Skip to content

Content From Issue: Volume 4 Number 2 (August 2017)

Back to issue
From: Vol.04 N.02 – What are the animals saying?

What are the Animals Saying?

by Stuart Cooke

To think and write about the languages of animals is no anthropocentric indulgence. Increasingly, research from disciplines like biosemiotics and ethology is telling us that other animals (and plants, too) have developed all kinds of complex semiotic systems. When we think about how and why such systems are made, and how we might interpret them, we could be engaging in an ethological poetics. For me, ethological poetics is distinct from ecopoetics because it refers to the meaningful existence of expressive, lively creatures, as opposed to generalised conceptions of ‘environment’, ‘nature’, ‘ecology’, etcetera.

Ethological enquiry is also more than this, and importantly so in contested, colonised landscapes like Australia’s: I see it as a decolonial form of ecological practice, which subverts the old, imperialist fort surrounding Human Cognition and Culture. Such a subversion is but an extension of a much longer history of decolonial activism, in which Indigenous peoples have resisted colonialist classification as flora and fauna, and repositioned their arts, cultures and languages centrally within radical conceptualisations of unsettled, and unfurling, political intensities.

To consider the beings that have remained ‘flora and fauna’, however, is to attend to those myriad others whose lives and cultures have also been altered irrevocably by European invasion. In their efforts to unravel the Cartesian and Judeo-Christian strictures of the colonial imagination, poets and critics should think very carefully about the implications of First Nations’ onto-ecological terrain. In Australia, proper recognition of Aboriginal sovereignty implies recognition that other animals and plants also have their own Law.

Indeed, many of the poems in this issue encourage such profound, ethological (re)consideration. Here, the vision of the more-than-human is at once the arrival in human language of a thoroughly alternative semiotics, and a reappraisal both of what poetry is and where it might come from. In turn, the poems compel us to attend to the territory of their creatures, and often to surrounding territories as well. Together, they are poetic manifestations of the ethical reconstitution formulated by scholars like Karen Barad and Donna Haraway: the correct response to a radically exterior Other, the concern of an old ethics based on exchange between essentialist categories, has been replaced with “responsibility and accountability for the lively relationalities of becoming of which we are a part”.[i]

I must also make a comment about the poems that weren’t selected for this issue. Unsurprisingly, perhaps, BIRDS were by far and away the most popular subject of submissions. It is equally unsurprising to point out that birds are a common subject in poetry – not only in Australian poetry, as more provincial imaginations might surmise, but also in North and South American poetry, English poetry, Filipino poetry, and so on … Now, I have no problem – no problem at all – with writing about birds; in fact, I’d argue that birds (kingfishers, lyrebirds, blackbirds … ) have inspired some of the most extraordinary poems ever written. There are many excellent bird poems in this issue, too, which display a wide variety of perspectives and approaches to vocality (compare ‘Bird Song’ with ‘White-browed Babbler’, for example).

My problem with many of the unsuccessful submissions was that, invariably, the turn to a bird (more often than not, the bird’s article was indefinite) was little more than a token gesture towards a non-human animal. The bird, in other words, was simply the most convenient non-human object available, which required the least effort to hear or see. Time and time again, poets seemed to think that the invocation of a bird outside a study window, in flight or in a tree, was an original vector of thought. But birds are only the most conspicuous of our non-human companions, and many avian species are easily observed. Far from doing the really challenging work of acknowledging, thinking about and conceptualising (however provisionally) a different umwelt, most bird poems suggested reiterations of a bad colonial poetics: the form of the Other was hastily sketched, yearned after, and then erased before I was returned to the region of primary concern (the poet’s thoughts).

After birds, there were a lot of poems about bees and other insects, and a smattering about whales and other marine life. In most cases, though, the process was the same: the animal was at best a glimmer, at worst a cumbersome trace, which subsided beneath a clunky, unresponsive language.

In welcome contrast, the poems gathered here do nothing of the sort. While each could be positioned in a distinct location with relation to issues of mimesis, representation, form and vocality, each nevertheless bares the irrepressible mark of a non-human agency, be it a crab, a thylacine, a cybernetic flow of compost, or the complex, generative field of Country … These poems are compelling portraits of noisy, chattering environments, which refuse to be silenced by the brutal weight of capitalism and ongoing colonialism – those other C words, which are varieties of carelessness.

Notes:

[i] Barad in Donna Haraway, When Species Meet, Posthumanities (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 2008). p. 289

Published: July 2017
Stuart Cooke

is a poet and critic based on the Gold Coast, where he lectures at Griffith University. His books include Opera (2016) and Speaking the Earth’s Languages: a theory for Australian-Chilean postcolonial poetics (2013). His translation of Gianni Siccardi’s The Blackbird is forthcoming from Vagabond Press.

Back to issue
From: Vol.04 N.02 – What are the animals saying?

Woof

by Luke Beesley

Hopper aqua aqueduct innocent and messy in his lunch, Lynch wipes

the plane down with a squash ball and a toaster in it we see Braque’s fast-

idiousness. No better Braque in the idea of it breaking, so to speak, “Braque

Braque!” A cup of Hopper, pony! Show boats! In antiquity – spittle Hokusai-

like displaced underarms each morning – the surface of the canvas – paint-

erly rinsed eye of blue Hopper, string, emotive Dennis Hopper in earnest.

This afternoon he was caught in the untrimmed bush, puppy-dogged out

of obsolescence and barked. There was no train but the thought of rain.

No flesh like it. Thurs of a Thursday was the technique, all the way through

 to the early 21st C.

Published: July 2017
Luke Beesley

is a Melbourne-based poet. His third and fourth poetry collections, New Works on Paper (2013) and Jam Sticky Vision (2015), are published by Giramondo.

Back to issue
From: Vol.04 N.02 – What are the animals saying?

White-browed Babbler

by B. R. Dionysius

Squarrk-squarrairk, wheeit-wheeit, chur-r-r-r-r

Squarrk-squarrairk, wheeit-wheeit, chur-r-r-r-r

Squarrk-squarrairk, wheeit-wheeit, chur-r-r-r-r

Squarrk-squarrairk, wheeit-wheeit, chur-r-r-r-r

Squarrk-squarrairk, wheeit-wheeit, chur-r-r-r-r

Squarrk-squarrairk, wheeit-wheeit, chur-r-r-r-r

Squarrk-squarrairk, wheeit-wheeit, chur-r-r-r-r

Squarrk-squarrairk, wheeit-wheeit, chur-r-r-r-r

       Tchuk

Tchuk, tchuk, tchuk, tchuk, tchuk

Tchuk, tchuk, tchuk, tchuk, tchuk

Tchuk, tchuk, tchuk, tchuk, tchuk

Tchuk, tchuk, tchuk, tchuk, tchuk

Tchuk, tchuk, tchuk, tchuk, tchuk

Published: July 2017
B. R. Dionysius

was founding Director of the Queensland Poetry Festival. He has published over 500 poems in literary journals, anthologies, newspapers and online. His eighth poetry collection, Weranga was released in 2013. He teaches English at Ipswich Grammar School and lives in Riverhills, Brisbane

Back to issue
From: Vol.04 N.02 – What are the animals saying?

Watch

by Susan Richardson

I’ve learnt to not spot,

to disregard logs,

to track absence.

 

I’ve traced his prints –

my fingertips have kissed the space

where his paws nimbled

for an instant.

 

I’ve scooped and microscoped spraint,

grown intimate with his prey.

By counting the rings of its scales,

I’ve aged the trout he duskly ate.

 

Others’ spraint I’ve left in place ­–

on rocks where waters web and knot,

in the underdark of bridges.

I’ve trained my nose to know

which is toaded with bones,

who’s aching to mate, or cubbing.

 

I’ve switched to snacking on carp

and crayfish,   un   zipped

amphibian     skins, garnished

the grass with tail fins and jelly.

 

Now oaked among roots

I  can  feel

the  river  dream  him  again.

 

Quickslide

down

the bankside

 

tarka  my  way

upstream

Published: July 2017
Susan Richardson

Welsh poet Susan Richardson’s third collection of poetry, skindancing, was published by Cinnamon Press in 2015. She is currently poet-in-residence with both the Marine Conservation Society and the global animal welfare initiative, World Animal Day. Her fourth collection, Words the Turtle Taught Me, themed around endangered marine species, will be published in 2018.
www.susanrichardsonwriter.co.uk

Back to issue
From: Vol.04 N.02 – What are the animals saying?

Troway Honey Trail

by Andrew Jeffrey
  1. watching for attacks by mammals

 

neat flat lawn                           NO FRACK placards

scattered

 

look back down

cloud mass                                            trace

           

white hives

step down

toward

valley bottom

 

brush stroke whisps

spruce

open air bluster

soars across vision

didn’t get span

or scale

 

turbine                                     bigger than

you think

   

 

  1. Disorder

 

A SWEET disorder in the dress

Kindles in clothes a wantonness:—

A lawn about the shoulders thrown

Into a fine distractión,—

An erring lace, which here and there

Enthrals the crimson stomacher,—

A cuff neglectful, and thereby

Ribbands to flow confusedly,—

A winning wave, deserving note,

In the tempestuous petticoat,—

A careless shoe-string, in whose tie

I see a wild civility,—

Do more bewitch me, than when art

Is too precise in every part.

