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Contents:


  1. An Australian Journal of Ecopoetry and Ecopoetics
  2. Full text of "SENSE AND SILENCE: COLLECTED POEMS"
  3. 7 Poems About Famous Artworks

Perry, for example, once advised the young John Tranter: Bruce Beaver, for example, while expressing much admiration for Perry also agrees with John Tranter that she was utterly independent: Les Murray worked with Perry at her journal Poetry Australia in the late s and s before he too had a personal disagreement with her. The peculiarity of Grace was that she had two voices. She had a kind of out-going extrovert charm and good humour and bounding energy that was expressed in one voice, and occasionally, mostly at poetry readings, when she read her poetry, there was a strange, lost-little-girl voice that she used to read in … that was the personality that wrote her poems Alexander , Such an approach to poetic craft sounds remarkably contemporary and deserving of renewed assessment.

Considering the importance of William Carlos Williams on the development of avant-garde poetry in Australia during the s and s, Livio Dobrez writes:.

Unfortunately, in illustrating this influence, he confines his attention to male poets: It is arguable, however, that none did more than Grace Perry — in her publishing ventures and in her writing — to see that it was the American model — especially Williams — which set the pace for radically transforming Australian poetry. In her early poetry she often explored this medical experience with all the impressionistic precision of William Carlos Williams.

An Australian Journal of Ecopoetry and Ecopoetics

Perry juxtaposes the use of traditional quatrains and rhyming schemes with an original and dramatic personification of a serious medical condition, all the while maintaining a subtly comic tone. I find this poem unforgettable: In her mature work, Perry moves in a more experimental direction, as she employs unpunctuated free-forms with a greater stress on spontaneity, even embracing a degree of irrationality as part of her imagist technique.

This movement follows the example of William Carlos Williams. In describing this new movement in poetry — to which Perry belonged both as poet and publisher — Chris Wallace-Crabbe observes:.

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Full text of "SENSE AND SILENCE: COLLECTED POEMS"

This verse is extremely free, the syntax is commonplace … Moreover, the verse follows no rational logic but that of the concurrence of observed images, images which are set down with a distinct immediate vividness Wallace-Crabbe, cited by McAuley , At the same time, Perry is a poet who locates the human as part of nature as complex biological system and not as separate, or above, nature. She draws much of her imagery from the natural world of the rural Southern Highlands of NSW where she lived on a cattle and sheep stud from the late s until her death.

They are praised, however, in order to explore her human concerns.

Grand Slam Poetry Champion - Harry Baker - TEDxExeter

Perry writes few poems of pure praise for the natural world. Nor does she write many poems that explore the question of dwelling. Perry is an imagist, and the natural environment is the largest source of that imagery, but her subjects are the human concerns of mental health, love, regret, loss, bereavement and what is unattainable.

Her fourth book, Black Swans at Berrima , is a collection of around one hundred untitled lyrics that explore her specific rural location in just this way. The effect of this poetics of place is well described by Perry herself:. Perry is sensitive to the reality of risk and the stress of the uncontrollable. Depression scarring is one cost of living in this complicated and unpredictable world.

