The Book

Okay, now the holiday’s over it’s back to business. What? Back to business? How can you be so callous, you horrible slave-driving fun-spoiling inner voice? Can’t I spend at least the next year daydreaming and re-living holiday moments? Can’t I wander around the photo album in my head and get lost in Paris nights and Mallorcan blue sky? No?

Alright. Business then. Everyday life.

Good news - my poem Rosella was accepted by Poetrix which will be out in early June!


It’s been a while since I reported in on THE BOOK.

I’ve been doing Advanced Novel at Tafe this year with plenty of workshopping and some mentoring from Catherine Bateson. I’ve been slashing and tightening the text and writing poems for the start of each chapter.

At the moment my book – which I thought was nearly finished – feels like a sad pile of unravelled knitting. For a while it sat on the floor in the corner, while I despaired about how to pick up all the stitches, but I’m now in the process of knitting it back up, row by row.

The poems are from the pen of the main protagonist, Ish, who reminisces about Lucky, his abducted dog. Here’s a sample:

Lucky
Just me and Dad
in the bush –
no houses for miles
watching the sunset
by a river
something limps out
from behind a log
it’s a puppy
about six months old
same number
as my boy years
I could count his ribs
if I wanted
he’s lucky we found him
says Dad
yes –I say
he’s Lucky

He’s Leaving
I want to block out the sound
put my hands over my ears
so I can’t hear
the beep beep beep
of the removalist truck
reversing down our drive
I don’t need a reminder
that all my dad’s stuff
is leaving
I sit on the floor
in the empty spot
where he used to rock
with his feet up
I rock too
with my arms
around Lucky’s neck
I rock and rock and rock

Unexpected Delivery
It’s the man who delivered our new freezer on Friday
standing at our front door
he’s holding my dog in his arms
Lucky tries to wag his tail
it only does one flick
mum is crying
dad is calling the vet
today is Tuesday
no one saw Lucky climb in –
that van could have been
a coffin

A Bad Bite
Lucky lies on the vet’s table
he’s breathing
like a steam train–
puff-puff-puff-puff
I pat his damp brown fur
with long slow strokes
an hour ago
we were building a campfire –
the tiger snake was still
in its hiding place

(Still looking for that elusive title. The latest idea is Dog Gone.)

Comments

Minotaur said…
You're not killing Lucky are you Janet? I think I might cry, but I can't because this bloody cold of mine has screwed up my whole head, and gave me a nosebleed.

So, what else is happening with the book dear? Big things I hope. How's Avant coming along, and what Thursday should we be expecting your decisions on what goes in or not?

Cheers, your friendly internet Minotaur.
Wednesday, June 10, 2009 10:40:00 am
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