A SWEET disorder in the dress

Kindles in clothes a wantonness:—

A lawn about the shoulders thrown

Into a fine distractión,—

An erring lace, which here and there

Enthrals the crimson stomacher,—

A cuff neglectful, and thereby

Ribbands to flow confusedly,—

A winning wave, deserving note,

In the tempestuous petticoat,—

A careless shoe-string, in whose tie

I see a wild civility,—

Do more bewitch me, than when art

Is too precise in every part.

A SWEET disorder in the dress

Kindles in clothes a wantonness:—

A lawn about the shoulders thrown

Into a fine distractión,—

An erring lace, which here and there

Enthrals the crimson stomacher,—

A cuff neglectful, and thereby

Ribbands to flow confusedly,—

A winning wave, deserving note,

In the tempestuous petticoat,—

A careless shoe-string, in whose tie

I see a wild civility,

Do more bewitch me, than when art

Is too precise in every part.

A SWEET disorder in the dress

Kindles in clothes a wantonness:—

A lawn about the shoulders thrown

Into a fine distractión,—

An erring lace, which here and there

Enthrals the crimson stomacher,—

A cuff neglectful, and thereby

Ribbands to flow confusedly,—

A winning wave, deserving note,

In the tempestuous petticoat,—

A careless shoe-string, in whose tie

I see a wild civility,—

Do more bewitch me, than when art

Is too precise in every part.

 

 

  1. Jars

Pine

pollen

tasting test

testosterone

brown toast

medicinal

fresh toilet

Christmas

cut down

evergreen

mud stick

 

Meadow

bee loud sound truss

long summer song

pricks yellow and blue

race to gorge seduction

yellow rattle     saxifrage

ragged robin    crow foot

 

off limits

 

Lavendar

sticky jar almost empty

amber oozing

Batch no. L1607

currants tea strainer

slightly queasy

easy on toast

Published: July 2017
Andrew Jeffrey

is a practice based PhD student at Sheffield Hallam University writing open form poetry about encounters with animals in particular locations.

Back to issue
From: Vol.04 N.02 – What are the animals saying?

The Fox and the Hare

by Anthony Lawrence

The scare tactics of the hare are not lost on the fox:

tight circles going nowhere in a trapeze of light

as though the spoor that leads to a mating season

were sleight-of-hand in a hand-me-down winter coat.

 

A ditch is a busted suitcase filled with moonlight,

a roadkill quoll its strewn contents.

The hare is shadow-boxing with itself in a squall

of intention, up on its feet to uppercut a rival.

 

The fox needs no introduction, but when it steps out

into the spotted wreckage of a death in headlight glass,

it barks as the hare ducks and weaves to make a leveret.

Straw, straw, the little raven clawhammers a dirge

 

over alder trees stripped to a dieback of welcome.

In the overtaking lanes of endangerment, the wind

through Triabunna cranes is a mongrel.

The loading docks of the hunting lodge are skinned

 

to the foundations. The dinner table surface

of a sawn-off sassafras is ringed as a sawmill blade.

The fox and the hare square off like a magic trick.

A double take is a hawk and its shadow at work.

Published: July 2017
Anthony Lawrence

Anthony Lawrence’s most recent book of poems is Headwaters (Pitt Street Poetry, 2016). His books and individual poems have won many awards, and his poetry has been translated into a number of languages, including Italian, German, Slovenian, and Hungarian. He is a Senior lecture at Griffith university, Gold Coast, where he teaches Creative Writing.

Back to issue
From: Vol.04 N.02 – What are the animals saying?

Sulphur-crested Cockatoos

by Simon Patton

Disobey-One,

Disobey-Two,

Disobey Cockatoodle-doo

― Skipping song

 

They rip strips of sky starkly in two

with their rasping shriek, yet its depth —

for all their violence — is rendered

more subtly blue, offset spectacularly

by sulphur. A flock in a dead December paddock

Christmas-lights tree branches

with immaculate, ice-cream ikons.

They never like the seagull,

like the crow, like the sacred ibis

scavenge guttered cities. In a joyfully

vicious streak, they throw the still beauty

of haunting European and Asian poems

fatally off balance, avenging human nature,

the child-mind. They are: beautifully

undamaged by habit,

savage with wild-open living.

