Ep 164. Thabani Tshuma: “It’s just gonna work out.”

Extremely reasonable and talented human being Thabani Tshuma talks me off various ledges.

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Ep 163. A map, a memory, a seal

K & I walk the Yarra River while tracking Nam Le’s post-lockdown poem Abbotsford I.

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“Time, once more, for the big clean-out of winter fittings…”
“Where was I? Dights Falls, right, quick yet, and yet intact…”
“sun full on the red brick wall – sunnies on!”
“Give me the Birrarung’s boozy petrowhiff any day – that special gas smell of brown gleam.”
“(as the wall says) I love you my beans.”

Ep 162. Rilke vs. Mondays

“To wake up and be like the weather to be no longer the broken hearted servants of mad kings.”

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Ep 161. A deadly sin

“Who on earth would sing, if song were merely an effortless warbling until kingdom come?”

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Ep 159. Shastra Deo: Pressure, persona & the ‘I’

Just before New Year’s I got to meet up with Shastra Deo in Brisbane. She spoke about expectation, regret, her award-winning collection The Agonist, how that book continues to follow her, and the weird, frustrating tension between poetry and the industry around it.

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Ep 158. Matthew Buckley Smith: Angels and ministers of grace defend us!

Matthew Buckley Smith is a poet who makes a podcast called SLEERICKETS.

You’re welcome.

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Ep 157. pov ur the hot ex

Turns out I just really like pop music.

p.s. Since recording this I’ve learned that A. E. Housman rushed out his Last Poems hoping straight boy crush Moses Jackson would read it. Girl, same.

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Ep 156. Quitting.

Giving up on poetry, the luxury of regret, and relapse. With help from Liz Taylor & Van Johnson.

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Ep 155. Luke Beesley: There is no puzzle

I interviewed Luke Beesley on a rainy Friday, keen to ask about some of what came up when I spoke to Matthew Buckley Smith on Sleerickets episode 30, and not to ask about process, or influence. (I failed to avoid those areas.)

Luke reads from his latest collection Aqua Spinach as well as from Jam Sticky Vision, and we talk about the fact that we have oceans of patience for weirdos like David Lynch, but very little for contemporary poetry we don’t immediately ‘get’.

Show notes