I In the quiet street an unacknowledged jettatore fixes upon a passing feline. II As the modern cars move parallel to grey pedestrians. I take a strong dislike to a malefic debauchee—he’s too shoulder-close at the newspaper stand. III Out and about after the airline trip I radiate ojas—apparently the women of the city like treacle (thankfully I do not smell like the corpse of hatred). IV Though I have not met the approaching academics, their undulatory waves press me breathless against a concrete wall— I almost drop the morning paper. V In the hotel lobby, whilst savouring breakfast odours, a passing porter attempts to mesmerise me with potent od— I dodge the fluid emotion make for the lift and a workaday shower. VI Those aesthetic goldfish, multicoloured creatures of coral, frenzy up as I pass—I experiment: my hands comfort or incite at random, at toss of a dollar coin. Seems I am naturally beneficent— they will not need the fish-food for six times seven days. VII Though diseased guests are locked in luxury suites I am forced to brave the un-medicinal air of their corridor jaunts—right here: the excrescent energy of a lover stifling to his beloved. I’m exhausted as I reach the door of my own room. VIII Having showered I sleep to alleviate the tiredness, notice in the sprawling that this hand soothes the solar plexus this other draws living juice from the liberated heart—the transfer is intense a three hour dialysis. IX Over-looking dim-lit rectangles solid with brick and concrete, cold steel and mathematical, I feel a rush of love—this I direct, squeeze gently from the tea-bag (comes rich aroma)—then collapse among conference paraphernalia, all strewn upon the double bed— and know for the first time, with relief, that your tumor will be benign (will heal itself). X It is the same day in a different city, and the evening undresses, opens the temporal gate wide enough ajar, that I can place my foot in the door. As I do, I clasp the relic you gave me—makes vivid our charmed purpose. You know that stone? I remember it about your neck. As I imagine it positively glows and I know that you like me to think about you, even from a great distance.
Ian Irvine is an Australian-based poet/lyricist, fiction writer and non-fiction writer:
His work has featured in many Australian and international publications, including Fire (UK) ‘Anthology of 20th Century and Contemporary Poets,’ (2008) which contained the work of poets from over 60 nations. His work has also appeared in a number of Australian national poetry anthologies, and he is the author of three books and co-editor of many more (including Scintillae 2012, an anthology of work by over 50 Victorian and international writers and poets). He currently teaches writing and literature at Bendigo TAFE and Victoria University (Melbourne) and lives with fellow writer Sue King-Smith and their children on a 5 acre block near Bendigo, Australia.
Links related to his work are as follows: