Mark William Jackson

The ubercool guys at Black Rider Press, under the influence of Christmas spirits have launched the Diamond & the Thief December ‘09 edition. First up in this edition is Utopian Fragments’ Guy ‘Dhyan’ Traiber. Black Riders do awesome work, and the Dec’09 edition is another feather in their fastly filling cap.

“These Days That Play Like Toothaches” has been published in kipple poetry.

Thanks to Ashley Capes for his support.

Big thank you to Alec Patric for posting “Waiting for the Shit to Burn” on the Overland blog.

I was once asked the question ‘if you were given $100 to spend on books, how would you spend it?’ Pretty simple question, I answered in three parts;

1. Make sure I was standing in an independent book store and not some faceless, multi-national, shareholder serving, staff abusing chain.

2. Seek out emerging Australian poets, support the local scene.

3. Never buy classics by dead authors, these are easily sourced by supporting second hand book stores.

Top of the list, INDEPENDENT bookstores. Department stores spruik 30% below RRP for their commercial pulp fiction and are pushing large chain bookstores to compete. Large chain bookstores are well lit, books are placed neatly according to genre, alphabetised by author surname and have the feel of shoving a wet fish down your trousers, sure you might be curious but you end up feeling strange and uncomfortable.

In my poem ‘I Want to Build a Cafe’ I described the interior of my dream as being ‘wallpapered with savages.’ I want floor to ceiling bookshelves packed with the most dangerous people to ever hold a pen. Independent bookstores offer these nefarious individuals where large chains fear to forego precious money space.

The bravery of the independents is further revealed when you study book sales statistics. In UK in 2005, 85% of people surveyed purchased a new book within the year, only 1% of these were books of poetry, of the 1% poetry sales, 95% of these sales were of dead poets (for this I blame Robin Williams and his Walt Whitman catch phrase). Only one in ten books published actually makes money. This illustrates the gamble undertaken by lending shelf space to books with the odds heavily stacked against them.

Therefore, I would like to send a huge kudos to my favourite indie Gleebooks in Glebe, NSW.

Given the above mentioned odds I think a shout out is deserved to the independent publishers, and the Small Press Underground Networking Community (SPUNC) . Check out the site and support the true Aussie Battlers (just gave myself a cold shiver remembering who used to use that phrase to try and win votes, forget the name now!?)

It hangs in the air
between gazing eyes,
within a mother when she rubs
for her unborn child.

You can see it in photos
of an anniversary,
in the fingered indentations
of a well worn rosary.

It spills from flowers that are
placed to mark a grave,
echoes in prayers,
requests to be saved.

It flows within the tears
of those left to grieve,
waiting for a final kiss
to get some relief.

It’s left within the smiles
when thoughts are brought to mind,
a sweet embrace that lingers
after earth bound time.

It’s when I think of my wife and daughters
while I’m aching through the day,
it’s in the ride I take back home
and when I forget to say

that love is everywhere
untouched and unbroken,
love is captured in these words,
no longer left unspoken.