poetry

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I am, of course, the third-last person on the entire planet to listen to This American Life, the US public radio program presented by Ira Glass. But now I have. And in doing so, I stumbled across some amusing poetry.

The poems are based on an original by William Carlos Williams, called This Is Just To Say. In an episode of This American Life entitled Mistakes Were Made, program contributors created their own versions.

My favourite is the trio by Shalom Auslander:

1
I’m sorry you’re overweight
And drinking
And feeling like everything
In your life
Is doomed to failure
But this is probably why
Mom said
I was her favorite

2
It sucks, little doe
That I hit you
with my car

But at least
You weren’t alive
To watch the hunters
Shoot your children

3
He was a troublemaker, okay
And didn’t know when
To shut up

Still
We never would have killed him
If we’d known he was the Lord

There’s not much poetry here. Should there be more?

Stilgherrian’s links for 08 April 2009 through 19 April 2009. Yes, I really do need to find a way to vet these and get them online more quickly. Still, here’s some Sunday reading for you.

Stilgherrian’s links for 26 May 2008 through 01 June 2008, gathered semi-automatically and covering a disturbing range of topics:

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My Facebook status says: Stilgherrian is considering. All things considered. Suggest three.

My friend Matt says: Three huh? Pop Rocks; Hopscotch and a Stopwatch.

He’s pretty clever, I think. Now, whatever happened to Pop Rocks?

Close-up photograph of fabric pattern on flannelette shirt

It’s 8am, a crisp winter morning. 11C outside. I drag a battered flannelette shirt over my t-shirt — a shirt that’s now 12 years old, I remember. I bought it at Gowings when I first came to Sydney, and it’s still wearable, more or less. Where will I buy everyday clothes now that Gowings is gone?

The shirt smells of smoke. Why is that?

It’s not the acrid stench of cigarette smoke, but the dusty odour of burnt wood. Eucalyptus. A bushfire? Ah, no, I remember now. Sitting by the open fireplace at The Duke Hotel… red wine… the memories flood back as the coffee kicks in…

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While clearing out the spammers’ attempts to post comments to this website today, I was struck by the rather attractive rhythm they formed — if “attractive” is the right word. Here, then, is the first poetry I’ve written in more than 20 years, entitled…

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