DNRC057 | LP | 1973/2006 Read more
Author: Davey Dreamnation (page 138 of 240)
Davey Dreamnation (1972–?) is an Australalian musician, vocalist, pirate and record-label owner who now lives 'in the third person'.
†no juggernaut rides whip roofs off the honey
††powered winds jacked western highways blinds
†††radio reports looping abstract delays shutter
††††whirr powers fail electricity rains down hail
†††††bird lightning in its wings sonar burns one
††††††staccato bullet trained in space collides with
†††††††tree flower crooked bolts feedback lots drawn
††††††††& hung fenceposts moving horizontally spares
†††††††††horses inside panic braces streamlets emerge
††††††††††giant rains lash perimeters & allotments while
†††††††††††telegraph poles cartwheel velocities unknown
††††††††††††earth solid bird clouds enveloping hills in
†††††††††††††feather mists rain vomits birds cracked necks
††††††††††††††on underwater lawns marinas invade the oceans
†††††††††††††††of black bird rain cellars stuffed with human
††††††††††††††††remains short wave useless bird rains continue
†††††††††††††††††coast guards sliced ribbons of steel flesh
††††††††††††††††††rain cascading down sparks elevated windmill
†††††††††††††††††††saw clean ruptured skies bird rain bird rain†
I’m no groupie, despite what anybody says. My idol’s Han Solo. I have to admit, however, that deep down I have always been a secret Babble groupie. Ever since moving to Melbourne, I mean, before which I had never even heard of this loony Melbourne institution, originally a weekly spoken word night held in Fitzroy. While Babble’s now held on the first Wednesday of every month, it still packs a punch, word-wise. Its fortunes do swing erratically in the shifting breezes of the Melbourne scene: a special hip-hop Babble in January drew a crowd of over one hundred, while February’s Plainsong and Enya Babble drew less than thirty. Luckily, last night’s Rock and Roll Babble hit a happy medium, with two feature poets instead of the traditional one and a strong Babble Open Mike section afterwards. Hosted as ever by the dynamic, funky and legtastic Sean M. Whelan, the mood throughout was electric. DJ Rag Doll, returning once again from Berlin to spin some garage tunes, got the proceedings started, followed by features Amelia Walker (who outed herself as the co-author of a poem attributed to Maralyn Spears-Malley in Cordite’s Children of Malley issue) and Ben Pobjie (whose rapid-fire delivery and sharp wit elevated the mood in the room). Highlights of the Open Mike were alicia sometimes playing air bass before and during her poem, Chloe Jackson channelling the spirit of a girl at a rock concert, perennial staple Eddie reminiscing about Bill Haley, and the new Irish sensation Neil (who will be featuring next month) providing a rapper’s (or apricot) delight. Strangelights were Crazy Elf leading the crowd in a singalong whose chorus went something like “When you kill Jesus/ he turns into chocolate eggs” and pretty much everyone else who read. Oh, Quinn’s story was good. Klare Lanson lent me her sunglasses for a short time. I only drank lemonade.
For a long time I’ve admired the art of Gerhard Richter, whose photoreal ‘kerzen’ (candles: see below for an example) would be recognisable to any fan of Sonic Youth’s Daydream Nation album.
In the first part of last year, when I was writing full-time thanks to a grant from the Australia Council for the Arts, I wrote three poems inspired by Richter’s Kerze pictures. Unsurprisingly, the poems are called “Kerze 1”, “Kerze 2” and “Kerze 3”.
Now, for the first time, you can read these poems, which have been published online by the minimal and kewl poetry zine, foam:e.
Today being the first day of autumn, I was also reminded of a poem I wrote about six months ago, during the last days of summer in Bruxelles.
The poem’s called Landschaft Mit Gerhard Richter. I’m happy to report that while summer may be over, the sun is shining, it’s nice and warm and it looks like staying that way forever.
Thank you, global warming.
And thank you, El Nina.