He polished his car to a shine, he kepta ‘clean machine’ inside and out, but downfrom ‘up north’, the red dirt would stayin the seams of doors, around the fittings.A detailing of distance. A truth unto itself.
What to do with us, having travelledso far – the access-visit ontology, a divorcedbloke’s existential crisis. Kids aren’t goingto live on feelings alone for an afternoon,they ... (read more)
John Kinsella
John Kinsella is the author of over forty books. His most recent publications include the novel Lucida Intervalla (UWA Publishing 2018), Open Door (UWA Publishing, 2018); On the Outskirts (UQP, 2017), and Drowning in Wheat: Selected poems (Picador, 2016). His poetry collections have won a variety of awards, including the Prime Minister's Literary Award for Poetry and the Christopher Brennan Award for Poetry. His volumes of stories include In the Shade of the Shady Tree (Ohio University Press, 2012), Crow’s Breath (Transit Lounge, 2015), and Old Growth (Transit Lounge, 2017). His volumes of criticism include Activist Poetics: Anarchy in the Avon Valley (Liverpool University Press, 2010) and Polysituatedness (Manchester University Press, 2017). He is a Fellow of Churchill College, Cambridge University, and Professor of Literature and Environment at Curtin University. With Tracy Ryan he is the co-editor of The Fremantle Press Anthology of The Western Australian Poetry (2017). He lives with his family in the Western Australian wheatbelt.
When Ishmael escaped from the closed Bibleon the dresser with family names that were
only tangentially yours, you looked to the emergencysite for inclemency and found fire was rapidly
approaching via dire easterlies that actually start from the southand over the stretch of time just inside a zone sharply
bend west to gather inner heat, saying, I love as muchas your weight of extracted moisture, ... (read more)
Hailstones in misshapen formation pound on roof corrugations,distorted in scrying before reaching their target,feathers and leaves stripped, birds and trees in transition.
To taste the fracture when air pressure is shaken and unshaken,and lightning brings its personalised thunder close to a house in retreat,hailstones misshapen in formation pound on the roof’s corrugations.
What can you porten ... (read more)
I’d ask you to reappear from behind the wet blanket, Sun, But the ozone has been eaten by refrigerants &nbs ... (read more)
I am a dickhead in ways I thought I wasn’tI am a dickhead in ways people who call me a dickhead can’t imagineI am a dickhead in ways people who call me a dickhead can imagineI am a dickhead with residues and hangovers of misapplications of beliefsI am a dickhead whose interior was an adequate backdrop for exterior worldsI am a dickhead who has tried to leap synaptic gaps to make conversationI ... (read more)
Grasshopper on the window, the flyscreen, and stepping outinto the beige heat, over us. Tangled in our hair, hooked to our backs.
Grasshopper, cod wisdom. Grasshopper contraband on the eye-out for plagues. The Australian Plague Locust and its tendency
to shift character when gathered together. In worship. In parliament.O phase polyphenism, in which morphology and social disposition
shift. And t ... (read more)
We are thrilled to find evidence of roos returning –after being driven out of the reserve and slaughteredby hunters, the survivors are finding refuge at Jam Tree Gully.The vestiges of the old mob. And maybe new mob driventhis way by hunters down on Victoria Plains. In the long grassthey hide. They make tracks and graze and flattenareas for rest. They are maintaining out of sight.
I walk with Ti ... (read more)
It rained heavy, ridiculously heavy, when the heatwas at its peak, and then it went dry – the ebb & flowof the surface-water, the water soaked deep. It’sthin-on now, even vanished. A dry creeping towardslonger cold nights. The tank is down to 20 000 litres,or thereabouts. And no clean air for weeks, as farmershave burnt their tinderish stubble to ash, so volatilethe flames have mostly esca ... (read more)
for Lorraine and Tony
Not an expression of wealth but one of quiet desperation,the heat and dry eviscerating hope – a giant shadehouseof green cloth, and an above-ground keyholeswimming pool, with avocadoes and ferns edgingthe cement slabs, aura in the midday twilight.
And the red dust, too fine to shut out, decoratingthe aqua-emerald waters, a wound open from an attackof the inland leviathan, ... (read more)
A horizontal twister, but none of the dramatic lifeand drop of hellraiser rides. Sedate, but vertiginousenough to rearrange conceptions, open perceptionsto a very different York – those eucalypt canopiesa blur of recognition shifting the boundaries
... (read more)