By Pamela August Russell
Disregard Shakespeare. Don’t anticipate Donne. Shelley and Keats: banished! And there’s completely no poet laureate from the golden or the other age. So fawning PhDs in love with little-understood verses by means of long-dead writers may still move in different places. this can be poetry for the remainder of us—bad poetry! Pamela Russell’s unexalted (but completely hysterical) poems mock, chide, accuse, tease, comic story, undermine, element, and snicker on the global round us—and at something that takes itself too heavily. Her non-canonical oeuvre comprises: Tea for 2 (A Tragedy); Nietzsche And The Ice-Cream Truck; Capitalism Can Fall unlike I Fell For You; Inappropriately Touched through An Angel; Love is sort of a bathroom Bowl; and plenty of extra. Who knew undesirable poetry should be so strong!
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Extra resources for B Is for Bad Poetry
Jules grimaced back at me. I had no idea what she was trying to convey, but probably some nonsense about being patient. At the other end of the table, Jean was turning purple. She too was gazing at Susie, helpless, but for quite other reasons. So ferocious had Susie’s initial onslaught been that Jean had found herself vanquished before the battle had even begun. Not two words had she managed to utter. She had tried to attack Susie head on by simply starting to talk and had got as far as ‘I . ’ before being swamped by Susie’s superior volume.
It’s an outrage. Anyhow, as we were staggering up the porch steps under a hundredweight of Jules’ luggage, which she claimed we’d need ‘just in case’, I heard a noise on the verandah. I dropped my end of the load and brushed the wisteria out of my eyes to see that the noise was the creak of a porch swing, and on the swing was a young couple, holding hands and gazing. Not gazing at the moon, which was there for them to gaze at, but at us, and seemingly in some annoyance at our turning their scented evening tryst into a removalists’ convention.
It’s beautiful. I go all the time—to Canberra, and the one in Jamberoo. There’s the Woodstock Folk Festival in Queensland, which is huge. It opens your eyes to new music, too. I got back home from my first one and went to a gig at the Tempe Hotel, where one of the bands was playing. All these people I’d met at the festival were there. ’ ‘We always travel together,’ we said, and told her about the Holiday Buddy System. ’ We looked at each other. We’d never thought of that. It just seemed so unlikely.