Where does a poem exist?

May 21, 2009 at 7:25 am | Posted in blogging, links, writing | 17 Comments
Tags: , , ,

“I’ve always liked your emphasis on poetry as communication, a way of binding communities. It marks a very fundamental difference in thinking with wide implications. In my mind making the distinction between poetry as selfexpression and poetry as communication leads one to an emphasis on traditional craft as opposed to unrestrained experimentation for its own sake.”

Squires to Barbara Jane Reyes.

I was thinking today that this train of thought which begins “Is poetry a form of self expression or a form of communication?” can also lead to a question I encountered over at Geof Huth‘s, “Where does a poem exist?” If it is simply an expression, when it has gone from inside the head of the poet onto the page, it is finished and lies flat as piece of text, an artefact.

If it is an act of communication the poem exists as an alive thing, an event in the mind of the reader or listener and the text becomes just a device, a link, a catalyst for creating waves of change.

Lately I have been thinking I should comment less and instead turn them into posts with links but I’m lazy and don’t have the time.


This is me.

May 14, 2009 at 6:50 pm | Posted in blogging, links, memoirs | 12 Comments
Tags: , ,

I had so many good ideas for a post today.

I wanted to thank Harmonie for her kind words about “The Puzzle Box” and say how much I enjoy seeing photos of it in different situations in different countries. For some reason the photos make me feel a strange and unique variety of happiness.

I wanted to thank Graham Nunn for buying a copy and assure the long streak of poetry cool that only the most honest of feedback is of any use.

I wanted to let you all know that I was on the radio in the USA again, courtesy of the best resource for contemporary spoken word poetry on the web, Wordsalad.

I wanted to continue The Masters Of Prose Style. Chico Mahalo is a master of what I call ‘invisible craft’, in that the prose is so good it disappears and only the voices and the story remain. He is also one of the best examples of writers-who-blog whose writing is good enough to be published anywhere, if the editors and agents of the world weren’t so lazy that they won’t go looking. They complain about the number of submissions they receive and the size of their slush piles but all they would have to do is forget about submissions, read a few blogs and the problem would be solved. Of course then they wouldn’t have people ‘submitting’ to them all the time and they would have to ask nicely instead which would take all the joy out of the job.

Chico Mahalo, master of modern prose, A Persistent Illusion.

And finally I wanted to say, woohoo, 24 hours til beer o’clock, rage on, I say,

Featured in Hit And Run Magazine

April 10, 2009 at 5:09 pm | Posted in contemporary poetry, links, memoirs, poetry | 17 Comments
Tags: , , ,

Hit And Run Magazine is one the coolest concepts in magazines I’ve seen for a long time. I am proud as a penguin to be featured in it.

Notes for a Poem by Paul Squires in “Hit And Run Magazine.”

You can read the piece of prose this became here. Nancy Bird Walton AO OBE (1915-2009).

(Hit And Run are currently asking for submissions, why wouldn’t you?)


February 17, 2009 at 8:17 pm | Posted in australian poetry, links | 14 Comments
Tags: , , ,

Those of you have been around a while will know that being myself is one of the things I find most difficult. In fact, the myth of the consistent self is one of my favourite themes. That is one of the reasons I have always found these interview thingies so perplexing.

You can see my latest attempt to define method in my madness at the ever fascinating Another Lost Shark.

Where do the words come from #5, Paul Squires.

Thanks, Graham.

No More Blogging For Me.

December 1, 2008 at 7:04 am | Posted in blogging, links, writing | 24 Comments
Tags: ,

When I first started this blog I used to say, I am not blogging, I am creating a multidimensional text that reflects my interest in non-linear time, art history and theory and playing with wordage. I went around talking to other writers, expressing my opinion honestly and trying to engage in meaningful and robust discussion. I did what I could to offer encouragement and support. I met some wonderful people, some interesting and skillful writers.
I am not blogging anymore.
And here is why. ( “Art Predator earns gingaTao seal of approval.” Check out the comments section.) Oh and if you like have a look at the related poem in Bolts Of Silk (thanks Juliet).
So no more ‘blogging’ for me. Instead I will be posting my writing and expressing my opinion honestly, engaging in healthy and robust discussion and offering support and encouragement to the people around me. Oh, that’s right, business as usual. Now if I connect this doodad to the concept of respecting the dissenting voice, hmm,

Blogging as Art

November 16, 2008 at 11:00 am | Posted in blogging, links, writing | 7 Comments
Tags: , ,

Someoldfart once said that all art is performance art, a clip and a trim, flip, over-easy punctuation with that please, what’s for breakfast,

Agenor’s Friends.

October 6, 2008 at 6:35 pm | Posted in writing | 7 Comments
Tags: ,

Where do the fishyfish end
and the flowers begin?
Somewhere beyond

There is this connection in my head between William Blake the famous poet and William Morris the artist who worked in wallpaper for Wilde and Co. Grandiloquent gentry in English mansions.

All things must pass, Sir Ian, they said gently lowering the pinebox. Was a wonderful run in the finest of houses. He lounges and lights another cigarette. Not quite time for a eulogy yet and surveys the shabbiest of rooms, wallpaper torn, gilt paint peeling from around the mirror and intones,

Where do the fishyfish end
and the flowers begin
somewhere beyond

(And here is a big thankyou to the incredible Aletha Kuschan who really should put a link from her WordPress blog to her portfolio website.)

Next Page »

Create a free website or blog at WordPress.com.
Entries and comments feeds.