Review of Otherland
First published at Overland literary journal, 31st January, 2012
Otherland
Maria Tumarkin
Random House
What initially drew me to reviewing historian Maria Tumarkin’s memoir, Otherland, was my interest in its themes. Maria left her birthplace, the Soviet Union, in 1989 as part of the Jewish emigration to Australia before the Berlin wall fell. The premise of Otherland is to tell the story of Maria’s trip back to her motherland with her teengage daughter, Billie. I haven’t read any of Maria’s other books and so I took on the project with a high level of enthusiasm – there are too few migrant stories by Australian authors and I am all for promoting them. But anyone who is familiar with my writing knows that I can be no less than honest and so apologies, in advance, to Maria (and Billie) for what I’m about to say because I feel like I have got to know them, on some level, through the narrative. There have been several discussions here on the blog about the state of the reviewing process but I am hoping that people understand this is just the opinion of one reader, which is entirely subjective.
The blurb of Otherland promises an exciting, emotional journey:
I left too early, before tanks rolled into Moscow in 1991, and before Gorbacev was put under house arrest in a failed coup. I left before Russia and Ukraine became separate countries…I left too early, I missed the whole point…Otherland is the story of a six-week trip transversing three generations, three lifetimes and three profoundly interconnected relationships between mothers and daughters.
From the first few passages of Otherland I felt as if I was in the hands of a master. The language was tight and some of the imagery was superb:
The boy I was in love with was, in turn, in love with another girl infinitely better looking and talented, who, for her part, was in love with another boy better looking and arguably more talented than the object of my unrequited and poorly concealed affection. In this love pyramid, I was at the very bottom, flattened beyond recognition.
But not too far into the book I was niggled by a few passages where Maria ‘tells’ the reader what Billie, her daughter, is like. A little further and Maria is referring to a Greek born, French novelist to highlight the similarities between her story as a migrant and his when what I was really yearning for was a scene from Maria’s own life, flashes of her own experiences, to show us this. On from this Maria discloses she has a son but mentions nothing of who is caring for him and at that point I was lost and I wasn’t sure what time period I was in, what Maria’s situation is (married, divorced?) or how many times Billie had been back to the Soviet Union. Furthermore, the initial train journey at the beginning of the book where they are asked to vacate because they didn’t have the appropriate visas is abandoned (till much later on) and another scene picked up, and the tenses jar which leads to further confusion.
Otherland is divided up into locations and time periods but the narrative is jumpy. One minute Maria is referring to the now, then she is back in Australia, then she is referring to what this novelist said, or this poet said, what this historian said. Maria touches on interesting concepts and ideas relating to migrants but they are disorganised and aren’t explored to their full potential. The narrative doesn’t flow from one scene into the next and so this leaves the reader feeling disconnected and frustrated. The references to other historical figures yank the reader out of the narrative, preventing them from going on the emotional journey. They stop the reader from getting to know the characters on a deeper level, to feel their pain and joy. The dialogue is forced and there is a lot of telling about how the characters are instead of showing us how they are. Because of this I didn’t feel I connected with any of the characters and felt distant from Billie and Maria when I really wanted to get to know them on a more intimate level.
There is no doubt that Maria is an intelligent writer and historian, and I credit her for this, but the biggest downfall of Otherland is that it promises an emotional journey (from the cover, blurb and initial pages) then delivers an intellectual one. No doubt fans of political or historical literature will enjoy Maria’s observations and clever references, but readers wanting an emotional journey (me!) will be disappointed. I wanted to know more about Maria’s life in Australia, what happened in her life to warrant her to take this trip other than to show Billie. What happened in the years before she left and the years between her immigration to Australia and this trip? I wanted family scenes and dynamics, struggles, character relationships. But I felt as if Maria was trying hard to protect her privacy which she has every right to, but that meant that the narrative suffered as a consequence. Maybe Maria covered all this in her previous books but Otherland is not a sequel and so it needs to stand alone as a story. I felt that Otherland was packaged as creative non-fiction when it actually leans more towards a historical analysis. Readers looking for this kind of read will not be disappointed.
The naughty folder
My cafe Nova poetry cards for the tables
Today was my second week at Cafe Nova where I am poet in residence. Once again I wrote some poems to go on each of the tables and Jen (the manager) and I started work on the ‘poets corner’.
Back of my Cafe Nova cards
I put up three tasteful poems and I will also soon have a poets mailbox where people can write to me using poetry and I will respond to them with poetry and put my response up on my poets wall. Today we also introduced a new concept called the ‘naughty folder’ which can only be viewed when you specifically go up to the counter and ask for it. I have decided(and I hope to stick to this) that I won’t be posting much new poetry on my blog anymore because I have heaps of poems on my blog. I may do the occasional one here and there but I’d like to showcase my new poems in the cafe. Most of them will probably be in the naughty folder which will include poems which have words like ‘wog’ in them or sexual poems (which are most of my poems!) and the others will be put up on the wall in the poets corner. I hope to finish my poets corner display next week when I go into the cafe and I’ll take some photos and post them on my blog. If you are ever in at cafe nova ask for my naughty folder! I’ll be at cafe nova again next Wednesday from 11-12 (or any other time I decide to pop in) but in the meantime, I will be performing this Friday:
at Polyester Bookshop this Friday the 13th(owww) 
as part of Little Raven’s night of erotic writing.
It’s at 7:30pm at 330 Brunswick Street, Fitzroy and there is a great lineup.
So come along if you have time. Hope to see you there!
I’m the poet in residence at Cafe NOVA!
Just before the end of the year I received an email from Eliza Hull from the Australian Poetry stating that my application to be a cafe poet had been shortlisted! Of course I couldn’t share the news but my next job was to actually find a cafe on Brunswick Street, Fitzroy that was interested in having me as a poet in residence for 6 months. My pitch to Australian Poetry was that I wanted to be a cafe poet on Brunswick Street near Polyester Bookshop because they are the biggest sellers of Love and F**k Poems. In fact, I am a best seller in their store!
Koraly and her dentist
But after some initial thought it dawned on me that finding a cafe interested in having me stick my poems on the walls and toilet doors may prove difficult. Putting my erotic poetry aside, even my more subtler poetry is a raw and confronting. I was in a bit of a pickle, like going to the dentist…
After some help from Polyester shop staff, I tried out a few cafes, without much luck. One was interested but said they didn’t like the idea of having to give me a free coffee every time I came in to write. But I knew it wasn’t only about finding a cafe. I wanted to also find a manager that I clicked with. If I could choose any cafe it would have been Cafe Nova, but for some reason I tried three cafes before Nova. I think it’s because I felt like there was no WAY Cafe Nova would say yes because they are so trendy and everyone goes there and I write poems called ‘Love according to wogs’ and ‘How to get a f**k’.
Koraly and Jen's first meeting for 2012
After my third rejection I thought, stuff it, I’m going to try. When I met Jen, the manager, we instantly clicked. I told her about my writing and gave her my book and some articles I had written in the Victorian Writers Center magazine and the articles and posters from Beat magazine when I did my show with Ben John Smith at Polyester.
Jen said she’d have to speak to the owner, Nicole, who I haven’t met yet and get back to me. After she rang me to say ‘yes’ it was up to Australian Poetry to give their final ‘yes’. When they did Jen and I organised our first meeting, which took place today.
Jen and I spoke about ideas that we had for my residency. I printed up some cards (the size of business cards) which have my name and ‘cafe nova poet in residence’ on them and on the back I hand write poems to go on each table. There is also going to be a wall where I can put up my poems and I can change the poems whenever I like. I am also planning a poets mailbox where people can write me letters using poetry and I will respond with poetry and put the letters up on my wall. Jen and I talked about language, swearing etc and Jen said Nicole, the owner, would have to give the final okay. I completely understand, of course, as kids may come into the cafe. You can also buy both of my chap books at Cafe Nova, but the Love and F**k Poems book will be BEHIND the Poet is Born books so they are hidden.
Since it’s the start of the year, and i still don’t have my school timetable, I’m not sure exactly how often and on what days I’ll be going into the cafe. At the moment we’ve tentatively stuck to 11-12am on Wednesdays but I’ll be randomly popping in at other times too. So if you want to come in and talk poetry or come and say hi please do. It will probably be mid mornings or late at night as Cafe Nova is open till very late. Hope to see you there!