7 Poems About Famous Artworks

As Jensen argues: Her scarf — a rainbow of flowers moving in the sky Her visit — a transient painting on holiday's floor Painting mom's smile with broken crayons — smiling Winny Intruding her voice on the phone Switching on the hearing aid: With her saree hitched up between the legs my wife in bed Raising her saree above the thighs bends to ease and blocks my way Rising early to make tea for everyone the newly wed wife As the duo sit lights go out — sofa springs creaking Dissatisfied with each other the two of us in an empty house In the grey of dusk sway between hope and despair their dream promises Leaning sideways she looks at mango picklt caries ache She repeats my ills to express her anger but I know only her love Basking in the sun files nails in garden chair my wife's friend No joy in lighting the candles this Diwali: Awaits his son's phone call from the border: His son's voice not relayed by wire: Distance mounts each time he visits home: Shadow of age on the wall — second full moon Whiteness of the moon and rocks howl with the wind- December in the veins The sun not yet set but the full moon rises as if in a hurry Enveloping all of the moon at night- white chrysanthemums Setting moon leaves behind sparkle on the waves Noisy birds don't let me sleep: Through the window gaze at the moon hid behind cloud after cloud Caressing her pregnant belly — water lily Still night nude kisses in park images haunt Standing behind the window bars observes darkness in shapes Night bombing leaves the garden white as death Vultures waiting for the leftovers of the sacrifice In the ruins searching her photo: Rutting dogs sleepless the whole night cries for sex Parents pelt stones at the mating street dogs- nosey children Nothing changes the night's ugliness in the lone bed Alone in a shrunken bed aged love In the well studying her image a woman Knitting silence my wife on the bench after lunch The lone mushroom — a pregnant woman stares out of the window Under the tree in meditation sunken a lone stone Alone on the National Highway Hanuman So many headlights and my myopic vision- walking difficult They walk on red coal matching steps with drum-beats: Keeps him sleepless fireworks and high decibel puja all night Sleeping on the cold floor a mother with child Awaits sunrise to hire an auto safely sits at the bus stand Two women argue over price and weight offish: Carbon flakes drift high above the flat I cough they widen the roads Burning tap water and seething house in the morning heat wave cripples Chanting mantra with wine in one hand and torch in other Building bridges where there is no river— the politician A mother and child stuck between concrete rubbles: Setting ablaze Muslim houses and children seekers of Ram White-yellow trail the Mirage on mission: Amidst roaring guns clouds blossom snow lotus: On the margin of home-to-work-to-home routine — life's achievements Shivering in the cold young boys sell balloons late night- New Year revellers Journeying tries to raise his silence to prayer Never enough the earth's hunger for graves: In measured pace hit for divinity two political golfers Disposable blades one over the other- dusty switchboard Seismic lab a network of cobweb: No Zen thought — scribbling haiku with gun in hand Staring at the huge stone penis at Shinto shrine- two female lovers With her breasts bobbing up and down she challenges the moon as she walks Sees the eyes in walls as I rise to kiss her Drowned in empty whiteness: Wiping tears from each other's eyes two souls in love Writing with strands of watery hair on her back a love haiku Love of three decades extinguished in a moment- anger in the mouth Shedding bitterness of the tiff in sex act she and I Moist lips parting on a tea cup promising expectation Bending down to pick up apple she presses piercing embrace She preys the body behind obsidian sheath fatuous flap After burns leaving the body the dead skin Her palms the only lingerie in Fashion Show Crouching out of the bath with hand on the genital his new tenant A pregnant woman bending over the mushroom bloomed under a tree Awaits the bloom of love in her womb: Lovely with hope the glow in her eyes: Her body — the night's perfection in dim light Seeing her a liquid sensation between the thighs On a canvas a poet in twilight painting her skin Sensing her presence he stares down the street- lingering perfume A star in