Two Poems by Luke Beesley [Introduced by Thomas Moody]

Luke Beesley is a Melbourne based writer, artist and songwriter, whose most recent collection of poetry, Aqua Spinach (2018), was shortlisted for the Australian Literary Society’s Gold Medal. Beesley’s poetry is interested in the movement of thought and experience, and the ways in which they can dislocate language. Through unexpected shifts in syntax, Beesley transforms the quotidian into something approaching the surreal, and turns the arbitrary, in the words of Toby Fitch, into "an important aesthetic category."

 

“A Hat'' is reminiscent of John Ashbery’s “Leaving the Atocha Station”, in which disturbances and diversions form the core of the poem, and calls to mind Richard Howard’s great observation that Ashbery “reaches a pitch of distraction.” There are many similarities to be found between Beesley's and Ashbery’s poetry: a love of wordplay; a preoccupation with film and music; and a dreamlike calm, an effect which can be nourishing, even medicinal. Enjoy.

 

A Hat

I had been walking for 10-15 mins without a hat. Inside the hat
I was able and was able. Customer accounts. Phlegm of coat
rack hardened around my shoulders. Amuck this gunky, silvery
circumstance, I made a decision, or it, it was the dec tha ma!
The made, ago. Idled another coriander blemish. Awning. Team,
to ever, day, docent. Soup with three full. Or stopped-up chicken
cougher? Arp. I had been walking alongside water lilies (you can!)
too! Have to(o) take me till I walked into the early 20^thcentury and
spied Arp up in the late, by it. MoMA said warm itinerary. I have it.

 

An Attempt to Get Oats Into this Poem

It was no reflection on my fondness for you, the throwing of the sour milk.
The sound of the silver bucket spread out like a town at the beginning of a
Kurosawa. The milk was hula. The day: ultra marine. You stepped in the mood.
Do you still follow bees? I found four in a tea pot...
On the cover of your book is an open locket and within it your relatives?
Cousins? Their faces are small but I can recognise your eyes. With what
poems will you describe them this Christmas. Christmas like the name Tony
Tuckson. I guess I see spilled paint across the canvas like a pulled muscle.
We could get a towel, or sit in the sun? There's a bus! And our reflection in it, 
turning. It was my thought today that as poets we should eat good breakfasts.
You? Oats, sliced pear, pepitas, other seeds, natural yogurt.

 

Comments

[Martin Stannard]

I did enjoy. If Mr. Beesley ever reads this comment, I would love to make contact, if an Oz can bear to deal with a Brit. (DL has my contact details)

[Jill Newnham]

A "pitch of distraction": terrific!