Their gently unbowed fierce Australian heads

gaze steadily at the sun

and other starlights, out of this world

and back.

Published: July 2017
Simon Patton

translates Chinese literature. He lives with his partner, cat and Sealyham the Terrier near Chinaman Creek in Central Victoria. Recent work has appeared in Translation and Literature, the Rochford Street Review, Cordite, Asia Literary Review and the Sydney Review of Books.

Back to issue
From: Vol.04 N.02 – What are the animals saying?

Queer Seaweed: Oeuvre on the desires and inclinations of Basin Head’s Chondrus crispus

by Alix Villanueva

Oeuvre on the desires and inclinations of Basin Head’s Chondrus crispus

Prologue[i]

 

 

Chapter 1. The Dance

mid eulittoral[ii]

we float, my siblings and I,

wedded to

mussels blue

adjoined in byssal lace

in buoyant phototropic[iii] dreams, we dream

of our open-watered cousins

slender and sporesexual

in delicate robes of dichotomous branching

while we content ourselves with
broad                           flat                               fronds

each season, my cousin

blushes a different colour

red, yellow, green

encrusting and encrusted

to precious rocky substrates

life is different out there

salinious

kinetic

in Basin Head

lagoonlife is “suboptimal”[iv] they say

too hot[v]

not salty enough[vi]

yet here I sit, fleshiest bit

rotund even, weighing             a          wet                  half                  kilo

dancing a deep purple tango

with a sweet depressed mollusc

Mytilus edulis

a dulcet name for a “soft unsegmented body”[vii]

molle

cocooned in a “calcareous shell”[viii]

elsewhere

sessile and bedbound

here

my anchor, my mainstay

she dances in my skirts and clings to me tightly

filtering our waters for a bite-sized snack

//and there are times where my fronds brush up against her protruding syphon, or my

thick purple flesh slips into her unlatched shell//

her statocysts[ix] tell her I’m here

she feels me more than I feel her

and we dance,

bobbing along the Mere sludge bottom.

Chapter 2. The Green Crab

emerald pincers on a thick carapace

exo

skeletal cutlery

for inquisitive probings

she maps                                 diagonally

Basin Head’s estuary

Carcinus maenas

Carcinoid menace

the colon – iser

invading the flesh, the tight space between shell and plant cell

tangled in our fabrications

her nippers clamp open the mussel’s shell

mandibles

sucking on succulent flesh

on the tender yellow mantle nestled within

delighted and delighting

entwined in this predatory caress

the pair sink and I with them

a triad of corporeal relish

in this knot the crab savours my flesh too[x]

– gelatinous aftertaste –

clunky and gauche, claw caught in mesh

she pulls on threads

unravels the work of the bysall weaver

and with this I am released,

I slip, a glissade

on the evasive edge of where air      meets       water       meets       sand

and

song[xi]

***

she joined the dance some seventeen springs ago[xii]

and found it so jolly

that she decided to stay

in ten years grew                                 to a seventyfold sum[xiii]

some voracious predator,                                trapezoidal[xiv]

not pre-dating

our symbiosis, my mussel and I

but becoming part of

something different.

Chapter 3. Bloom

there have been springs

where the green was

too sage, too verdant

our fronds below the runny veneer

that pulsed towards sunlight as days got longer

//phytochromatic[xv] fixation//

no longer felt flickers within

for chlorophyllic bloom obscured all we knew

new tensions of disorientation

(Where shall I creep and meet? To which compass point? Where is MY sustenance?)

ulva, sweet green screen, remove your slender body from mine

eutrophied is this thick water—                       I choke on sour growth

and excessive nutrient[xvi]

encapsulated

in Basin Head’s estuarine lagoon[xvii].

Notes

[i]  “Queer Seaweed.” Bruce Herald, vol. 31, no. 3175, 22 June 1900, https://paperspast.natlib.govt.nz/newspapers/BH19000622.2.6.

[ii] Rayment, W. and P. Pizzola. “Carrageen (Chondrus crispus).”MarLIN, The Marine Life Information Network, http://www.marlin.ac.uk/species/detail/1444.

[iii] Chamovitz, D.What a Plant Knows: a Field Guide to the Senses of Your Garden – and Beyond. Scientific American Books, 2012, p. 13.

[iv] “Ecological Assessment of Irish Moss (Chondrus crispus) in Basin Head Marine Protected Area.” Canadian Science Advisory Secretariat, Science Advisory Report 2008, no. 59, Department of Fisheries and Ocean Canada, Gulf Region (DFO), 2009.