making — but an island appears: Sipping gin with lime he says he loves sex each night but hates the smell Bleeding fingers draw new domes of betrayal in windy matrices His tongue between the teeth- sudden sneeze Fed up with my sex she threatens to move to our daughter's room Leaves him alone to escape daily rape in bed his wife The bedroom altar no substitute for temple- sacrifice of sex Winter's chill — sweating under the gown her thighs and breasts Scanning her stooping breasts — the first night Measuring life with ejaculatory rhythm — envies sparrow sports Her thighs — resting place for my head on bed Trying to decipher the complex curves on my palms in the morning rays Fondling her breasts I incite a poem on her body A film of mist between my eyes and her image Locked in her eyes the bright glow of the goddess Melting in the colour of the heart the sun in the west A lizard shrieks before the climax: The blood passes through green veins I hear the heart play melody of dews Every breath love in action — fire in the hole No bottom reader but the shape and the lines do tell she can stir the soul The aching limbs and blood dripping between the legs: With his head between the knees he squats and smells the body's sweat Bones rattle to make a song of flesh in the night- togetherness Insomnia blaming her not old age Lies with her in freezing cold: Invisible jangles odours presences- twinges in bed Drying on the line pork venison and beef-- the room smells their vests Don't know their tongue — the stars beyond the mountains whisper among themselves While I lie alone shapeless fears rest on my eyes heavier than time Searching salvation a moth flies into the lamp: Colours sparkle in the morning's dew on the blooms- my breathing changes Nobody cares burial of my dreams in coal dust Besides allergies so many other complaints: Bronchial breathing — the only sound audible in the soulless space Cleaning dusts from the old sandals for a walk: Peeling paint from the drawing room- shadows flicker Seeing no image in the mirror of time- foggy blankness Hot bath or no bath — the cough persists unmindful of the New Year's eve Sees in a flash — opening the eyes takes a long time Linked with anxiety my comfort at his home: Fear of forgetting — car insurance premium paid a month ahead Fears the approach of night with him — twisting tassels In the lone room prefers haiku to yoga drinking scotch Sunday afternoon- waving into gin two drops of lime Difficult to change I am what I have disowned- dressing down salads The bed is short and the covering shorter — crouching alone Unruffled by passions and clamours — Buddha's calm Seeks Buddha's stone bowl to win the bamboo princess: Her heart a thousand doors of oneness Disappears into dust her last photograph Trying to read good news I look at the lines taking new turns on my palms Looking for riches in her left hand shortening days on the pavement They sculpture psyche in the city of dumb dreams: Pulling out white hairs she reminds increasing age: Still a child- embracing a breast sleeps her man Exchanging anger with roses: They all walk like shadows in night for themselves Lying on his table a few unanswered letters and unrealized dreams A little child chases the painted dreams on butterfly wings Two butterflies racing with each other perch on the wire Sudden rain drops wet the wings of a butterfly lying at the basil Lost my way again asking for direction: Locked between the cracks cockroaches in the alcove dropping their eggs Awaiting their turn to feast on a dead dog crows in a circle A crow hits the scare crow and cracks its earthen head A crow picking at the ripe papaya and another waiting A yellow spider on the blooming marigold weaves tiny webs Two lizards fight to mate on the wall — balancing act After the quake a dog sniffing his master's presence in the rubble Searching Christ's sandals in the pile of shoes at the church's entrance Traffic snails through the water-logged road I feel a manhole cover Dust mites devouring the secrets preserved in my diary Seeing my shadow three fish in the pond look for a safe corner Sitting with its tail coiled round sweets in the box a lizard A hooker hides behind the green letter box: Too heavy these man-made machines choking weight Students murmuring over the class test result: In the moving train sleeping on his feet the newspaperman Flowers inviting seeds of love scattered in the perfumed garden