 'Graces Road' by Louise Oxley

States of Poetry Tasmania - Series One • 22 February 2016

Graces Road   Rise above it, my mother used to say,and now she's old, she herself is something I must rise above.Just now, to separate myself, I turned and drove,and finding Graces Road, followed its nameupwards to paddocks that a summer of scant rainhad worked into yellow and mauve.Someone who had lovedthis arc of land had turned things so its haycould harvest the sun, and – who knows? ... (read more)