Haplophrentis carinatus
It’s obvious to readers of this blog that I’ve been reading a lot of poetry lately. I have a funny relationship with poetry. I have published a little in Canadian journals, but nothing for 10 years or so now. I have been involved in the Canadian literary scene, on the margins, as an associate editor of ARC magazine for a couple of issues, through which I stumbled around the Ottawa literary scene. I haven’t written much poetry for a few years, although lately I have been writing a little more. But mostly, I have been reading, and with few exceptions, …
A piece of William Blake poetry I uncovered today, whilst randomly flipping through my Penguin version of The Complete Poems: O for a voice like thunder and a tongue To drown the throat of war!�When the senses Are shaken, and the soul is driven to madness, Who can stand? When the souls of the oppressed Fight in the troubled air that rages, who can stand? When the whirlwind of fury comes from the Throne of God, when the frowns of his countenance Drive the Nations together, who can stand? When Sin claps his broad wings over the battle, And sails …
The Earth and moon as seen from Mars It has often been said that we are the universe gazing upon itself. We have made eyes and sent them to Mars, and beyond that. and we are able to hold the mirror a long way from our face and see a view of our planet that almost loses us in the blackness of the space between spaces. This photo is not just a photo of Earth from Mars, it is also a photograph of a sunrise over the island on which I live, off the west coast of North America. As …
Just discovered Les Murray, who is no stranger to antipodean readers and many others no doubt, but is new to me: Cotton Flannelette Shake the bed, the blackened child whimpers, O shake the bed! through bleak lips that never will come unwry. And wearily the iron- framed mattress, with nodding, crockery bulbs, jinks on its way. Her brothers and sister take shifts with the terrible glued-together baby when their unsleeping absolute mother reels out to snatch an hour, back to stop the rocking and wring pale blue soap-water over nude bladders and blood-webbed chars. Even their cranky evasive father is …