Looking for a prey a snake slides through the fence warmth of the sun Safe from sun under nascent leaf a gold fish With sunrise gone to sleep the morning moon Two dreamy eyes await the rising sun through the fogged window A sweating sun after the midnight chill- changing hues of spring The sun conceals aeons of darkness planets mirror in the sky Closing its eyes in the setting sun — the Ganges in autumn He sees art in her wanton dress- crawling curls A butterfly rests on the butterfly tattooed on her sunning back Setting sun leaves behind sparkle on the waves Suddenly rise the sleeping waves from far off- 'quake in the sea Swollen sea boiling over the head- roars increase The sun rolls on the waving Ganges- whitens love-hope On the wave's crest travels a fallen leaf- rot on the bank Couldn't erase the wind's soliloquy from the waves breaking on the shore Travelling back from the waves of bliss a foam-leap On the waves rise shells in accents lie with love — beauty on the shore Bathing in thousands they float lamps on her breast the river sparkles Knee-deep in the pond standing obeisantly nude worshippers Ends with ritual one more morning — sun-worshippers in the pond Awaits the sunrise in the chilly Ganges a nude worshipper Sees visions eating food of gods- mushroom Fills the void with illusions and self- names them god December almost over what new wish to add to Christmas wish list On Christmas eve santa claus takes leave — mist on chairs in pairs Standing between flowers Jesus on the cross Making holes in the wooden cross white ants Colours of envy stick on their colleagues' faces: Krishna offering parijata to Radha: Narada looks on The temple's dome in the flooded Ganga- empty kalash Fermenting spring in the arms of lovers: The cherry pink in the spring — a framed nude Embrace suffocates in bed — chill seeps through slit Wintry chill — enters the cold bed: Winter rain bends the roses low- lumbar pain The long night passes sleeplessly I deep -breathe the December chill Alone and sleepless count hours by asthmatic bouts- the long winter nights A part of the night hidden in the morning moon: The first night spots on the sheet: Long wintry night — opening the mail box for a date Vulnerable darkness of the opening: Seek my haven where the sky arches the sea— a white gull leads Stars mock his drinking alone on the cement bench: Spend our short time together after a long watching the moon Along the road in shanties they shack up — dreams in smoke Seeking smell in cactus flowers: Clouds don't rain coldly come and go- icy bed All night rain the gaping roof her shelter Sudden rain on the way home — a peacock After the night's rain the sky's still overcast: Through thick clouds sees an arc of moon — her belly Brightness straining through the trees: Lonely nights and days of non-stop rains — depression mounts Travelling on the wings of winter ill news Celebrating return of the light and warmth: Feels the shadow with wet fingers in the fog Slowly clears the morning fog — end of the year Swollen fogs ready to make way for the sun Her make-up spoilt in the evening mist: After dust storm rain alloys with cool colours: Waxing crescent searches the setting sun worshipped in water Sees beard shining in the mirror: In a flash trapping eternity- the camera Post-lunch solitude filled with thoughts that couldn't become even a haiku A sly lover ejaculates poison- sting operation With glittering diamond on the navel swinging an item bomb With a telescope view the lunar eclipse- midnight shadows Out of wood and stone he carves his vision of peace: Suffer animals with a peculiar smell: Crossing the shadows in the Indo-Pak match- thelast ball Drunken with force spreading the century's sore: Freedom to kill with faith in divine regime: Watches the snow rain with finger on the trigger: Reaching nowhere — ideas flying from the minds of top echelons Himself doesn't listen but teaches communication Her anger shifts from manure to cellphone: Winking at her in the dark — power cut Two peacocks on a dancing spree: Dancing a few muddied crocs: Nibbling a leaf between her fingers a dragon-fly A small frog leaping on my hand from the pothole Birds crouch in nests along the snowclad path — wheezing silence Away from home — smell of frying fish in the air Swimming afresh in the glass box two gold fish Peace in silence of the heart and body's cells: Weaving its nest grass blade by grass blade R.

