Download PDF Here
Live Encounters Poetry & Writing February 2021.
Anne M Carson’s poetry has been published internationally, and widely in Australia. Recent publications include Massaging Himmler: A Poetic Biography of Dr Felix Kersten (Hybrid, 2019), and Two Green Parrots (Ginnindera Press, 2019). She has initiated a number of poetry-led social justice projects. She is currently a PhD candidate at RMIT where her project includes poetic biographies of two creative women – Anna Magdalena Bach, a ‘flawless’ soprano (according to her husband, Johann Sebastian Bach) and George Sand, prolific French novelist.
A poem about an apple
A dark underground corner. His car door and mine
awkwardly proximate. I pause, let him proceed.
Cautious carpark twostep. He smiles, lopes off
crunching a red apple – loose dangle of limbs,
easy stride. I step into the space he has just left.
Only a few seconds of his presence douse it
in scent profile. His apple-laden breath is the air
my mouth opens to. Unexpected delight. Usually
this tang only on loved ones close enough to kiss.
I don’t register face – breath delectable. How did
apple’s innocence get sullied? We need to know more
about good and evil, not less. Breath blesses me.
Jelly blubber
A hollow in the shallows
where kids have dug
a mass grave A hundred
or more squashed together
in a gelatinous huddle
like a piece of cut fruit
a giant colourless
pomegranate bursting
with transparent seeds
More translucent than
sago granules brimming
a bowl Amber without
the tea stain Some days
the beach is scattered
with masses of rounded
ice cubes what the bar
tender has thrown out
after an all-night party
Arriving mysteriously
in swarms they float
silently at the mercy
of invisible forces til
they beach and bake
in the sun and air
No-one knows what
sets off their migration
Suddenly they appear
in front of you when
you’re swimming
taking on the colour of
sand or water you
feel soft blunt bumps
on your limbs Just the
hint of a shape ghostly
underwater presences
meaning you no harm
As you walk the tideline
they squelch underfoot
squeeze deliciously between
toes like the cool ooze
of mud Dried they shrink
to a child’s handful of
crinkled cellophane
a shrunk curl of cling
wrap In a few days
they disappear entirely
until the invisible
mechanism – moon? tide?
sets them going again
A new batch bobs in
Egg cases from the
conical sand snail
© Anne M Carson