Little Raven publishes my audio
Little Raven are a new publishing venture, publishers of erotic fiction and I am happy to announce that an audio poem of mine from Love and Fuck Poems, ‘You like to f**k the darkness in me’ has been published on their website. This Thursday the 8th on the 3CR spoken word program I will be interviewing Little Raven directors, Van Roberts and Yasmin Clement. The entire show will be dedicated to erotic spoken word and Little Raven will be showcasing work from some of their new writers(including me!). The show is adults only. Also on Thursday night at 7:30pm, Little Raven will be hosting their monthly event, Spin the bottle. The event is open mic and anyone can read up to 1000 words of erotic writing, but make sure you email them to get your name on the list if you want to read. It will be held at Re Vult in the city, 344 Swanston Street and I will be reading a little something myself. Hope to see you there and enjoy the audio!
Tearing down walls
The following article has been cross posted at Overland literary journal. It looks better on their website, more poetic. I encourage you to click on over there to get the full experience.
Photo by Art of the State Filmworks, concept Jenny Poulakos
Sometimes I get so tired of words. They pour out of me. It is not words that I lack. It is the discipline to arrange the words in a way that best articulates what it is I am trying to say. I’m trying to tear down walls, layers and layers of walls. Emotional walls, cultural walls, female walls, writing and publishing industry walls. But sometimes it’s best just to shut up and say everything you want to say in a single photo. So I’m going to keep this post brief, and let the photo say the rest.
After the debate here on Overland in response to my post ‘Poetry or Pornography’ I had a long think about things. I do that a lot. Sometimes I comment or post things that I regret later. There are a lot of things I want to say but I am only going to stick with one and let the photo say the rest. Many people ask me, why Ben? And the reason is simple, and there is no need for me to bring feminist theories into it and get all political. I am drawn to his honesty because I too am an honest writer. I am drawn to his artistic freedom because I too follow the same philosophy. The question is not whether or not Ben is sexist. The question is what kind of society do we live in that Ben, an honest, decent man, is writing what he is writing.
This photo shoot, conceptualised by Jenny Poulakos, photographed by Art of the State Filmworks with hair and makeup by Kaliopi Malamas, was executed with the literature both Ben and I have created in mind, and the chemistry that brings both of us together. All parties involved are familiar with mine and Ben’s work and intentions. The full series can be seen on Ben’s website, Horrorsleazetrash. This photo was also chosen to promote the gig Ben and I are doing together at Polyester books on Friday 11.11.11 at 7:30pm. Just as we did at the launch of my poetry chap book, Love and Fuck Poems (which has been picked up by a Cypriot publisher to be translated into Greek), Ben and I will once again engage in a poetry war, poem for poem, only this time we will be taking the poetry out onto Brunswick Street, to the people. The gig has been promoted by RRR and in Beat magazine where the photo was featured on their home page when our interview was first published.
Back from Cyprus to GIGS
Hi all, I’m back from my trip to Cyprus after writing 20,000 words of my novel, Misplaced. It was a great trip, both for my career, spiritually and emotionally and it has given my life some perspective. Apart from writing the novel I also performed my poetry to a small group of artists in Limassol and Nicosia and have found a publisher for Love and Fuck Poems. The book will be translated into Greek and distributed to Cyprus and Greece.
Back to the land of Aussie and I have two gigs coming up that are very different. On the Monday the 7th I am performing with Nick Tsiavos(contrabass) at La Mama Poetica and the night is themed ‘Love and Fierceness’. On Friday the 11th or 11.11.11 I will be performing with Ben John Smith(Horrorsleazetrash.com). This will be similar to what we did for my book launch, a showdown of poetry to see who can be the baddest. This will be promoted in Beat Magazine with an interview(either the 2nd or the 9th edition) and on RRR aural text on the 9th. The photo shoot for the poster was conceptualised with the intention of showing the woman in power in response to the article I published on Overland literary journal, ‘Poetry or pornography’, which generated a stir amongst the academics. The photo was taken by Art of the State Filmworks, concept by Jenny Poulakos, makeup and hair by Kaliopi Malamas. It is part of a series which will be posted on Horrorsleazetrash.com before the Polyester gig.
Hope to see you there!