[v] ibid, p.4. According to the DFO, the optimal temperatures for Chondrus crispus growth (10 to 15 degrees celcius) are “exceeded by early July”.

[vi] ibid, pp.3-4. Chondrus crispus can live in salinity levels of 10 to 58ppt, but “growth is significantly reduced below 30 ppt” (3). The salinity of Basin Head varies between 9 and 30 ppt (4).

[vii] “Mollusk.” English Oxford Dictionary.

[viii] ibid

[ix] Zagata, C. et al. “Mytilus edulis.” Animal Diversity Web, 2008, http://animaldiversity.org/accounts/Mytilus_edulis/.

[x] There is evidence of Chondrus crispus found in Carcinus maenas’ insides- proof of “direct herbivory.” “Basin Head Marine Protected Area: 2014 Operational Management Plan.” Basin Head’s Management Series 2016, no.1, Department of Fisheries and Oceans Canada, Gulf Region (DFO), 2016, p.11.

[xi] A direct reference to the Singing Sands which make up Basin Head’s geography- “Singing Sands at Basin Head, PEI.” Youtube, uploaded by Melissa Secord, August 9, 2009, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CaW2goy2Sbw.

[xii] Carcinus maenas  was first found in Basin Head in 1999, according to the DFO. “Basin Head Marine Protected Area: 2014 Operational Management Plan.” Basin Head’s Management Series 2016, no.1, Department of Fisheries and Oceans Canada, Gulf Region (DFO), 2016, p.11.

[xiii] ibid, p.11. “Trapping efforts in 2000 netted 600 crabs; and by 2010 the annual number of crabs trapped increased to 42,949.”

[xiv] “European Green Crab.” Department of Fisheries and Oceans, Canada, 21 Apr. 2016, http://www.inter.dfo-mpo.gc.ca/Maritimes/AIS/European-Green-Crab.

[xv] Chamovitz, D.What a Plant Knows: a Field Guide to the Senses of Your Garden – and Beyond. Scientific American Books, 2012.

[xvi] Note that Basin Head’s Chondrus crispus has been found to have a good bioremediation potential, because of its capacity to absorb high levels of nutrients. See: Corey, P. et al. “Bioremediation potential of Chondrus crispus (Basin Head) and Palmaria palmata: effect of temperature and high nitrate on nutrient removal.” Journal of Applied Phycology, vol. 24, 2012, pp. 441-448. However, eutrophication due to the surrounding agriculture has been found by the DFO to be one of the large contributing sources of this seaweed’s decimation.

[xvii] According to the DFO, estuarine lagoons are particularly sensitive ecosystems “due to the vulnerability of single narrow openings” and the subsequent “lower flushing rates.” “Basin Head Marine Protected Area: 2014 Operational Management Plan.” Basin Head’s Management Series 2016, no.1, Department of Fisheries and Oceans Canada, Gulf Region (DFO), 2016, p. 2.

Published: July 2017
Alix Villanueva

is an Edinburgh-based artist, interested in the tensions between the human and the non-human, where we fit and sit, how we tangle and assemble. Her work spans across the fields of installation, drawing and poetics.

Back to issue
From: Vol.04 N.02 – What are the animals saying?

Przewalski’s Pelts

by Siobhan Hodge

hese stone broad heads, mealy

fawn and striped, slip in

Chernobyl’s exclusion zone.

 

Marginal equine, long

thought gone, clawed back

even now poachers outpace

 

recovery, gut and tan

hides remember aspic

comb and gunshot blush

 

firmer than bitted teeth.

Fringes stained, they skulk –

no sweeter than injustice

 

being named for the first

to claim your murder,

casting mane and tail

 

as though swearing away

sigils. In relief.

Evading taxonomy

 

each cream coat,

claims steppe and desert

beyond all.

 

The last stallion seen

in the Gobi sands,

alone for thirty years,

 

or patiently buried there,

waiting for new

herds to be spent.

Published: July 2017
Siobhan Hodge

has a PhD in English literature. She won the 2015 Patricia Hackett Poetry award and has had poetry, reviews and articles published in numerous places, including Westerly and Cordite. She is Reviews editor for Writ Review and an Associate Editor for Rochford Street Review, and has a chapbook Justice for Romeo coming out with Cordite Books in 2018.

Back to issue
From: Vol.04 N.02 – What are the animals saying?

