Samuel Wagan Watson: Crazy anniversary this anniversary for me, I’m activity to be a nut case by the end of it.
[(archival sound) John Logan: The New South Wales Premier’s Literary Awards accept been appear in Sydney.
Reporter: The book Smoke-encrypted Whispers, by Brisbane-based artist Samuel Watson, was appear as Book of the Year, and it additionally won the $15,000 Kenneth Slessor award-winning for poetry.]
Martin Harrison: Shall we go to the night, tonight, we go night? Shall we go a bit dark?
Samuel Wagan Watson: Yes, let’s go a bit dark. Night’s coming, night’s advancing and we’re activity to write, we’re activity to beating this activity over tonight, yeah.
How far into the night are we activity to go, mate?
Martin Harrison: I go at night generally into TV.
Samuel Wagan Watson:Oh yes, OK. I accept to accept it, I’m shocking, I’m a Warner Brothers baby. I was absorbed to the Road-Runner actualization aback I was a kid. There was aloof article about that accessible abandon of all those backdrops area the Road-Runner affectionate of ran. That’s fuelled me through life.
This adulation of movement.
Samuel Wagan Watson: Are we recording at the moment?
Russell Stapleton: It is a action to leave it going, but you can er…
Samuel Wagan Watson: Cool.
I annual writers are bigger drivers than boilerplate bodies because we pre-analyse the scenes ahead, you know. For me, aggregate happens in a sequence, and you attending at the alley ahead, you annual a lot added than alike the boilerplate Joe, who’s aloof array of… admitting writers analyse the props, they analyse the backdrops; boilerplate bodies aloof array of cruise through them.
Martin Harrison: Writers are not bigger than pedestrians admitting than…
Samuel Wagan Watson: No.
Martin Harrison: …because so abounding writers get agape bottomward on the street.
Samuel Wagan Watson: Yes. Yeah.
[Car squeals off]
Samuel Wagan Watson:
the backward about-face erupts;Greek boys in turbo-fitted 4sopen the aback streetsof bitumen curve congenital for mice
a gear-crunchingnightscape howl
simultaneouslyembraced and ejectedinto the acute bottleneck of the city’s ashen pitch
like the crumbling trumpet oratorioof an emphysema-riddled applesauce musician
Samuel Wagan Watson: Yeah, I’ve consistently got to accept a little bit of night there.
Martin Harrison: Yes.
[Car skidding; amoroso glider, boobook owl]
When we accommodated at night,this is what I feel;you are affective beneath aphotic trees.I am those trees, those shapes. You’re the stars affective bottomward the plain.
You’re the stars affective behindthe motion of that move,the acquaintance of moodby which stars and night modifytheir amplitude central a affective mark,
a active mark, a amount of moons,of present and absent moons,of atramentous animated on the baptize tank,of aphotic motion at the edgeof aphotic matter, captivation it, cupping it
as if it’s water-glitter in the mindor a distinct cilia of memorymoving like a assemblage aloft the dust:my own night aural me,miles of fences beneath the night hovering.
Samuel Wagan Watson: I’m a south-side kid from Brisbane. I did a bit of growing up on the Sunshine Bank but active aback on the south ancillary and aloof a brace of streets abroad from area I was born, at 3am I accept an immense faculty of accuracy I suppose. I’m aloof penning some pieces now, alleged ‘Owl Songs’ and we accept owls at home and they aloof do this ‘Hoo-hoo’ affectionate of activity at night and it’s absolutely like the owl songs I’m alive on. You apperceive I anticipate I explain one owl in the aboriginal allotment is like the roadie that’s on the date activity one, two, one, two, aloof the owl says to me you know, it’s like it’s testing the sound. The complete moves beautifully through that atramentous of 3am in Brisbane. You know, I can shut my eyes and about brainstorm audition like the breezes advancing off the river advancing in at that time. It’s aloof so still and so, yeah, it’s my time of the day.
From my balustrade I can apprehend a able composition that the moon has pasted on the river. Aggregate is quiet. Now and then, a beachcomber break the message, briefly alteration the chantry from adventurous to italics. The moon in its bow-shaped actualization is the attention brand of a Shaolin warrior. I’m anxious that if I boring too long, I may abominably jag my retinas on its razor points, broken globes abacus brittle humour into this austere amplitude of river. A mullet leaps from the baptize and reconstructs the moon’s message; it is now the complete of one argent duke clapping. Above, an bearding comet breaches the sky a baby eternity, but cutting stars don’t accept the backfire of a composition accomplished in the abeyance of moon fire.
oval mirror lightsseduction on night-water,flagrant moon kisses.
[A splash’ bouncing baptize becomes rain]
Fine Rain at Night
Fine, complete slow, assiduous rainwith its undertalk of shimmerings and insect wingshas already got going, is already talking its half-heard voicesround the aback of the abode or actuality forth the verandah.
It’s afloat in arrow-heads through the side-door light.Now it’s arena its late-modern ensemble of pings and drum-beats.It should be recorded, treated, fabricated into a modelof apple music — a long-sought accord amid things and minds.
It’s played by no one, advised nowhere, allotment of the abundant limiton sciences, all-around structure, maths: it defies motive,it has function. It suggests how best contest are random.Being bald rain it keeps battering on gutters, bottomward drainpipes.
Being airy it saunters out of the atramentous like an animal,padding up afore you’ve apparent it. Bright, blatant – definitelya anatomy fanning out aloft the blackness, sliding through branches –but added like a face whose announcement you’d like to read, and apperceive well:
what you apprehension is Amazon rivers, lakes, shorelines, swamps.That’s how y our mind’s abounding with it, adapting to its miniatures,which free-fall on verandah-post, board steps. It crowdsnight-space.Not yet mapped, the gaps in it are like a afire night’s stars.
Samuel Wagan Watson: Oh yeah, we’re accepting into the darkness.
[Fruit bats; dog barking]
fly-fishing in Woolloongabba
facing the mirrorand accepting a shavein the abreast darknessafter an atramentous of watching the wine disappear
listening to cartage outsiderivers of bankrupt and lightwhite afire upstreamred afire downstream
schools of syringeswade in the shallowsneedle packets float in the gutterabsurd angle scales of the breeze
my accomplice understands it better,better than mostunderstands the intersecting flowgently, she understands
as a adolescent babe active on a remote, atramentous communitya boyhood of herin a majorityshe understands she is alike too affable for this river here
and aback in the mirror againa atom of claret appears on my facethe baptize active bottomward the cesspool with my bloodnight-juice into the base of the accepted on our doorstep
a baby blaze is afire up the streetwe apprehend the aside popwhen addition has absent ittossed a actinic bomb on the accomplish of the Serbian church
and aloof what did it solve?as they able bottomward one of the ancillary streetsdown one of a thousand bitumen estuariesof the big river
when tomorrow I’ll angle on our doorstepcast out a band in the abundance of abounding ‘contents’ insurancethe sharks apoplectic in the beard of the undertowand the little angle sighing, for the appetite of better
Martin Harrison: I anticipate a lot of assignment is complete array of close, and at night, isn’t it? It’s complete abundant in the work, it’s complete intense, it’s affectionate of complete – it is that amplitude you’re describing, of accuracy in the dark, yes.
Samuel Wagan Watson: ‘Midnight’s Plague’, I alarm it. ‘Midnight’s Plague’.
A dog barkingSome things are aloft talking.Not the mind, not emotions,words will consistently appear for them.Perhaps the apperception lives in this barrier absolutely of its own creating. Yousee it the way it is, it looks aback the aforementioned –The fence, the lake, they’re aloof there.
Some things, though, can’t be spoken.I don’t beggarly sex or ancestors strifewhich, fast enough, accept bashful words, their looksblack as blank through the kitchen-doorat night. Sex, anxiety, secrets –that’s what stays hidden aback the wife’sstill abrasion up from tea and her husband
stomps off to bed. It’s money really,or too abundant work, brings them down.While the activity which is aloft talkingis aloft their aberancy too.What’s larboard implied is mostly what is known,a dog barking, charcoal aback the sun sets,a tree’s backward apples decrepit a added red.
That, too, isn’t abundant to say. The wordingof anger, fearsomeness, ancestors ghosts drowns the academician in its ceaseless TV.neurones absorber up like dodgem cars.Birds dive bottomward through airy nets.But article aback charge accomplishment you:the atramentous of crickets trilling, shining.
[Crickets; dog barking]
Martin Harrison: I acquisition it absolutely adamantine to affectionate of get into the night in my own work. Occasionally I can address in the night, as it were.
Samuel Wagan Watson: Yeah. I accept a bad addiction of accepting up at 3 o’clock in the morning and aloof avaricious a alcohol of baptize and again writing.
Martin Harrison: So you address afore dawn, in added words? Yes.
Samuel Wagan Watson: Yeah, yeah. I’ll address a few pieces and again try and beating some assignment over and maybe about seven or eight o’clock I’ll go aback to bed for maybe an hour, again get up and edit. Yes.
Martin Harrison: Yes, I can sometimes affectionate of deathwatch up with $.25 and pieces of poems, but I don’t address in the average of the night, I can’t — don’t absolutely do it. Absolutely I assignment about best at afterwards in the day.
Samuel Wagan Watson: Yeah?
[Crickets; affable waves; plovers; the camping ground]
Martin Harrison: This is absolutely affectionate of end-of-the-day, it’s absolutely aphotic territory. This is — Myall Basin is up the arctic coast, arctic of Sydney, a few hours arctic of Sydney. And this is alleged ‘Fire’.
The accurate boat-ramp out looks out aloft Myall Lake, area a application of water’s on blaze again: afire as a childsize lens captivated over a coriaceous gum blade it boring goes darker and darker, again aback ochre-brown, afore the aboriginal wisp, the aboriginal thin-tongued shoot,
curls up and bursts into red glow. Spreading aloft from the west,all the baptize takes on that angry hearth,caught in mirrored cloud-bars and addition ripples.Close to shore, a angle bites the surface, abrogation its argent rings.Within annual the light’s gone lemon, while mercury baptize turnsto black. Winter suns end consistently in a flash. This one, though, now lights up
a band of darker hills for band accession late, arresting with their kids.Their choir alluvion in trees. Fireflies of torches clue from covering to car.A Toyota’s rear-windows beam out a final chrome in orange air.Someone’s chopping wood. A lamp’s pumped up. Aloft it,the ridge’s aphotic lizard-skin gets blotchy with aboriginal stars,while, agitation the surface, a aftermost blaze hovers like a afire raft.
Samuel Wagan Watson: Well, in acknowledgment to that, I too accept a allotment alleged ‘Fire’ and I committed this allotment to David Gilbey. I’ve done two admirable residencies out at Wagga Wagga.
fire-engine beam of fox peltand a alias of tailfluffy … like some oil-well afire on a Gulf War postcardand from the bodyit was beat at a 2 o’clock incline
almost innocent in the ebb of dawnabove the vineyards at Boorangasauntering erraticallyas a red beaconacross the awning of a life-support monitor
up and bottomward and awaythis conflicting bewilderment aloft Wiradjuri skin
[Music; siren; central the car]
Samuel Wagan Watson: I charge be abroad one weekend a month, and blind out with my peers, and we consistently assume to arctic out over a acceptable meal and we accept a adventure about aliment and I anticipate a poet’s cookbook would aloof be the ideal activity instead of us…
Martin Harrison: Because compound books absolutely accept titles in big adventurous belletrist which attending like balladry titles and again the complete text’s not that long, and a lot of it absolutely is in a affectionate of list, and it looks like curve you see. And so we’re complete at home autograph recipes, it aloof feels the appropriate affectionate of architecture you see.
Samuel Wagan Watson: Yes, able-bodied it array of came up, I aloof did a gig with Robert Foster from The Go-Betweens. It was funny, the accomplished time we talked about honey.
Martin Harrison: Honey.
Samuel Wagan Watson: Honey, yes.
[Music; car stops; car aperture closes; quiet bush]
Stopping For a Airing In Reserved Land Abreast Murra MurraIt’s a stop-over on a Spring daywhen, walking through the bush, I see them.Bees. Wild bees, already clustered,
already swarmed. A galaxy of active honey,they adhere on a branchin a swollen, amber gourd, a archaic shape
caught on the move. All gouache, clay, and bubble,it’s adamantine to fix it for what it is,frightening to brainstorm barrier into its barrage dust
just landed out of the horizon’s dejected nowhere,now clearing aloft dwarf ti-tree, aloft red earth.Pummelled soil, blind amid sky and ground,
it takes on a flickering. gold-dyed sheen,gold as if a shock of brave hair’sbeen threaded, quartz-like, through its amber mass: bodies, heads, legs,
writhing on anniversary other, pinioned there.It’s as if anniversary anatomy mimics a approaching cell.Or as if the air has opened up a hasty, war-time grave
where corpses, tossed into the pit, asphyxiate anniversary otherwith their awkward, adulteration limbs.This army is that exposed. That stark.
A wattle-and-daub affair, compactedin a bent swerveto a taller tree’s white branch, the swam hangs theresandstorm-brown,a brume of movementand molecules. It’s as aciculate and deafening
as if all the body’s sensations arriveat one go, or as if a life-time’sthoughts are suddenly, spontaneously, recalled
by addition moving, at the complete bend of life,when the mind’ssky-white with memories, abscess with
the bake-apple of experience, swarmingat death,yet captivation all animosity together;
or as if, veil-like, it’s summed up afterwards (generations later,after the earthhas blood-soaked up spilt claret and honey streams)
by the philosopher who says:Things are not things,but groups, sets, swarms, alteration –
playing their music of antand bird. The swarmis light. It’s energy, bake-apple of the desert’s edge.
Fruit, absolutely is fruit. And whetherin affliction or orgy,these bodies accumulation on top of anniversary other:
they’re a huge amber pear,they’re an outsize ball of army flax,hanging from a yellow-gum.
It takes for anytime for focus on. It swirls.It implodes in the branches,hanging there like a wind-harp
of silk-glitters and half-dried mudwith outriders demography off and returning,like flies to a carcase. Not beautiful,
dark, abounding of anger, abounding of sting,it changes shapelike a pot spun amid airy hands,
slowly growing bulbous, again cone-shaped to a attenuated neck,in crisis of falling apartor advancing like a Mongol horde
yet still clustering, still basic itselffrom Spring’s exileand the attempt of berserk abstinent grubs –
till it steadies its abecedarian magicinto an Earth-Mother droneof particles, dynamos, affiliated flight.
[Birds; music; bird wings; applause]
[In Aquashell, at the Sydney Writers’ Festival]
Samuel Wagan Watson:
for the deathwatch and skeleton dancethe dreamtime Dostoyevskys babble of a recession in the spiritworldthey say,the night creatures are activity the pinchof growing atheism and western rationalitythat the apparitions of atramentous dingos axis the burghal night, hungrytheir corpuscle on the sidewalk in a cocktail of barf and swillwaiting alfresco the bubbler holes of the livingpreying on the abbreviating souls belted in by assimilation
the dreamtime Dostoyevskys charge ponderas aphotic riders in the sky arresting a movementfor the deathwatch and skeleton danceit’s aftereffect time for the bureaucrats in atramentous skinsand the fratricide troopers afore themwith no allowance to move on a asleep man’s bed
is it all annual captivation assimilate these memoriesamidst the blood-drenched sands?It’s maybe bigger to forget?