My laptop died
When you travel across the world to write a novel and spend most of your savings travelling there only to have your laptop die, no doubt the self doubt would creep in. I’m writing this post on a tiny laptop leant to me by my cousin’s boyfriend. Luckily he had one to lend me because you can’t rent laptops in Cyprus. It had me thinking about what words are worth, and what they are worth when they are gone forever. The computer shop was helpful in taking all my files off the computer, thirty euros later. I went in there holding my baby and saying ‘it’s an emergency’ and explained my situation and they put me straight in front of the queue. After she did the assessment she came out holding it and said ‘the news isn’t good’ and i had to sit down, like I was in a hospital or something, very European dramatic(very Koraly). She explained that the motherboard died and it will be very expensive to fix, if it can be fixed at all, and if they open it my warranty would be void. There are no service centers for ASUS in Cyprus. Word of advice: don’t buy an ASUS laptop. I bought it six months ago and it’s been to the repairers six times.
On a more positive note I met up with Anna Kannava’s brothers in Limassol. For those of you who don’t know she is a close friend of mine who passed away earlier this year and she was also a brilliant artist. Anna was the one that told me I had to come to Cyprus to finish the book. I dreamt about her last night too, which was nice. I always like dreaming about her because we’re always hugging really tight and saying nice things to each other.
Her brother, George, was interested in helping me record a poem. We recorded two but one didn’t turn out because George wasn’t recording but I didn’t realise till I got home! It was a great video. Hopefully we can recreate it. But we also did this one, Player, at a cafe my the sea in Limassol. Enjoy!
New semester, new goals, new dreams
Hi all out there, how are you? I have an extract of my novel below! But before I get into that, thanks for visiting my blog! It’s been a while since I wrote a personal account of what’s been going on in my writing life. Apologies firstly to all of you who were following my transformative poem but I’ve taken it down. The reason was that it was growing and growing and it’s going to be my longest poem ever and it’s going in all sorts of directions. I don’t plan to repost it here(maybe an extract?) because I feel it is too long for the internet and I may send it away to a competition and I’m also still not sure if it is a performance piece or a page poem but I think it will end up being performance so you’ll have to catch me at an open mic to hear it, or come along to one of my gigs!
Having said that, I don’t plan to gig for a bit, because I’m focusing on finishing my novel, and I can hear some of you shouting ‘Finally! Come on already!’ Okay, okay, I know some of you have been hearing about this novel since I started it in 2005 but seriously, this time, I’m going to finish. I started advanced novel writing this semester with the wonderful Toni Jordan and three weeks in it’s been an amazing experience. I feel like I’m learning so much and I’m really excited about where my novel is going. I plan to finish the novel by mid next year, but it could be sooner. I’m not going to submit it anywhere until it’s polished and edited, up to the standard of the writing I’ve posted below which is the opening pages and it has been edited and proofread. For those of you who don’t know, I lost one of my very best friends and mentor for Misplaced, Anna Kannava a few months ago. Cinema Nova are having a retrospective of her films on Friday the 11th and Saturday 12th of August, and it would be nice to see people coming together to celebrate her beautiful films. She was on my back to finish the novel and so now, I’m doing it!!
I’ve also been busy putting my poetry chapbook, Love and Fuck Poems, into book shops and I’ll start sending them out to be reviewed and hopefully something will come out of that. There’s been requests for me to travel interstate and perform and even to go to Cyprus and I wish I had more time to do all that. It’s on the cards, definitely, and please do get in touch with me if you’d like to set something up and we can take it from there. There was an interesting debate also that I started over at Overland about poetry and pornography and I learnt a lot from the discussion. It was really good to see people contributing and having their say. Ben John Smith, the poet which I discussed in the article and the poet who launched by chapbook, and I, have been discussing putting on another show and there is going to be a photo shoot he says, of me and him for his website, coming soon! I was really happy with the turn out at the launch and people who couldn’t make it are emailing me for copies of the book. I can post you one or I’ll be carrying them around at the next few poetry readings if you want a copy, or you can go down to one of the bookshops that stock them, click the link on the right bar for more details.
It was also great reconnecting with Trial Kennedy last Saturday night, the band I have been studying for my novel. It put me right back into Ella mode(my protagonists’ name). Anyway, enough babbling from me. Here are the opening pages of Misplaced, and I’m not sure about the title anymore so any suggestions and feedback would be most appreciated. Enjoy!
