Laminations by Murray Edmond

Author:Murray Edmond [Edmond, Murray]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Poetry
Publisher: Auckland University Press
Published: 2000-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

WHOLLY DAZE

I will write/a double life/lifting you/from the baking powder

— Paula Green

More is not less. — Robert Venturi

Any Thought utters a Dice Throw. — Stéphane Mallarmé

Spindrift pages — Dylan Thomas

Expressions of freedom require no freedom of expression

Self turns back on self with bitterest remonstrance

Losing the plot losing the remote the picture won’t stop

Not either nor but both snoring together gothically

Beach houses make the best poems

Snakily expressive yet freely sinewy

Torturedly lying on the if of a headland

The whether of sand whips the wave of cause

The kitchen bench becomes a haven for self-conscious ants

All looking for each other wave on wave

From the murmurous breath of late sleepers

Free and expressive in holiday trauma

After a few days it’s no longer the place it was when you first arrived

The 81 steps are as embedded as that line

I want to come over to hell with the consequence

Is late waking like late flowering?

Those tomentose buds those tormented toes that total rose

That vegetarian burger for that matter that matters

That hay fever pill in one hand and in the other the water you must not drink

The big monster narrative casts a shadow

On the wall behind you you do not notice but carry on

Throwing the dice while a pair of patched and shredded trousers hangs over the

end of the bed

The Book of Birth Memory and Honeymoons lies open

Three wild cards mark the page

The other 49 lie face down

You will know when you have met a force

They are like seeing stars lapidary constellations that fly out of your mouth

At night you create waves of absence and useless mitigation

A bach is toujours artificiel toujours gai

A throw of the dice will determine whether the whales will breach tomorrow

From the bay waves of sound depart like raiders

Nothing so indeterminate night after night as the shape of the shore

Sure thing a pattern written or ridden over sand

The horseshoe shapes both big and small are washed away when we wake up

Rural oval ruined idyll idle oral ideal

We meaning the enormous collective us are the viruses of trees so the holists say

One dot two three four five six quoting Mallarmé

The one with the bad tears in his trousers

The poet asleep on the camp bed exercises in the still night

Look where the legs lie midst dreams of cream and jam tart

Two new constellations appear late at night the sinking ship and the drowning rat

The seven lost sisters are not eight

There is a very good reason for this

So hungry you eat up everything on a good full plate

From sun to sin in one I

Deal a good hand of eyes and ohs and yous

The stolen page grows hot and cross with luck

The narrative prints her return with shoes on sand

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