On the threshold of the hive

by Alice Allan

From Sylvia Plath’s ‘Stings’

 

 

a third person is watching

a third

a personpersonpersonperson

a personapersonapersonaperson

a          personapersonson

a                      sonsonsonson

a

a

a

a

a

a

a

a thir thir thir ir ir ir ir ir ir

is         ing

ing            ing

ing       ing

ing                   ing

in         in

in              in

in                     in

a thir a hir a ir is is is is is is is is is is is

is is is is is is is is is is is is is is is is is is is is is is is is is is is is is is is is is

is is is is is is is is is is is is is is is is is is is is is is is is is is is is is is is is is

is is is is is is is is is is is is is is is is is is is is is is is is is is is is is is is is is

is is is is is is is is is is is is is is is is is is is is is is is is is is is is is is is is is

is is is is is is is is is is is is there any queen at all is is is is is is is is is is is

is is is is is is is is is is is is is is is is is is is is is is is is is is is is is is is is is

is is is is is is is is is is is is is is is is is is is is is is is is is is is is is is is is is

is is is is is is is is is is is is is is is is is is is is is is is is is is is is is is is is is

is is is is is is is is is is is is is is is is is is is is is is is is is is is is is is is is is

is is is is is is is is is is is is is is is is is is is is is is is is is is is is is is is is is

now she is

she she she she she she she she she she

she she she she she she she she she she

she she she she she now he is gone

she she she she she she she she she she

she she she she she she she she she she

she she she she she she she she she she

Published: July 2017
Alice Allan

is an Australian freelance writer and editor with work published in journals such as Australian Book Review, Westerly, Cordite and Rabbit. She is an associate editor at Verity La and publishes a podcast at poetrysays.com.

Back to issue
From: Vol.04 N.02 – What are the animals saying?

Notes from the Abdomens of Bees

by Jayne Fenton Keane

Notes from the Abdomens of Bees

(i)

flower dance code

 

 

 

(ii)

Apis mellifera

At the point where neck meets clavicle

an indecipherable thrum of crimson.

Someone watches it quicken.

Sunflowers silky and luminous

tilt towards midday. Voltage agitates

the rhythm of a distant hive.

 (iii)

Megachile


(iv) The smoke bearer

His hands                                    are restless explorers

named wing and wing.

Honey, thief, I am sleepy

Too sleepy for that

distant spoon full of promises.

A spoon                                       catches the sun in its warm slopes.

Eyes scoop up the signal and its slurred

traces of avocado, sun-dried tomatoes

black olives, lentils, spinach tortillas

burnt sugar, rose petals and berry nectar.

 

 

(v) Wing and Wing

 

 

 (vi) Colony

 

 

A pdf of the poem can be read here.

Published: July 2017
Jayne Fenton Keane

is the author of three poetry books, radio plays, a stage play and five multi-media collections. She was the Founding Director of National Poetry Week (2002-2006) and a Co-director of the Queensland Poetry Festival (2002-2004). Completing a doctorate in 2008 at Griffith University, her research interests include poetics, embodiment, digital ecologies and science-art. JFK has been a recipient of Asialink, Australia Council and Arts Queensland grants and her work has been translated into Korean, Chinese, Dutch, German, Spanish and Zulu.

Back to issue
From: Vol.04 N.02 – What are the animals saying?

Not wanting to go to work, I wait to get on the train to take me to work

by Michael Aiken

The old noble crow

is sick       of wings

and frogs.

 

Don’t you know that I am groaning?

 

Worn by the weight

of elaborate plans

 

relying on the sunrise.

Published: July 2017
Michael Aiken

is a writer living and working in Sydney. His first collection, A Vicious Example (Grand Parade 2014) was shortlisted for the NSW Premier’s Kenneth Slessor Prize for Poetry, the Dame Mary Gilmore Prize and the Australian Book Design Awards. In 2016 he was selected as the inaugural Australian Book Review Laureate’s fellow, for which he wrote the book-length poem ‘Satan Repentant’ under the mentorship of David Malouf.

Back to issue
From: Vol.04 N.02 – What are the animals saying?

Nectar (from Providence Ponds)

by Louise Crisp

large scale fires … represent a significant and prolonged loss of key resources for nectarivorous birds, mammals and insects. (Clarke 2008: 9)

 

The eastern pygmy possum

dangles from the stalk-less

cylindrical

yellow

feast:

saw

ban

k

sia

fl

ow

er

s

s

s

 

Unmapped, the fire lit in ‘82

Burnt east of West Boundary

Tk along Providence Ponds

And a year later escaped

From an adjacent planned burn

To scorch again the same

Banksia which did not bear

To flower for 18 years

Clarke, M. F. (2008) ‘Catering for the needs of fauna in fire management: science or just wishful thinking?’ Wildlife Research 35 (5), 385-94

Published: July 2017
Louise Crisp

Louise Crisp’s long poem series Providence Ponds was written with the assistance of an Australia Council New Work Project Grant. She is currently researching and writing a series on endangered Gliders of East Gippsland supported by a VicArts Grant.