1
Clubbing is number one. Everything else, can get fucked. And there’s only one kind of person that doesn’t get that: an Aussie, because they can do whatever they like, whenever. Their parents aren’t stuck in wogland around the Stone Age. They don’t have to go clubbing to get some privacy. They can just be free, twenty-four-seven.
If clubbing were an alcoholic drink, like a cocksucking cowboy, I’d drink it until I was plastered, drown my problems to death. In a club I can do whatever I like and the wogs can’t see me. I can just be me, smoke, drink, whatever. It’s like right now with Josh. We’ve been flirting for the last couple weeks, and finally his tongue is my mouth, wet lips, music thumping me to the core, strobe lights outlining our bodies as we grope and meld. It’s the top floor of Metro nightclub, a red leather make-out booth just for us. He’s nibbling at my ear, one hand tangled in my long black hair, the other sliding up my thigh, at the hem of my skirt. I gently nudge it away. Friday nights at Metro are called ‘Joy’. Joy. Joy.
‘You’re so hot, Ella…’
There’s a tap on my shoulder:Milos. He’s pissed. He taps his watch.
Shit.
‘Who’s that?’ Josh asks, our limbs still entangled.
‘My cousin, sorry, I gotta go.’
We grin at each other. ‘I’ll see you soon? Next Friday?’
‘Yeah.’ But why didn’t he ask for my number? ‘See you then.’
Milos’s got his don’t-fucking-talk-to-me face on all the way to the car, until he’s behind the steering wheel, and then he lets it rip. What’s new? Fotis, Theo and Steven,Milos’s friends, in the backseat, keep their mouths shut.
‘We were looking everywhere…’ He’s gripping the wheel with one hand, shaking his hand like an angry wog with the other.
‘Sorry…’ The clock says3:20. It’s3:20. And we’re still ten from Thomastown.
‘…at least tell me when you’re gonna disappear with some guy so I know…’
I’m fucked if Mum’s up, fucked.
‘…respect yourself. Don’t kiss every guy that shows an interest…’
‘Aha…’ She’ll have me doing thoulgies all day tomorrow. But I’d rather house chores than one of Dad’s ‘what’s wrong with you’ looks.
‘Ella! Are you listening?’
We pull up the driveway.3:34am. 3:34am. I swallow.
Television flicker illuminates the darkness when I creep inside. I stop, hold my breath. He’s up. Hopefully he’s fallen asleep on his armchair. I listen in for his snore—there it is, lawnmower loud, and I exhale. Removing my heels I tiptoe towards the study, past the living room and Dad. The Greek news reader on ANT1 speaks into the stillness.
‘What time is this?’ he mumbles half asleep in Greek.
‘Sorry, Dad.’
He sighs. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Why can’t I just make it home on time? I can’t see him. He’s probably clutching his forehead, shaking his head. I stare at the floorboards. Silence. Not that I’m expecting him to say anything, but you never know. The unspoken words grate at my chest. He doesn’t get me. He just doesn’t get me.
I give up and mope into the study. I connect to the internet and my cousin Anastasia from Cyprus(SexyKyprea) is online. So is George (DangerBoy), a friend of a friend of Anastasia’s. On an island the size of Greater Melbourne, everyone knows everyone. George sketches and paints like me and we exchange drawings via post every so often (my idea, of course).
‘I have news!’ I send through, and without waiting for a response, I frantically type the night’s events.
‘I think it is love,’ Anastasia sends.
‘Even though he didn’t ask for my number?’
‘This is no problem, he is shy, yes?’
Why isn’t he responding? ‘George?’ I type. Why does he do that? If he’s in the chat room he should, oh, I don’t know, chat? Or he should just log out. I’m just about to type something along those lines when he sends:
‘Finally! Epellanes mas!’ You’ve driven us crazy!
‘Relax! I don’t talk about him THAT much.’
‘Anastasia?’ George asks.
‘Well…’ Anastasia sends. ‘But this is what love is…’
‘Ithes!’ See! George sends.
Idiot. ‘Do you think it means something if he didn’t ask for my number?’
‘Elanora, do you think I have a map to Josh’s brain?’
‘But I need a guy’s opinion.’
