An Army of Her Own

Recently, I had the privilege to be part of Mother Tongue’s Multilingual Poetry Night at Smith’s Alternative. During this event, “An Army of Her Own” poem finally took flight after a long time in the making. I didn’t know it at the time, but this event was part of the Poetry On The Move 2019 fringe festival. I was so impressed with their program. I look forward to seeing more in the future.

Photo courtesy of Mother Tongue

“Open Up” Update

Not long ago, I developed “Open Up”; an art installation with the purpose of bringing forward the forgotten power of words. It is a simple construction, where several origami shurikens with poems written on them are placed (both visibly and in hiding) in a book. This is an interactive installation; the public is invited to contribute to this installation with their own thoughts and to reflect on what words mean to them, how they use it and how it affects the others. I was overwhelmed by the generous support received from my fellow artists and poets, as well as from other members of the public.

During the critical feed-back session in my class, I really loved one particular comment, coming from my teacher. She had this vision of shurikens through the book shelves. I struggled with how to achieve this. I have a great respect for libraries and would not do anything that could be deemed as littering, or disrespectful. On the other hand, I felt that concealing the shurikens around the shelves or in the books may be exactly what is needed, to bring up the hidden power of words. It made me think with nostalgia back to the pre-internet times, when borrowing books from the library, I would find a random note from a total stranger, writing about the reasons they loved the book you were reading and asking you to continue writing about it. It resulted in charming chain-letters placed within the book for the next person to find.

However, what helped me make up my mind was the fact that mid project, the question was raised from members of the public not living in Canberra whether they could be considered to participate. This, and the willingness of other participants to keep on contributing poems, made me consider giving this project a new life, both on Social Media and around libraries and cultural institutions in Canberra, both in an analogue and a digital form.
I have created a QR code that links to the project’s explanation. This QR code will be attached to shuriken-poems who will be placed randomly but respectfully around cultural institutions. If you are the one finding our shurikens, please consider contributing your own, placing it in a location significant to you.

Also, you can chose to take images or selfies and upload them on the Social media with the hashtag #OpenUp.

Thank you.

Everything Is Normal Blues / Fractures

I feel privileged to have so many creative friends and to learn from them, share ideas and create new works together.

The very talented local musicians & composers Harvey Welsh and Chris Holly have came up with a new song that resonates with me quite a lot, in light of the latest political and economical developments. Harvey has given me permission to share it with my followers. In fact, he would love to see it shared by everyone, so please feel free to do so. Until they upload their song on a platform, you can follow them on triple J unearthed or on band camp, by clicking on these links. Listen to their other songs and give them some love here:

https://www.triplejunearthed.com/jukebox/play/track/8296531

https://thescreamingzucchinis.bandcamp.com/

You can listen to “Everything is normal blues” right here:

“Everything is normal blues” – something tells me that this song is going to top the charts and for the right reasons.

It also reminded me of a poem I wrote last year, but I never managed to put it out there, so here it is:

Fractures

The world is mad, and we’re all falling through the fractures
Of things half done, where we’re half right amidst the clamours;
Half spoken truths, to hide intentions and to ease the conscience
Just like half-hearted love, sold for a petty halfpence.

The world is staring through the bottom of the barrel, half-aware
Of all the halfwits and madmen who hold the mighty triggers
Over impressionable youngsters, bereft of father figures.
And we’re half way to chaos, delusion and despair.

Half whispered wishes abandoned in a lonely patch of green,
Half-hardy crops and chains of thoughts that wither unforeseen
A life half lived in fears of others and their hissing,
A pitiful existence, where half the words are missing.

Automatons perpetually trapped in rushing hours
Without a lot of feelings, half-broken and half-free,
Leaders of no one, sealing the deal that always sours,
Who know they’re only half the men they used to be.

A moon – half hidden, raising high above this madness,
Lights up the sky just like the full moon, with just the same bright light
And in the end, all gravitating halves will even out in roundness,
Making the world a whole again, setting its new and unexpected flight.