Margie goes Festive

Congrats to Margie Cronin for having her outstanding collection, More or Less Than, shortlisted in the Adelaide Festival Award for Innovation. This is a relatively new award open to "published books which depart from conventional use of genre by borrowing elements from a number of genres such as fiction, non-fiction, biography, autobiography, poetry or cultural criticism." Despite their best efforts, however, the judges have failed to meet their own criteria, Margie's being the only work that seems to come close to fitting the bill. The criteria is not, by the way, particularly innovative, as any Capote fan or avid reader of Victorian novels could tell you, but what the hey! Margie's collection is well overdue for some accolades, as is the seemingly unstoppable author herself, a writer who has copped her fair share of nasty broadsides from they whose sins are multitude and whose one great vice is to teach. And while we're on the subject of dusty old things, it's good to see the Adelaide Festival making every effort to seem like something more than a trade fair.

Via Reggio by Wayne HW Wolfson

One of the delights of running a blog like Bluepepper or a mag like HOMEBREW is encountering the depth of talent out there. A lot of publishers I know say the same, although their trysts are heavily chaperoned by some crone from A&R. I recently published a few pieces by a Californian poet Wayne H Wolfson, impressed by the beautiful lilt in his poetry. I have since managed to get hold of a copy of his first CD, a poem recorded in collaboration with Mars Syndicate, a cleverly textured piece that rewards repeated listenings. Wolfson is a brilliant interpreter of his own poetry, and all in all the production on this CD manages to resist the temptation to bury the text in bangs and whistles. This CD is merely a sampler, but if it is anything to go by, the larger project will be a must for poetry lovers the world over. Click on the post heading to visit the website.

Memory

I am not often late for such urgent appointents. I have no excuses, but none would suffice in the circumstances. The man in question had a big problem with his ears. He was rendered immobile by the weasel word, by the paucity of simple wisdom, empathy, by the big bang of mindless suffering. All were in his sights and we have all been rendered a little less evil because of him.

Perhaps, given long enough, we will make amends.


Big soul. Vale Steve Plunder. 1963-1996