HOLD THAT TIGER
By Chloe Wilson
That morning, in the mirror,
I’d pulled my draping cheek-skin upward.
I had shone, taut and foreign,
the gums and incisors
glistering with saliva.
While evening and the show crowds gathered,
I watched him. The chain glinked
as he traced his circle,
always stalking - even the grass
shivered under his breath.
Entering the ring, he beckoned
me to dance, laid one
paw on each shoulder
and rolled me in the dirt.
His mouth opened wide
as bedclothes, and I scented
the iron on his tongue
while he hinged his hips
and the crowd thought I was dying.
Tigers like to dine alone.
I knew this; yet stayed a moment
too long, waiting
for an invitation
and was not all that surprised
to find a joint of meat missing
from my thigh.
They hunt by pressing you
to their hearts, then
kicking out your insides
in a casual sweep.
There’s the danger.
Not, after all, in the teeth
but beneath the tail,
which, like a finger,
searches out any pleasures
the front end may have missed.
This one slid
his tongue along the contours
of my bowel,
sniffing like a sommelier.
That night, he cleaned himself
thoroughly, that supple
tongue spreading like a stingray
under the nails
and detailing the groin;
ignoring the crowd
nobly, as they shook
the metal bars
that keep them safe.
‘Hold That Tiger’ is featured in The Mermaid Problem, Chloe Wilson’s first collection that has been published as part of the APC’s 2010 New Poets Series, more details here.
The APC now has poets in cafés all over Australian. They’ve sent though some updates to let all our members know how they’re going. Pop in and see the poet in your area, or you can follow their progress on their Facebook page.
I started my residency at Chado on the 27th April. I’ve organised to write there 9 hours per week across three days when I’ll work on my verse novella. The poster and APC brochures are on display and I’ve got some of my books for sale there too. I sit in a cosy corner, write and drink a variety of interesting teas served in small glass bowl-like cups.
The tea house has a calm atmosphere, with a beautiful display of teas, teacups and tea pots. The tea house also has a performance and exhibition space. The owner, Varuni, and I will sit down together this Friday to plan the events that will happen during the next six months. I’ll let you know what these are once we’ve decided on the details.
I’ve had two interviews about the residency: one with the Tasmanian Writers’ Centre - an article with photos will appear in its June newsletter. I also did an interview with the Sunday Tasmanian literary editor, and an article is due to appear in it on the 3rd May.
This is a new experience for me - writing so deliberately in a public space like a cafe. Varuni has been very welcoming and made me feel at home. Over time I hope that Chado will come to feel like a second home and a place where other poets feel they can come to muse or meet with fellow poets while sampling the wonderful variety of teas on offer.
PLANTING SEEDS: My Residence So Far
I go down to Jenirida on Wednesdays, Thursdays and Fridays. I place myself softly in a comfy chair just for me. Nevis makes a cuppa for me, and asks how I’m feeling. She sympathetically listens to my answer, nodding and saying “hmm” or “oh no” here and there …
SCREEEETCH … What sort of balderdash is this?? My goodness, the truth is, after running around at home feeding animals, doing washing, tidying up my daughter’s end of the house (nuclear war zone), finishing off my latest poetic offering, then going to the supermarket AGAIN after going there the day before, I stomp into Nevis’s shop, and plonk heavily down in the nearest unoccupied seat (sometimes she might have a writing table there I can use, depending on whether it’s sold or not), place my notepad on it and try to write something. I jot ideas. I watch people as they come in. I listen to conversations. I insult Nevis; she insults me back, along with another ‘gentleman’ who comes in quite often – our local cabbie, John. A cuppa is brought to me and we chat some. I ask her for inspiration and she gives it, if she’s able. I ask John to listen to my latest offering and he blows raspberries at me on his way out. Sometimes customers listen to the poems I read out, but mainly Nevis is all ears. She’s been very encouraging and willing to learn, along with me, the technicalities and joys/sorrows of poetry writing. Her husband Jeff and eldest son Richard have also been very encouraging on this journey.
I quietly let customers know I’m there, but I don’t want to flog it too much. Country people are not to be rushed; this I have learned in four years. But our local rag knows about the scheme, and I’ve told its editor he’s welcome to do a story on it, but keep the camera OUT OF MY FACE!! Having said that, he’ll make sure he gets a shot; he’s a cheeky person, is Peter.
There is no computer at Jenirida, so any ideas I have must be brought to fruition on my home computer. The next day I go back down and place my new offering in a clear plastic display holder I bought especially for this purpose. I also have another one in which I put a “thought” or very short piece of wisdom – or what I’d like to think is wisdom. I really am a wise person, really …
I enjoy the hours spent here at Jenirida. It’s nice to watch the comings and goings of customers, listen to their banter, and to be given feedback from those who read my poetry. But you know, it’s even nicer to know that slowly but surely, the wonderful art of poetry is gilding the edges of this particular shop. Not the lily mind, but its edges. Today Jenirida – tomorrow THE MAIN STREET. Watch out!
