tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-72616042024-03-13T22:36:18.005+11:00Luca Antara... who knows what other travellers might not have set out with a wild surmise for these shores? Looking perhaps for Luca Antara; perhaps just for the day after tomorrow.Martin Edmondhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15703987223264531057noreply@blogger.comBlogger720125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7261604.post-58631833028439796312010-08-02T08:47:00.002+10:002010-08-09T13:46:47.472+10:00.Isinglass.Martin Edmondhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15703987223264531057noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7261604.post-45732852581209394582010-03-17T10:25:00.005+11:002010-03-17T18:38:00.307+11:00.I'm away tomorrow for a couple of months and during that period do not anticipate posting here; I might retire the site altogether. It's been nearly six years and maybe that is long enough. My rule has always been that I only post when I feel like it; and lately I've been feeling like it less and less often. Not sure why, could be the pressure of other commitments, could be something else Martin Edmondhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15703987223264531057noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7261604.post-34284590571226944352010-03-15T12:16:00.002+11:002010-03-15T12:24:23.285+11:00.A feeling of harassed sympathy arose in him, a compassion that pertained as much to Augustus as to the mass of humanity, to the ruler as well as the ruled, and it was accompanied by a responsibility no less importunate, a truly unbearable one which he himself could not account for beyond knowing that it bore small resemblance to the burden which Caesar had taken upon himself, rather that it was Martin Edmondhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15703987223264531057noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7261604.post-81202971576760043282010-03-09T12:32:00.003+11:002010-03-09T12:35:45.161+11:00.nonlocality v quantum entanglement.Martin Edmondhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15703987223264531057noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7261604.post-17373116313808043222010-03-03T15:44:00.009+11:002010-03-03T19:35:55.740+11:00my day job is at nightI first drove a taxi in Sydney in June 1981 . . . I think. At the time a friend in New Zealand asked me to put together a few pieces about my experiences of that kind of work for a possible book. I did write something, called A Night in the Life, which for various reasons never eventuated. I still have a photocopy of the ms somewhere but, since it was made on heat sensitive paper, last time I Martin Edmondhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15703987223264531057noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7261604.post-42747261458773746612010-03-02T00:03:00.002+11:002010-03-02T00:05:10.413+11:00.Martin Edmondhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15703987223264531057noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7261604.post-25003466632113708252010-02-18T12:41:00.005+11:002010-02-18T17:32:51.492+11:00patience is (not) a virtueThe crescent moon hangs pale on the pale blue sky over the steeple. Again. How many more times, he thought, and how many more times will I have this lugubrious thought? He had begun to suspect that he had already thrown each of the 64 hexagrams making up the I Ching on at least one occasion: as if the oracle might be exhausted. But how can you exhaust the inexhaustible? The number of different Martin Edmondhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15703987223264531057noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7261604.post-39251923921572020142010-02-14T20:07:00.002+11:002010-02-14T20:08:58.428+11:00Martin Edmondhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15703987223264531057noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7261604.post-34386395286060855552010-02-05T15:32:00.003+11:002010-02-05T15:41:31.044+11:00texting : an exchange.indigo dreams.violet nights.the serene intoxication of your presence .the dark pool of your absence.the silver thread that runs un / broken between us.our white silences.Martin Edmondhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15703987223264531057noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7261604.post-89532894355726379512010-02-03T13:00:00.000+11:002010-02-03T13:01:43.328+11:00In the Zone.Martin Edmondhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15703987223264531057noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7261604.post-12345036844037938032010-02-02T13:14:00.003+11:002010-02-02T13:27:43.265+11:00I think I now know who David Malley is, whose alias he is: thank you. I have read your book, it is a worthy addition to that equivocal corpus, that body of undead work, those irreducible traces of the zombie poet and his numerous avatars who cannot and will not be stilled or silenced, that rhizome proliferating endlessly in the underground of the mind's divigations . . ..Martin Edmondhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15703987223264531057noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7261604.post-58402449066658043462010-01-28T16:05:00.007+11:002010-01-28T18:29:54.442+11:00Days Like ThisToday I posted off to AUP in Auckland the corrected proofs of Steal Away Boy, the Selected Poems of David Mitchell. This book, which has consumed much of my free time and also that of my fellow editor, Nigel Roberts, over the last year or so, will be published in early April; there'll be a launch at the Gus Fisher gallery in Auckland on the evening of Tuesday 30th March. It's always a strange Martin Edmondhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15703987223264531057noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7261604.post-81836461191383460502010-01-27T00:14:00.002+11:002010-01-27T00:15:15.702+11:00..Martin Edmondhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15703987223264531057noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7261604.post-79989791041354542642010-01-16T00:58:00.003+11:002010-01-16T14:46:16.856+11:00the liminal daysIn my peculiar chronology, the old year ends around the summer solstice and the new one doesn't begin until today, or perhaps tomorrow. The days between are liminal days, intercalary days . . . sometimes I feel like proclaiming an idiosyncratic Decree of Canopus but it would of course have effect only in my own private universe. