in the new anti-kraak universe you play squatter
upside-down in your brain at parties you proffer
slim handshakes, some modest attempts at dutch
& a determination to stand there all day like a boer
in a landscape where he is indigenous - the white
light shining from his invisibly big head; yet you
fall under the dim star of sleep (where eerie canals
watch you breathe & you stagger from one station
to another - drugged by sundown, watching the big
orange heat ball swinging royally low over the meer
a cardboard world where settlers merrily invade each
other after dinner ... you lose a continent over coffee
or else blood-red wijn, a casualty of summer time
where the day & the air & the land are belong to us
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patrick jones says:
a little ‘white’ whinge (‘wijn’):-
hello mr p,
i wonder how 2 of yr italicised ‘w’s have come to loose their left ear serifs. while reading the poem these words fell somewhat silent.
love from thankfully wet daylesford,
the garden
8 June 2009 — 12:10
patrick jones says:
i have a similar problem with subscript ‘g’s.
nice poem.
a squatter from Djadjawurrung
8 June 2009 — 12:13
davey says:
Thanks for that, Patrick. I will get onto the font people IMMEDIATELY.
8 June 2009 — 12:57
davey says:
Looks like it’s fixed now – the return of the winged serifs …
23 July 2009 — 18:01