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Kerri Shying

Kerri Shying is a poet of Chinese, Australian and Wiradjuri heritage who recently published sing out when you want me, a poetry collection that arose from receiving a Writing NSW Early Career Writer Grant in 2016. Membership & development officer Sherry Landow caught up with Kerri about the collection and other writing projects.

Flying Islands Pocket Poet Publications

Knitting Mangrove Roots

In National Library of Australia

Kerri Shying’s poetry taps into a very rich vein of experience. The work draws the reader in like an old friend, combining nourishing warmth with a subtle, snarky humour so precise, you can’t help laughing out loud. Knitting Mangrove Roots is Shying’s third book of poetry. The cover features a handmade “scarecrow” that is both homely and exotic, which is a good description of the poetry in this work. Though the book is the handsome pocket-size that Flying Island Books have become known for, Knitting Mangrove Roots is very much a full length collection. There are 86 poems in quite small text, each following the “elevensies” form that Shying invented and used to good effect in her book Elevensies, published in 2018 as part of Puncher and Wattman’s Slow Loris series. The form involves poems of eleven lines, with a jutting, italicised title in the middle separating the first and last parts. There is no punctuation, and everything is in lower case which gives the poems a soft quality that underlines Shying’s sharp vision. The unique structure of these poems presents a continuum from piece to piece as the title leans out towards the next poem. It almost feels as those these italicised titles form their own poem working simultaneously with the other pieces and sitting outside perimeter of the page. Each poem is short enough to read quickly and dense enough to savour through multiple re-readings.

sing out when you want me

“sing out when you need me is a powerful collection which reads easily but continues to reveal secrets and expand outward with each re-reading. The mostly short poems stay with you, becoming little charms against all of our inevitable deteriorations. It is all about “keeping going” which, in the face of pain, poverty, confinement, medical visits, the poking and prodding of life itself, becomes a heroic, transcendent act:”

Reviewed by Magdalena Ball Compulsive Reader June 2018

Kerri Shying Read More »

Gillian Swain

Gillian’s first poetry collection is My Skin its own Sky (Flying Islands Press 2019) following the chap-book Sang Up (Picaro Press, 2001).

She has poems published in various anthologies including Poetry For The Planet: An Anthology of Imagined Futures (2021, Littoria Press), What we Carry: Poetry on Childbearing (2021, Recent Works Press), A Slow Combusting Hymn (ASM & Cerberus Press, 2014), and others. You can also find her work in various journals such as The Australian Poetry Collaboration (2019), Burrow (Old Water Rat Publishing, v1,2,3), and Live Encounters magazine: Special Australia-New Zealand edition (May 2021) and again in the Live Encounters Magazine 12th Anniversary edition, Vol 2 (Dec 2021).

Gillian is involved in running various poetry events including Poetry At The Pub (Newcastle) and is the Co-Director and Poetry Curator of for the Indie Writers Festival ‘IF Maitland’.

Gillian spent her childhood exploring the waterfront of Lake Macquarie and has lived in Newcastle, Northern NSW, the UK and Ghana, after finishing studies at the University of Newcastle. She lives in East Maitland with her husband and their four children, where they run their successful coffee roasting business, River Roast.

Links: www.facebook.com/GillianSwainPoet

Flying Islands Pocket Poet Publications

My skin its own sky

Gillian’s first poetry collection is My Skin its own Sky (Flying Islands Press 2019) following the chap-book Sang Up (Picaro Press, 2001).

Gillian Swain Read More »

common or garden poets #6 – Irina Frolova inviting Gillian Swain

 

Lightly

for Gillian Swain

…the garden guides us…

says this is how it feels to be alive

Jill McKeowen, ‘suburban garden song’

 

November’s whites & greys

a melting memory

today the purple

and the scarlet bells

ring in

the summer’s reign

I wander through the garden

between the worlds

of losing

and finding

the jacaranda begins

to fade and scatter

the Flame trees’

fireworks go off

the ground sticky

with fallen blooms

no use fighting

the mess

it will go on and

I give in

to its tenacity

its beauty

this moment

hold it lightly

a snowflake on my palm

I watch it glisten

 melt with

no regret



common or garden poets #6 – Irina Frolova inviting Gillian Swain Read More »

killing my commas softly (Sarah St Vincent Welch)

killing my commas softly (Sarah St Vincent Welch)

enamoured of the pause

the dawdling the adding on

the lists, the enjambent

forced, I admit 

 

less in love

with the arguments the rules

the haughtiness of editors

(not poetry editors, mind you)


my prosey report editing colleagues

holding up a falling edifice

by themselves the masses

revolting

the commas in their iron hearts

the comma the most weaponised

of all punctuation

aimed across desks as ninja stars

commas the shape of tears

raining from above

 

I prefer to massage a sentence

break it up gently with a timely, small

restructure to avoid the stabs

I avoid pain

 

in poetry my commas are shedding

like autumn falls

like rubbed eyelashes 

crescents

scales

a sweep of black kohl wiped off with oil

even the ninja stars yes 

the shurikens spinning

lodged in the walls 

I leap to the ceiling and cling

uncut

 

my aspiration is    to    let

you find your own breath

within my lines my marks

rarely ask for you to hold 

for over long

to tease you to a pant 

on occasion 

then rest in a    space

an absence


a rythmic 

letting go 

killing my commas softly (Sarah St Vincent Welch) Read More »

Rob Schackne #8 – Insomnia

Insomnia

They walk at night
in this old cottage
above in the rafters
a ceiling of riches
below the floorboards
where it wasn’t buried
they whisper in the wall
it was taken from
some call them ghost
or possums strolling
the length of the house
north to south and back
ask if they’re friendly
the hurt feelings
all in a dream
what do they say
I listen to them chatter
of poison and regrets
it was a gold town

Rob Schackne #8 – Insomnia Read More »

Rob Schackne #6 – Home Before Daylight

Home Before Daylight

Fallen, whether failure or loss
the centre never held, now
that your name is invisible
the numbers are many—

dirty jackets, unscrubbed faces
getting home before daylight
sunflowers without any sun
screaming at what isn’t there

watching the short ride
fast approach the ground—
good that you have company
good the dark one’s not interested

Rob Schackne #6 – Home Before Daylight Read More »