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‘Osmiridium miner’s camp, c. 1910’
Unregarded muscles in the tall bush
Warratah leach marred jet trail
(usually a horse or other equine, such as a mule)
used to create and spread modern civilization
Old English stirap, stigrap,
Middle English stirop, styrope
Savage River vs. Tarraleah punctuate
2 p.m bounce. Ernest Matthews- far-out
A picture of
A girl in an oval frame
Makes the valley seem
‘primeval’ Advanced feudalism
Limerick man in a dirt yellow tunic
The singing links of his
Made in England Irons. ‘Il o ho ho’ why not be
One fly meets another
They have a lot in common.
“Keep your eye Robin Grey
On the middle distance sounds pretty but he’s act-
So you can see them drop dead ally a prick, Toady
From the sky” Victorian.
Blue Hills 3065.
It were his grievous Mad Dog Morgon is
Beauty dead and skun thank God.
That undid us
This slice of spec- The Duke has lovely
Ulated hog & think legs
Of every hog I have yet to love chew.
Europeans… ..stay Hungarian Aristocrats in Jindabyne
in Europe! Play cards perfume mufflers and take
w/ Kolya in yr. Viking stock
w/ yr. Jellied bosom
meaning pressure-blue jug
dynastic growth. Fragrantly two blindmen
cross a log bridge for supper.
In ’58 the Queen Mum
Came to Essendon airport- a sunny
Morning we went pouting
Out there in a Ford single spinner
As ‘Press.’ She’s not
there Any more.
Breakfast is spitting saveloys
On the Ulverstone
Singing ‘Sir Walter Raleigh; such a tasty
Servant until he fell- a- foule!
Self smoked and wantone, Lytle sex-pot
Parrot, bury the stockinged bitch in Irish
Curses, cram his mouth wit schinkled gold
Beheaded by the angry crown, gargling on a final
Map of the world : ‘as I tumbled thro’ the
“he was a skald, Father, he drank to think.”
Blue Hills 102.5
They ripped up the place for the opal
Should there goat be in that paddock?
That’s the best crappy tag I’ve seen
Booragul: half built or half buried?
Go little ponies of N.S.W!
Smutluck in the bunker at Surrey Hills
Bobs Hawke & Adamson
Standing up in one man tinnies
Side by side
the undeniable tang the
Ancient unseen fish
Take a p-shot at the Mudgee duck
Before the bastard makes the coast
Dora Creek, fucking filthy feet.
Fat on chips like staring too
At the Steelworks
Dad belts the cane twice snaked
By the same bit
Would these jeans fit a convict? how’s your
Clif-ton Pugh’s gum
trees are better- he spent
The last 40 years
Dangling the occult. Tony
Lawrence is still in Newcastle where they’ve
Victorian beer and Suicidal
‘Blue Hills’ was a serialised radio program produced in Australia from the late 1940s until the 1970s, and the Australian poet Laurie Duggan picked up the name for a long series of occasional poems about being in Australia. As they have advanced numerically (Blue Hills 14, Blue Hills 15… Blue Hills 60), these poems really have become thrilling little instruments of sensitivity, proceeding by plucking out the contingent details of scenes of Australian life, and resting everything upon them. There is nothing that cannot go into a ‘blue hills’ poem, yet as little mobiles, Duggan’s structures are, gravitationally, extremely precise, and plainly an aesthete’s delight. In many parts of Australia, if you haul yourself over one set of blue hills, you are likely to see the horizon replicated as endless blue hills: it is a flat figure of surface abstraction and a figure of echo. The poems are little complexes of ideologies, aesthetics, and the ethical charting of Australia’s historical deliverance to the commodity market. Duggan’s ‘Blue Hills’ open up an invitation to trespass on new ways of thinking Australia through poetics, and is one of the more lively mechanisms of the modern Australian canon.
Duncan Hose is a poet and postgraduate scholar, currently living in DOWNTOWN Melbourne. His first book of poems, Rathaus, was published in 2007 by InkenPublisch, Hobart, with his next book of poems, Rattapple,, due in 2010.