The seed has been planted, thus it will blossom given time and nurturing. Following our Poetry on the Boards at the local Henry Lawson Festival in June, I feel the Café Poet garden will be blooming colourfully. Until then, I’ll continue planting seeds.
The best thing about this has been the fact that I’ve suddenly started writing more than I have in decades! I entered the Maj Monologues competition, which was one of my writing goals for the residency. Having constant helpful emails from the APC is akin to having a literary agent, with motivation to crack a whip on oneself and DO instead of DREAM! I think we poets can do a lot of dreaming.
Well, it has been editing time for me of late and the good folk at Cosmopolitan Cafe have had me suitably caffeinated and ready to go. There have been many projects. First up, I have been reading through manuscripts to find the winner of the chapbook competition we at Small Change Press (www.smallchangepress.com.au) have recently run. David Stavanger and I are now hard at work editing the winning manuscript Dear Rose by local Brisbane poet, Nicola Scholes and are getting really excited about the upcoming launch.
I have also been hard at work making my selections for the next issue of Blue Dog, so my last two visits to Cosmopolitan have seen me working my way through another excellent group of poems… a hard choice as always, but I am excited about the poems I have chosen.
And finally, I have been mentoring a local poet Robert Bos. Robert was selected by me last year after being highly commended for his poem, ‘Winter in Ipswich’ in the Open section of the Ipswich Poetry Feast Competition. Robert and I are working together in preparation for his reading at this year’s Queensland Poetry Festival - August 21, 22, 23 (www.queenslandpoetryfestival.com). Together, we have been editing a selection of his poetry, discussing the art of performance and working on a few new pieces inspired by the local streetscape. It has been a blast!
I have also been in touch with a few of the other Cafe Poets and have recently published the first of what I hope to be many features on my blog Another Lost Shark. Here is a link to the post.
Aaah yes, it has been a busy and fruitful time!
The news that we are to send a photo of our cafe (and I do think of it as mine) and a short poem has meant that I look at Teaspoon with new eyes. The chairs exist for their dark wood and diagonal shapes and the perspective that comes from lining them up. The colour scheme has me thinking of the credits on Mad Men. The very teaspoons, with their ability to reflect and distort light are screaming ‘Photoshop’ at me. My friend-with-the-good-camera wants the ten lines before the photo and that has me weaving colours, shapes and reflections into short verses, somewhere that that poet-in-the-corner may not have otherwise gone.
The military veterans fill the corner of Teaspoon every morning. Blokes come and go, but the strength and beauty of the group is unchanged. If only I had more ideas about how to write about them.
Mother’s Day is upon us (May 10th for anyone who isn’t sure) and being one myself, I’ve written ‘An Ode to Mothers’, a piece which is part poetry and part prose, to be presented in The Grind for the next couple of weeks. Terry Ladikos, the Coffee Shop Owner has invited me to contribute to his annual Mother’s Day gift idea with a few poetic lines, which I’ll be working on over the weekend. I see Mother’s Day as a reminder of all those things we have a tendency to forget we are (valuable, worthy, beautiful etc). It is a really undervalued job title to have and therefore sometimes tricky for us to remember that we are all these other things every other day of the year as well!
Enjoy.
‘Why are you hiding?’ says the hand that pushes aside the lavender bush. ‘Why do you not show your beauty?’ For there are so many colours hidden under there and collectively they make a wonderful picture, like a Monet’s Garden but more vibrant. The flowers, for a moment, look confused for they understand not the question. Then one, a little less shy than the others, pipes up with ‘We didn’t know we’re allowed out!’
“Poetry makes nothing happen”… or does it? W.H. Auden’s claim sparked plenty of controversy as the topic for our first Higher Ground poetry event: a wrestling-themed debate that turned perceptions of poetry upside down. MCs Red Menace (my alter-ego) and her offsider Black Plague opened the night with a doctored Doctor Seuss sketch (”when poets battle over bottles… of Moet…”) then it was time for the two teams to battle it out in full costume madness, delivering their debate speeches as poems. “Sonny Shakespeare” (AKA Adrian Field) argued that without poetry he might never have existed, as it helped his unattractive father to charm his mother. La Poesia Puchilla (AKA Steve Smart) delivered what may well have been a very intelligent argument… nobody could register much more than the pink feather boa and boxer shorts… All in all, it becomes quite hazy as to which team actually won, but one thing is for sure: that night, poetry made something happen (just don’t ask what).