Sad and dull his backyard poultry- fears of bird flu Mooching about a rose petal in the sun- a butterfly An orgasmic view from behind the car's window the Taj Mahal Perches nervously on the fence a squirrel nibbling its luck Wintry evening — my grandson toddling round room to room Sudden screech of tyres: Selling tea a mustachioed Mizo in shanty Awaits the train in November night — insects all around Truce between two lizards inside the light fixture Ten fish in the tank rising in twos threes or fours to the bait atop Hiding in the shade of toilet brush in the bath a frightened mouse Awaits a rickshaw under the gulmohar tree a girl with lilac Jumped over the head a sticky frog on the ground- stoning to death Alone the cellphone on her bed rings In the changing hues of rainbow in the east: Flashing a rainbow at the dining table her diamond nose-pin Sunlight behind the temple cloud's edge Glued to the rock feeling the river's cold flame my hands and feet Sun rising late slow arrival of winter feverish warmth Fallen tea drops reminding me of the guests last evening Empty shells about the quadrangle: English teacher Children return home splashing through the pool on road school bags on their heads Moving between the fingers of a toddler the first winter rain 8.

Emitting a mouldy smell her blouse Before parting she slips to the floor- raindrops fall From the edge jumps into the pond a green frog Inhales sun through the foggy morning a leaping frog A mass of cloud floating below the plane: Flying over the rose tattooed on her back a butterfly Abandoned her mother on the wall fading streaks Awaiting welcome midst the same old worries the new Samvat Stench of burning leaves mounts with smoke in the evening: East faced yoga in the fog — breathlessness Naval cadets master the waves in Peacock Bay pelicans bathe Two barking dogs break the night's monotony competition Pigeons fly for shelter through smoke blazing windows Looking for shade under the shapeless cloud a rag picker Scrounging for scrap in a pile of garbage empty Christmas Slowly dissolves the mud-brick house of worship: Prayerful thoughts she invites with smile: Her wrinkled fingers on the rudraksh rosary: Leaves fall to touch his shrine — mukti Awaiting the wind's blow at door autumn leaves Parrots stop chirping on the guava tree — autumn dusk Hangs a fading flower between the twigs Yellow lemons still hanging after the storm sunny backyard At the kitchen door await a handful of wheat two pigeons On way home a crow shits on my head: Academics in convocation gowns- circus clowns Each morning the same prayers — God's silence On the wall witness of the past moth eaten Morning's foul smell the birds too change their tunes: Dusts settle on the rising creepers flowers grey Shelling the peas the toddler swallows some grins with delight Streetlights die with the onrush of rain — walking to silence Greets no known faces at the street corner kiosk: Full moon waves through the branches at window- wintry night This morning sun misses the warmth — chilly wind Naphthalene smell oozes from the sweater — fourth November In the crowded mall a santa claus asking for my autograph Picnickers boat on the edge of Maithon lake dropping litter In the shade behind a plastic sheeting hut a sick woman Her lonely grief melts in the candle wax evening's dark floor Swallows the pills and chants mantra to sleep: Sits on a mound overlooking the camp awaits signal Flying to the tube light one after the other two owls picking moths Ants crowd under the hibiscus — snake's broken shell Noisy parrots returning to the tree: Hides behind a naked tree the full moon The wet pages of yesterday's newspaper: A pregnant clown on the squalid mattress- crying inside Boarding the train he looks for his luggage- cries of theft Evokes spirit to ease knots of pain cyst on the neck He fears seeking intercession from a Wiccan: Not a day without begging gods to solve problems- faith in helplessness Reciting my nightly woes no one hears Stretches his arms and wiggles the toes in bed: Making lemon tea and warm buttery toast — birds singing outside Treading with spring feet my grandson now nine months They squat to ease along the railway track — transistors sing Waiting in the lounge the only passenger: Fit of sneezes no winter allergy: Breathing afresh up from the abyss — meditation A blue mist swirls around his head- floating hand It's not yet over sex is eternal delight I wait till next night She goes out into sultry heat — feeding time Her fingers push the roots into the earth- touch-me-not Her voice distant yet I can hear her breasts Softness of her lips and dancing of her tongue — warm wetness Smells the happiness of earth in the khus she wears- summer' s first rain It is because the air Is full of writing, because the wave is still: That we know for certain, and what was left behind-- a store-bought ladder, a broken window, and fifty-one seconds of videotape, abstract as an overture.

But we can envision moonlight coming in through the broken window, casting a bright shape over everything--the paintings, the floor tiles, the velvet ropes: The policemen, lost as tourists, stand whispering in the galleries: And ekphrasis isn't just limited to paintings; it can be about any visual image, including photography Sexton on Van Gogh "The town does not exist except where one black-haired tree slips up like a drowned woman into the hot sky. Ginsberg on Cezanne "In the foreground we see time and life swept in a race toward the left hand side of the picture where shore meets shore.


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