‘Has my drawing arrived in the post?’
‘Are you SERIOUS?’ I send. ‘Stop changing the subject.’
‘Yes…I’m very serious about ART.’ He keeps going on about the drawing he’s sent me, that I’ll love it, that he used colour this time instead of grey-lead. When he asks how far off I am from sending my drawing I tell him I’ll post it on Monday then head off to bed.
***
It’s morning and I’m across the hallway at Anna’s door in my blue and white striped pyjamas, hair knotty, foggy brain. Her door’s closed of course, and the annoying, hand-written ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign is blue-tacked to it. A sudden shriek shoots out the gap underneath her door, then laughter. Great, Daphne must be here. My God wog families are claustrophobic. Why does Thia Nikki have to live one street away? It’s completely insane.
I open the door anyway. ‘I have newwws.’
They’re wrestling on the bed. Anna’s got her in a headlock, black curls bouncing about the place. These girls are seventeen? No way. Grow up, I want to say, but don’t. I wouldn’t want to piss Anna off.
They stop. ‘Can’t you read signs?’ Anna says.
‘I kissed Josh!’
She narrows her eyes at me like Dad does when he’s disgusted in me. ‘Ella, you don’t even know him. It’s slutty.’
My smile deflates. ‘No it’s…’ but I can’t finish the rest of my sentence.
Daphne cackles. ‘You’re such a bitch sometimes,’ she says to her.
They watch each other, then explode into laughter. ‘You know you love me,’ Anna responds.
Daphne pinches her waist, and they’re re-engaged in combat.
‘Shut up,’ my brother Harry moans from his bedroom.
I watch them, like standing there is going to make them stop or something. Of course they just pretend I’m not there. Of course.
Back in my room I dial Sandra on the mobile. How else am I going to get a boyfriend? By being a nun? Sandra may be younger than Anna but she gets it. It’s called maturity.
‘You got time for a chingoon in five?’
‘Yeah…something wrong?’
‘Need to talk. See you soon.’
I can’t be fucked asking Mum so I lock my bedroom door, get dressed, and escape through my window—it’s just a small jump out onto the front veranda of our woggy, brick veneer house and then it’s freedom all the way.
It’s freezing, freezing. Winter! Already? I rub my hands, slide my arms inside my jumper sleeves. The sky’s moody, like me. Bloody Anna, who does she think she is? Like she’s judge of my life or something. Judge of my life!
I head to the park at the end of our street. Our orange, metallic egg bubble is at the centre of the dusty, grassless playground, between the swings and the seesaw. Sandra’s already inside, leaning against the wall decorated with messages we wrote as kids: ‘Sandy and Ella, best friends forever’, ‘Ella is a bella, my Ella-bella’, ‘Sandy the sexy beast’.
‘Hey.’ I crouch in.
‘Okay, what happened?’ She’s smoking a chingoon, pulling on strands of her blonde hair. Her feet are up on the wheel planted at the bubble’s heart. Sandra loves spinning the bubble—I get so dizzy but she doesn’t care, she thinks it’s funny when I crack it.
I quickly light up from her packet, sit opposite her, against the wall, feet up on the wheel, kiss her shoe soles with mine. ‘Oh, just shit.’ I look out at the swings.
I feel her blue eyes reading my curled in stance. We don’t speak, and we don’t need to. When she finishes her ciggie she tosses it outside. She starts humming. I try to make out the song. I think it’s ‘Like a prayer’ by Madonna. Sandra hates what she calls ‘eighties pop shit’ and is into what I call ‘grunge rock shit’, you know, the type that gives you a headache. She sings for me. I was right. I close my eyes to the world, lose myself somewhere between the chorus and the force of her voice.
‘I kissed him,’ I blurt during the second verse.
She halts. ‘And that’s bad because…?’
I cover my eyes. ‘I know, I know it’s not bad.’ I take a drag of my ciggie.
‘Then why are you covering your eyes?’
I sigh, lower my hand. Her eyebrows may as well be touching the ceiling. ‘Wait! Let me tell you what happened.’
I delve into last night in detail, finishing my ciggie in the process.
‘That’s awesome,’ she says.
‘Really?’
She digs into her backpack, retrieves the deodorant. ‘So what exactly is the problem?’ She sprays to mask the smoke.