Back to issue
From: Vol.04 N.02 – What are the animals saying?

loxidonta africana (teaching me to die)

by Kerryn Coombs-Valeontis

Click on the photo to view the poem.

Published: July 2017
Kerryn Coombs-Valeontis

is an Eco- Arts Therapist. She is navigating emergence as a poet and has commenced study in poetry therapy. Themes she returns to  in her exploration are nature as a healing force and a vitalist source of renewal. She has a B. Ed. and Masters in Social Ecology and Dip. Art Transpersonal Therapy

Back to issue
From: Vol.04 N.02 – What are the animals saying?

lorikeets

by Chloë Callistemon

from under the squawking tree

not feathers but leaves ink the sky

the flutter of wind flicks fig leaf gloss

over the names of things in the dark

their weak sheen unbroken

by the shadow of arcs preening

creaks and screeches storming

the smell of clouds about to break

and swallow every word left behind

outside scratching like ice against glass

the sounds of syllables left to fall

from the tree full of rainbows

black against the almost black sky

Published: July 2017
Chloë Callistemon

is a photographer, filmmaker and writer. Her poetry and multimedia have been published in journals and anthologies including Cordite, Rabbit, Australian Poetry Journal, Australian Love Poems and Contemporary Australian Feminist Poetry. She is a PhD candidate at Griffith University, Queensland.

Back to issue
From: Vol.04 N.02 – What are the animals saying?

Lagoon Crossing

by Nicole Sellers

Old Bob nods, still here mate, long guard duty

You can almost see his arm reach, thumb nudge the air

Listen, bones below, fish carcass, them she-oak, birds on top

Hear this white heron sploosh up from down deep

See him flap from this magic corner

See, twenty-eight black swans sail way out, four coming in, thirteen waiting

Look here, sugar ants in this track

 

I see, Bob, I see, you say

 

Spirit of another old friend streaks up, tight, silent

Fox-like in the redolent scrub

This one you knew in the flesh, but not as well as you should have

Don’t settle now, keep moving now, look ahead now, don’t settle, straight ahead

He says soft as rain hitting your feet

A diving kookaburra flashes bright belly-feathers

Glides spear-straight out in front

 

You bristle, inhale, follow

Published: July 2017
Nicole Sellers

is a Newcastle naturopath and writer. Her work has appeared in Silver Cord, Emerald Egg, Crossroads, International Light and Spiral Nature.

Back to issue
From: Vol.04 N.02 – What are the animals saying?

Sky Country

by Phillip Hall

for the Kulin Nation

 

… swept to scudding mist and manna,

to the white trunks of a slurred-over terrain,

the huge dark wing beats are a skirmish

of creation pouring out from the grey spiraling steam

as talons are thrust forward in a lunge

at ground zero before vertical recovery skids

to apex and another soaring

U-shaped dive that tears

earth by its roots, raising

a country out of a blue-smoky spray

now sweet with the scent of eucalyptus and mint:

 

blooming in a bowl felted and warily

watched over by another’s shallow-beating and quivering

charcoaled wings, the sinuous curves of country are cherished

in a loud descending wailing that gushes

open all the streaming waters and creatures of our time…

Published: July 2017
Phillip Hall

worked for many years as a teacher of outdoor education and sport throughout regional New South Wales, Northern Queensland and the Northern Territory. He now resides in Melbourne’s Sunshine where he is a passionate member of the Western Bulldogs Football Club. His publications include Sweetened in Coals and (as editor) Diwurruwurru: Poetry from the Gulf of Carpentaria. He has a poetry collection forthcoming with Canberra University’s IPSI series called Borroloola Class (due for release in September 2017), while UWAP will publish Fume in February 2018. Phillip loves to cheer.

Back to issue
From: Vol.04 N.02 – What are the animals saying?

