Welcome to our latest Poetry Blast, dear reader. It has, admittedly, been a while between missives, but your patience will certainly be rewarded with the juicy, kooky collection of poems we’ve been putting together in the months since we last corresponded.
Continuing his epistolary exchange-by-cento with Michele Seminara, Stuart Barnes’ Airs or Wind, opens this edition, remixing the words of Elizabeth Bishop, in her own heated and often wickedly sardonic correspondence with Robert Lowell. (Stuart recently won the Thomas Shapcott Prize for Poetry, which means his first book The Staysails, will be published by UQP this year, you saw him here first, justsayin’)
The other letters in this collection are unanswerable, and all the more tender and elusive for it. Alice Allan addresses her poem, Dear David, to the Sydney poet and novellist David Brooks, whose work accompanies her in insomnia, and its related musings on the uselessness of kookaburras, social awkwardness and anger. Adam Ford, in That was Mars the other night I’m sure of it, pens a kind of love-letter to the cosmos during the deep darkness of bin night.
Two poems by Holly Isemonger – sad witch psalms ;( and Aesthetics round out the collection. Written with the aid of Google Translate (one of my favourite toys by far), the poems are a kind of correspondence, or perhaps mis-correspondence, across languages, and discuss in madcap detail the sex lives of surrealists and sibyls respectively.
I’m super-psyched to share these poems with you – and, as always, you can always respond to them, or begin your own poetic dalliances, by contributing to Epistles at Dawn project via our Submittable page.