I have boarded the poetry train to Sydney.
Australian Poetry ltd have sponsored a train to Sydney thats going to be crammed to the gunnels with poets. There'll be slams and recitals and media and food. So i'm in. I like the concept, it reminds me of the Tragic Troubadours, our performances for the You Are Here Festival, taking poetry to different places.
The word "gunnels" (actually gunwales) always makes me think of trains, and not boats. This is due to me reading Ahma Hoarss, Tom Leonard's brilliant phonetic translation of Jean Arp's Ich bin Ein Pferd which, for the non-germanic, Jean had helpfully self translated into Je suis un Cheval.
Ahma Hoarss
Ahm oan a train
packt ti thi gunnilz
ma comparmints fuhll
a wummin n vri seat
a man oan ivri wummins knee
helluva hoat
lik sumhm oot thi tropics
aw thi passengers
fuhlin thir faces
champin away
when thi men aw suddnly girn
they wahnt thir mammy's tit
wahnt thir feed
wahnt thir sook
the oapn thi wummins blouses
lift oot the diddies
sook away fur life
fuhll thimselz wi good fresh mulk
ahm thi only wan no breastfeedin
n naibodys sookn it me
n am no sittn oan emdy's knee
an naibdyz sittn oan mine
coz ahma hoarss
sitn straight up a hoarss
ma hinn legs
upnthi seat
leanin nice n comfy
oan ma front legs
nay bothir a nieeeei gh gh gh
oan ma breast six buttns
shiny sixy sex appeal
neat n a row
lik glossy buttns n a uniform
how toaty thi world
how mega its cherries
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