I take a deep breath, carefully and quickly drop the word ‘Anna.’
‘Ella!’
‘I know. I know. She said it was slutty!’
She’s shaking her head, handing over the deodorant. ‘Look I’ve said it a million times and I’ll say it again: a) she’s probably got her period, b) she’s the biggest wog of all, the biggest, I mean seriously, she’s gonna end up with some wog guy, behind the kitchen sink going “yes, honey” I mean, come on Ella-bella. Kiss whoever you want and stuff her. Okay?’
I nod, like I agree, sort of, but maybe I should kiss whoever I want.
Maybe I fucking will.
The literary judge
Submit to me, and I will bestow on you
the highest honour, in all of the Literary Kingdom.
I will determine your A R T
edit your wannas to want tos
wash out your dialect
make you sound more Australian
I say what poetry is and this, isn’t a poem
You will not change the narrative voice
You will not truncate your sentences
You will punctuate correctly
follow all the rules they teach
You will be educated in literature
or else you really needn’t bother
We only take serious writers seriously
so thank you kindly for your submission
please resubmit at a much later date
I thought I’d start off my blog post with a fitting poem, which was recently published in Paradise anthology. I think the poem speaks for itself. Meanwhile, it’s been busy busy busy for me. I’ve been curating the literature/spoken word component of Antithesis, a festival to challenge Greek stereotypes and show that we are more than wog boy, greek dancing and souvlaki. It’s also trying to make a statement, that we are here, we are producing art, and we want to be heard. I will be performing at two events for Antithesis, this coming Wednesday at ‘I speak, you listen: words outside the wog box‘ and the following Monday La Mama courthouse for ‘sex, love and the whole damn Greek thing‘, in collaboration with prominent musicians, it is one gig that I’m truly excited about. More details on my ‘upcoming gigs page’. I’ve written an article about Antithesis over at Overland and hope that people will join the discussion. I think Antithesis will mean different things to different people but fundamentally what is important is that a movement is happening. I think they are putting it up on the blog tomorrow, so don’t stress if you click through and it’s not there. I’m also going to be in the English section of the Neos Kosmos newspaper tomorrow. Here is a link to the online version. I hope I didn’t say anything too controversial, but that’s me I guess!
Some other exciting news is my short story, ‘The recipe’, which was selected for the Overland master-class in 2009, was recently longlisted for the FISH short story competition in Ireland. I’m really proud and happy about the longlisting and hope that I’ll find a publisher for the story soon. I’m also going to have a short prose poem published in the next issue of Short and Twisted, and soon the anthology os second-generation Greek-Australian poets will be published by Australian Scholarly publishing. The title they are going with is Southern Sun, Aegean Light: Poetry of Second-Generation Greek Australians. I like it. And also on a more academic note, I’ll be starting prac placement at Illura Press in two weeks. Very excited!
Till the next installment. I hope to see you at one of my gigs!
My response: Cordite Reviews Love and F**k Poems
February 6, 2012 at 4:20 am (Creative commentary)
But what I really want to talk about are the references to the poetic quality of Love and Fuck Poems . Although I agree with Tara’s analysis that my work may be better suited to performance, I believe that it is still poetry suited to the page, which goes back to the tiresome argument I’ve been having with Tara for many years now: what is poetry? To me, it does not have to be academic or inaccessible to be poetry. A poem can be any short arrangement of text, that has some rhythm, that the words are arranged in a way to convey an emotion, a thought or a message. There are no rules! And I learnt that from my teacher at RMIT, Ania Walwicz. If it wasn’t for her saying that to me on my first day of Poetry 1, I’m not sure I would have ever achieved the success I have with my poetry. I went to class saying ‘teach me the rules, I want to be a poet!’ and that’s what I got. By teaching students what poetry is we stop them from being poets. I know many will disagree with me but I get tired of people saying ‘this is what poetry is’. Because its statements like that which give poets like me, a boring name.
Overall, I am happy with the review: one review is better than none and I have three now! Click here and here for the other two. Everyone is entitled to their opinion, and I respect Tara’s. In fact, now having thought about it, I think it is a positive review because I know she is a tough critic to please! But this review also affirms my decision to turn Love and Fuck Poems into a trilogy, but more on that in a later post!
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