the dreamtime Dostoyevskys feel the aboriginal winterchilled footsteps airing aloft their backs in the aphotic hours,the white man didn’t accompany all the evilsome of it was already heregestatinglaughingintoxicateduntappedharassing the livingwelcoming the alpine address leviathans of two centuries agothat beyond the band fatigued in the beach by the Serpentspilling aphotic horses from their bowelsand article alleged the Covenant,infecting the dreamtime with the ghosts of a actor absent entitiesmerely faces now in some big anniversary of the dead,the deathwatch is overand to the skeleton ball the bonemen smileopen division on anarchy theoryand retirement abiding for the dreamtime Dostoyevskys
[Music in the car]
Martin Harrison: You had to have, in the cookbook a array of 20th aeon area like Marinetti had all sorts of…futurists had all sorts of recipes. They had their array of rose petals in amber recipes and those sorts of things. So we could accept the history of anapestic cooking.
Samuel Wagan Watson: Yeah.
[Music; car aperture shuts]
Martin Harrison: I admired that aftermost allotment you were reading, and I admired the emotionality and I admired that faculty of acuteness of it. I anticipate at some point, I anticipate its actuality is not the issue, I anticipate in a way artlessness is. Affectionate of accepting the assignment out there, accepting it affianced with what is absolutely array of occurring in people’s lives, what are the contest of people’s lives. Particularly in this complete brainy aeon area so abundant bamboozlement is amphibian about in the world.
Samuel Wagan Watson: Of course, of course. Yeah, I’m accepting a bit of a attempt at the moment; I’ve got this Atramentous Poet’s Night on Friday night and I’ve been aggravating to develop, yeah I’ve been aggravating to advance a few pieces in response, like the Queensland government’s behavior on Murris and Islanders and aggravating to get that directness, but at the aforementioned time I’m, yes. No. Crazy week, this anniversary for me. I’m activity to be a nut-case by the end of it. Activity to be an complete nut-case.
Martin Harrison: That’s good. No, I beggarly it. But maybe you can’t, I beggarly maybe none of us can arch array of beeline into the storm, you can’t booty things aloof head-on, you apperceive you accept to affectionate of go annular all these abundantly big issues, you apperceive array of –
Samuel Wagan Watson: Yes. I’m consistently anxious that I’m activity to appear off aural like I’m preaching, or, yeah.
Martin Harrison: Admonition in the faculty of cogent bodies off?
Samuel Wagan Watson: Yeah. Yeah. I appetite to portray something, but I don’t appetite to — no, anyway, it’ll come. It’ll come.
Martin Harrison: I anticipate acquaint the story, and aggregate that you appetite to say comes through it, basically. And bodies will accomplish the access themselves. Otherwise you end up array of about with too abundant desolation in the work.
Samuel Wagan Watson: I acquaint you, aloof now, this acquaintance is apparently the best annual I anticipate I’ve anytime — like the one annual that I’m adequate with. We’ve got an admirers of two people, aloof bandy them back, don’t accept to attending at a clock. You know, there’s about three pieces I apperceive now if I went aback to my auberge allowance with a agenda pad, three pieces I’ve been alive on over the year, I could accomplishment them today.
Martin Harrison: Could you? Yes. Yes.
Samuel Wagan Watson: Aloof because I aback feel like a bit of clarity, aloof audition your articulation and your work, I’m like, Yeah, that could work, this can work, that can work. So yeah.
Martin Harrison: I accept a continued composition at the aback of my mind, and I’ve had it for like a ages and I cannot get — I cannot get — I’ve got all these words and they’re all over affectionate of endless and endless of pieces of paper, and I cannot absolutely get this thing. I can see it, I can absolutely see it on the page, I can see the breadth of it –
Martin Harrison: Yeah, oh yeah.
Martin Harrison: …I can see how it looks.
Samuel Wagan Watson: I’ve got a few of those. It’s frustrating, you can see it but you can’t absolutely grab it, you can’t blow it.
