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Thylazine: The Australian Journal of Arts, Ethics & Literature                                                                                                                                  #11/thyla11k-jl AUSTRALIAN POETS SERIES 11 The Poetry of Justin Lowe Selected by Coral Hull [Above] Photo of Justin Lowe by photographer unknown, year unknown. I Denmark I Pisa I Olympics I Major Mitchell I Fox homilies I Sicilian Vespers I Cascade Street I Denmark Without wanting to she began to see cold famished infinities where before there was only a dent in the pillow from his naptha skull the veined underside of an oak leaf the breeze once so soothing had become a sinister voice chiding her like a gaoler's footsteps a crone half-buried by indifference of the millions who had trodden this path before her she tried counting them in her breakfast cup but there were never enough hours in the day and autumn kept calling her to the riverbank Published in Glass Poems (Bluepepper, 2006). Pisa The enemy is camped south of the Arno smoke from their forges blackens our walls and to our east the forest shivers the great trees cough and fall but the condottieri has pledged no harm will come to us my friend, those warm nights of July seem a distant memory at the feet of Our Lady soldiers are taking the sacrament it is propitious to study men's eyes at such moments if they smile at the priest they are cowards if they look at the ground they are homesick just south of here they are damming the Arno they intend taking our river from us and we have opened the arsenal doors to our debtors Published in Glass Poems (Bluepepper, 2006). Olympics Up here the air gets thinner every day certain words are falling short from mouth to ear even the perfunctories yes and no if given the weight of absolutes I don't think I have ever felt so lonely or so at danger on this earth we can see so far but no-one believes their ears anymore it isn't that we're heedless simply deaf and dumb if you feel a soft tap on your shoulder it is probably me come to whisper something in your ear that's what we've come to Published in Glass Poems (Bluepepper, 2006). Major Mitchell Sometimes fortunes are made here in the blink of an eye other times in the narrow gap between two houses it is a tradition dating back to the first conveyance when our ancestors beat the pox from their blankets and scratched at the arid earth scarred with the shadow of ropes and waiting in any city on this island you will find such places like shattered ribs of sky they are places of immense profit & loss an almost impenetrable jungle of crabgrass and daisy and the shit of dead explorers drought flood fire - all will have their time here yet if this taper of land should suddenly vanish whole cities would crumble slip groaning into the sea and no-one would remember when or who took what from who Published in Glass Poems (Bluepepper, 2006). Fox Homilies 1. she has raised wire around her pillow and I have broken every rung on my father's ladder 2. the rain has come with bright birds and fists of lurid green as though to something rotten 3. behind me in the cool dark kitchen she is breaking plates with her eyes 4. someone has braided the horse's tail it stands at the fence a square of light in each eye like windows to a burning house Published in Glass Poems (Bluepepper, 2006). Sicilian Vespers My god you are the whisper of tyres on a rainy freeway white lines in the red eye a song in the hub you are the sun warming the steps of old mornings the bracket of time in a kiss my god you are the grief that rises like bread between platitudes the soft midnight bustle in hospital corridors you are the smell of lost feet in the city lock-up the smile of a young constable bringing me soup you are the song in its pipes my God the tags on its walls the shiver of keys like a dog leaving the water Published in Glass Poems (Bluepepper, 2006). Cascade Street In the mountains sleep comes easily as rain and as deep as the shadows from a fog-bound window I have never slept so well or so solitary not since I was a child gathered up in strange countries it is as though the map of the world had been torn up by a strange hand and I had returned to that point on which a child's world teeters you know the one: the heartbeat skipped when power speaks our name the mother's last breath every question never answered Published in Glass Poems (Bluepepper, 2006). About the Poet Justin Lowe Born in Sydney in 1964, Justin spent much of his formative years on the Spanish island of Minorca, an experience around which he is busy shaping a novel. After completing his studies, Justin moved to England before settling back in Newtown for the duration of the 90's. There he edited the seminal Homebrew and published two collections of poetry, as well as penning songs for such diverse musical outfits such as The Whitlams and The Impossibles and Sydney jazz diva Lily Dior and composing dithyrambic text for the annual Mascon Festival. Justin currently resides in the Blue Mountains west of Sydney and recently completed a poetry commission for the 2004 Sydney Festival. Justin has been published all over the world and is currently negotiating the rights to a film script based on Henry Lawson's tragic marriage to Bertha Bredt. He is also busy compiling a collection of his poetry published over the last five years for a book entitled Glass Poems, which is yet to find a publisher. Justin also pens the occasional review for magazines such as Cordite, receiving nothing but hugs and fragrant bouquets for his efforts.    [Above] Photo of Justin Lowe by photographer unknown, year unknown. I Next I Back I Exit I Thylazine No.11 (June, 2006)