Gudanji Old Moon Curlew

by Phillip Hall

a sliver of crescent-shaped light

amidst all dark matter

                                    new moon new moon

digging the roots of waitawhile

– jikarri –

millad mob wash an crush an boil ta bogie

tis good healin’ culture

poor old bugger curlew chick finish

and moon foretells darkness and resurrection

but curlew sticks to wild haunting

a sneaky wailing after bush babies

ratted by the gossipy full moon

Published: July 2017
Phillip Hall

worked for many years as a teacher of outdoor education and sport throughout regional New South Wales, Northern Queensland and the Northern Territory. He now resides in Melbourne’s Sunshine where he is a passionate member of the Western Bulldogs Football Club. His publications include Sweetened in Coals and (as editor) Diwurruwurru: Poetry from the Gulf of Carpentaria. He has a poetry collection forthcoming with Canberra University’s IPSI series called Borroloola Class (due for release in September 2017), while UWAP will publish Fume in February 2018. Phillip loves to cheer.

Back to issue
From: Vol.04 N.02 – What are the animals saying?

The Snake

by Michael Farrell

i’m not Building      a House, though i

go Under them      like a Low creek

i’m not Playing      a role when My

de Facto hip      hits the Stage or

bumps the Record      my winding Mind

a human Feeling      a mental Flexing

with a Whiff of dead      bird Or mouse, to

the Discerning. i     head to the Eternal

Verandah, discarding      contortions and Blue

herrings. i Have      a Diamond on my head

 

some Frost on my tail      and Apple on my fangs

Turning’s what counts      the Steady tone, transfixing

people with Ears and       Winters under their

Belts. i drag my      Belly through the dirt

yet am Clean enough      by the Time i enter

the Australian literature      library to Shed

my skin. i’m Always      there always Travelling

shifting Shape, leaving      a Wriggle where it’d

been Said was nothing      or Maybe a trickle

long Dry. did i      say I’m a feeling

 

a sober Mood      part grim part True?

Without intent      and yet with Business

to Attend to      social Habits to

pursue and Contest      at my Best i

wear a Helmet      and a Nettle dress

perhaps you Saw me      exit the Ocean

from your Eyrie      or Unblessed yacht?

or Felt me enter      your Swimmers while tanning

but That’s decades      ago. i was Still

highly Pastoral then      not So forgiving

 

now I’m ecumenical      the Word of god

or Sod suits me      Seduction itself’s

just Education      or lies to Protect

the needy. Rest-      lessness is my Mainstay

the Road as seen      from an Alpine car

or cushioned Chair      Risk need not be

forced. any Minute      Momentum might be

blocked, or Random      disrupted Joying

devolve to Vice      and Spice my life

with Strikes or cut me      Dead, how annoying

Published: July 2017
Michael Farrell

is from Bombala, NSW and lives in Melbourne. His recent books include Cocky’s Joy (Giramondo) and Writing Australian Unsettlement: Modes of Poetic Invention 1796-1945 (Palgrave Macmillan). He edits Flash Cove (flashcovemag@gmail.com).

Back to issue
From: Vol.04 N.02 – What are the animals saying?

Corellas

by Jennifer Kornberger

1.

Corellas forage at the northern end

of the beach, foam-coloured

with fluorescent stains

under the wings and pink on the nape

visible only when the wind

parts pages of feathers.

 

The eyes are set in a compass

of grey-blue skin, the right eye

confident that it is the centre

of some cheerful farce, the left

following the shifting periphery

of the flock.

 

The whole swashbuckling gang

roils over the sand

selects and rejects twigs

and strips of seaweed.

 

One bird stalls, listening

to a pale stalk poised

between beak and claw

 

then on, toiling over the dune

riding on bossy thighs until the sky

washes in under them

and they rise in shrill protest

 

in the air they are one wing

of bird twisting in the citron air.

 

2.

Immigrants to Whajuk country

they live in a cloud of hysteria

 

an ancestral memory

of a caged pet keeps them roving

 

their cries are updates

on the current shape of panic

 

loud with drought and fire.

 

They roost on the foreshore

to spend raucous nights

inventing a past, sharing

quips and homilies.

 

Like the crews of men

who fly in and out

from mine-site to city

their stories are the broken

ends of sentences

 

their shrieks announce

some wider severance

of time from place.

Published: July 2017
Jennifer Kornberger

is a poet and artist living in Fremantle. Her work has appeared in national poetry journals including the Newcastle Poetry Prize Anthology, and has attracted awards in the Tom Collins Poetry Prize. Her first collection of poetry, I could be rain, was published by Sunline Press in 2007. She has just completed a second collection.

An Australian and international
journal of ecopoetry and ecopoetics.

Plumwood Mountain Journal is created on the unceded lands of the Gadigal and Wangal people of the Eora Nation. We pay our respects to all Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people, and to elders past, present and future. We also acknowledge all traditional custodians of the lands this journal reaches.

© ALL RIGHTS RESERVED