Samuel Wagan Watson:
the aphotic sessions
[Roars; dingoes; aberrant calls]
the pyromaniacs of the gods were blame itinto that arid sunsetupon a fire-pink, burner-blue border line
blossoms blooming redand naked solar flares drowning into hibiscus hell-flowersdancing a deathwatch for the dying lightabove a necropolis of mulga and Spinifex
fueling until darknesswhen the tourists balance on cutting starsthe distraction of min-min lightson the petals of midnight bloomas the ghostriders booty up watch
illuminated into the pitchby the sun-bleached bonesof dry-spell roadkill
Martin Harrison: Mmm, you’re aback on the road, aren’t you, with that?
Samuel Wagan Watson: I’m aback on the road, a blow of darkness.
Martin Harrison: Yes. Yes.
[Music in the car]
Samuel Wagan Watson: And of advance we accept to accept a cocktail hour.
Jane Ulman: No…
Samuel Wagan Watson: Acclimated to accomplish these — we had an old urn, we acclimated to accomplish these alcoholic bite concoctions, accompany it to readings and he’d leave urn in the cossack of his car, and serve these concoctions. They were aloof baneful as.
Martin Harrison: So we’d accept a affectionate of the cocktail area at the back, and we’d accept a little array of –
Samuel Wagan Watson: Array of entré.
Martin Harrison: Yes, entré e. Hors d’oeuvre is the word, we’re activity to the oeuvre, is activity to be complete important. Dessert, and that’s activity to be absorbing –
Samuel Wagan Watson: Oh, sweet.
Jane Ulman: I anticipate you care to get painters to do –
Martin Harrison: Painters to do the dessert, because they’ve got to attending good.
Samuel Wagan Watson: I anticipate Peter Goldsworthy’s got a few amber balladry –
Martin Harrison: We could accept little array of palate-cleansers amid courses, which we would alarm sonnets.
Samuel Wagan Watson: Yes.
Samuel Wagan Watson: I consistently say aback I’m asked to go into a chic and allocution to — and I abhorrence it, I don’t like the abstraction of artistic autograph courses at universities, because I accept writers aren’t built-in in universities, they’re built-in out in the suburbs. But Rip was one of those moments aback I’m so glad, I consistently accept my annual and a pen with me, and it’s for my little boy.
[Creaking metal door]
standing beneath the ex-wife’s abode accurate pillars covered in thehieroglyphics of besmeared little easily blind pieces of antiquechairs that we had planned to restore calm arm-rests of that oldcouch, the old dining table that belonged in our aboriginal house, bashful inthis elephant’s graveyard of carved crust there are the spider-legsof a hotplate that fed the guests at our little boy’s NamingCeremony aback aback I realise, I’m caught! gazing over thepast this ensemble of different antique s she’s been active underhere authoritative the sander scream the electric even has beendriving the kids basics as she shaves the balk the banknote of furniturefrom one of my lives aureate curls of advised ache sit at the attic ofthe board I bethink annual Robert Adamson’s balladry theday she alleged it quits over and over, I apprehend the balladry about atroubled little boy and his albino mop of curls I attending bottomward and my ownlittle boy has begin a accumulation of balance grabs a scattering in hismuffin-fist holds it at me falling through his butt thesecurls, What are they Daddy?! They’re pieces of my brain, I tellhim and he tosses his anchor into the air particles besom us like pixiedust the afternoon sun steals through catches the aureate flakesand my little boy’s acceptable beam he wakes me afore I asphyxiate in a tideof old regretsLook actuality Dad … I’m arena with your memories!
Martin Harrison: Shall we apprehend maybe a brace of things, aloof to affectionate of which are like final pieces, as it were, catastrophe pieces, like that? Get that feeling. Like, what’s one of your array of — a composition that aloof says affectionate of ‘End’ in it, as it were —
Samuel Wagan Watson: Oh, no, ahh, mmm … I’ve got an old favourite, an age-old but a goody.
Martin Harrison: Do you appetite to go first?
Samuel Wagan Watson: No, no, please.
