Jill Jones
Little Rhapsodies
No. 1.
Accidental by trade
and turning necessity
rather than like
Afternoon is a monument
still but not quiet
paper does not do it
All I wanted was
to rollerskate, ponder
because I’m slow
So where will I
plunder an old sixpence
bird badges, looms
Quasi-prep is
all I can manage
under the blind.
No. 2.
The organ wound embraces you, the
build is weird, it swims so easily
… shadowesque … crossing the real
with the ethereal, things fall apart in
the roots. I’ve reached an impasse
I said, as if to myself. Trumpet,
trumpet. I want to play lossless,
a bit of maverick, uncovering a formality
in the leaf bed. I would
like to continue, understand
you don’t. Jam
is a messy colour.
No. 3.
Beat is the way I feel
as evening wears me into
darkness rappelling
sentences, tortures
cashmere, in sheets repetitious
with choirs, classic phase
without respect and
repetition (until it do)
shivering with anniversaries
close to the ash
singing isn’t trivial
you bet. … dedicated to
the unknown
staticky textures
… stridently personal
statements … DJ booth mysticism
don’t understand.
No. 4.
Tendresse once again
can it make a difference
field day for shadows
that’s not so twee, is it
frequently the head
undresses its axis
the dogs or those elixirs
or underpants showing… all
gales in the structure that
may run down any minute
the meaning of centripetal
haunts me how you
hold on amongst midnight
drizzle and the changeathon
there’s a punch to the
sound in the west
do we wash too much.
No. 5.
‘What’s to stop them’ kisses
are a kind of recovery, who
are these spooks, lamp hacks
at the late night, who has been
crazier than walls full of beetles
machine fizzle, rev or rêve, who
understands a waterfall: messiaen
in the garden, blackbird hassling
the leaves. Xylophonic rows and
demands, minimal as the taste
of water repeating in the
tap.
No. 6.
Yesterday left its
breath on the
card. Music coming
through me, zips
share the light.
Jill Jones has published six full-length books of poetry, most recently Dark Bright Doors, which was shortlisted for the 2011 Kenneth Slessor Poetry Prize. She also co-edited, with Michael Farrell, Out Of the Box: Contemporary Australian Gay and Lesbian Poets. She is a member of the J. M. Coetzee Centre for Creative Practice at the University of Adelaide.
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Little Rhapsodies
No. 1.
Accidental by trade
and turning necessity
rather than like
Afternoon is a monument
still but not quiet
paper does not do it
All I wanted was
to rollerskate, ponder
because I’m slow
So where will I
plunder an old sixpence
bird badges, looms
Quasi-prep is
all I can manage
under the blind.
No. 2.
The organ wound embraces you, the
build is weird, it swims so easily
… shadowesque … crossing the real
with the ethereal, things fall apart in
the roots. I’ve reached an impasse
I said, as if to myself. Trumpet,
trumpet. I want to play lossless,
a bit of maverick, uncovering a formality
in the leaf bed. I would
like to continue, understand
you don’t. Jam
is a messy colour.
No. 3.
Beat is the way I feel
as evening wears me into
darkness rappelling
sentences, tortures
cashmere, in sheets repetitious
with choirs, classic phase
without respect and
repetition (until it do)
shivering with anniversaries
close to the ash
singing isn’t trivial
you bet. … dedicated to
the unknown
staticky textures
… stridently personal
statements … DJ booth mysticism
don’t understand.
No. 4.
Tendresse once again
can it make a difference
field day for shadows
that’s not so twee, is it
frequently the head
undresses its axis
the dogs or those elixirs
or underpants showing… all
gales in the structure that
may run down any minute
the meaning of centripetal
haunts me how you
hold on amongst midnight
drizzle and the changeathon
there’s a punch to the
sound in the west
do we wash too much.
No. 5.
‘What’s to stop them’ kisses
are a kind of recovery, who
are these spooks, lamp hacks
at the late night, who has been
crazier than walls full of beetles
machine fizzle, rev or rêve, who
understands a waterfall: messiaen
in the garden, blackbird hassling
the leaves. Xylophonic rows and
demands, minimal as the taste
of water repeating in the
tap.
No. 6.
Yesterday left its
breath on the
card. Music coming
through me, zips
share the light.
Jill Jones has published six full-length books of poetry, most recently Dark Bright Doors, which was shortlisted for the 2011 Kenneth Slessor Poetry Prize. She also co-edited, with Michael Farrell, Out Of the Box: Contemporary Australian Gay and Lesbian Poets. She is a member of the J. M. Coetzee Centre for Creative Practice at the University of Adelaide.
posted by mark young at 11:59 AM
2 Comments:
Lot of good stuff in this sequence, Jill. The rhapsodies don't seem so little to me.
wv: monsfu
Thanks, Tom. Maybe little is more - but lots of small musics went into it.
wv unwari
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