Martin Harrison: Yes, OK, whatever. Right. I anticipation that what I ability apprehend is this — it’s got a complete array of faculty of an catastrophe title. It’s alleged Backward Western Thought. You couldn’t be added array of final than that. You couldn’t accept added certitude than the end of Western Thought. OK here’s the poem
Late Western Thought
[Crested pigeon booty off; crickets]
There were top-knot pigeonswhirring upfrom the edges of the driveway –
getting lift-off withtheir acute addition beats,like springs awkward in an old car.
So, you couldn’t advice but apprehension them.You took them inmuch the aforementioned way the brindle horse had started abnormality over:
the horse was a fat-bellied adumbration ambling through the stillnesswhere the afire was turning.Nearby, some thistles: the adult and pony aching in abysmal grass.
You’d see none of this acutely till later.(There was your own looking, walking, to annual for.)The pigeons, the horse, the crickets, the swamp gums werejust there,
scarcely visible,secretly candid inevery administration like a abode area paths, meandering, at aftermost meet.
Sure, a bird had again cried outas if the moment could go aphotic with an absolute suddenness.You’d bethink that bird as (somewhere) a cuckoo-dove afore rain.
(You’d bethink it as a whoop, a shout, rather than a call.)But you would, by then, be walking aback bottomward the drivewayoblivious to the clay-coloured light, the anemic wisps of grass
and the heaped-up birthmark of gravelwhich apparent some ants-nest, active or abandoned.Later, you’d say you saw everything. It entered you.
Of course, it charcoal no added than a story,About seeing and forgetting, its anecdotal is the basis ofcompassion,not atomic because, afterwards, you charge still abduction it at one go –
yes, in a single, aciculate blaze of afire –
setting and slanting,raking abysmal blaze abaft the copse (they’re atramentous silhouettes onthe ridge),invisibly afire you, invisibly afire itself.
Samuel Wagan Watson: Yeah, the atramentous silhouettes.
[Peewits; percussive metal]
the agee men
my Dad straightened out the agee menin the old laundry shedabove the fishing accessory and jars of basics and boltswhen on a racktheir naked, askance forms did hangfrom the neckbody beard like pine-needlesrestrained by anchored g-clampsand steel-trap teethhydraulic accoutrements and pulleysand a agleam drip-tray on the floorto bolt the expelled, begrimed hate
sometimes eight sometimes tenthe agee menwith faces like prunestattoos and scarsand tongues that could no best workbut engulfed by obscenitiesas they leaked night and dayin that old laundry shed
and they were not gratefulor ungratefulthe agee mennor were they in debt to my fatherand his amazing rackin these canicule aback their hatewould crawl through my backyard havendrowning the smells of Saturday afternoonand afresh cut grassand the yap of the Labradorand chastity lostto the agee men
Martin Harrison: It’s a complete able poem; I apperceive that poem, yeah.
Samuel Wagan Watson: Yeah. That poem, the afire in my apperception that accompanies that composition is complete agnate to the afire in the composition you aloof read.
Martin Harrison: Yes, it is, isn’t it? Yes, it is. Yes it is.
Samuel Wagan Watson: It’s – the agee men’s aloof about to be fabricated into an action feature.
Martin Harrison: Is it?
Samuel Wagan Watson: Yes.
Martin Harrison: Fantastic.
Samuel Wagan Watson: Yes, we aloof got the blooming afire from the Australian Film Commission.
Martin Harrison: Fantastic.
Samuel Wagan Watson: Aah, it’s been a abundant morning. How are we accomplishing in there, team?
Jane Ulman: It’s been a abundant morning for us, too, I can assure you. I’ll appear in.
Mike Ladd: And actuality in Poetica’s Podcast alternation we’ve been alert to ‘On the Road’ Allotment 2 with Samuuel Wagan Watson and Martin Harrison.
The musicians assuming compositions by the Go Betweens were Russell Stapleton: guitar and vocals, Hollis Taylor and Matthew Fargher: dabble Chris: bass, Hugh Van Schaick: drums, Madeleine Slattery: singer, with Gretchen Miller in the final song.
The assembly was by Jane Ulman and Russell Stapleton.
This activity has been assisted by the Australian Government through the Australia Council for the Arts, its arts allotment and advising body.
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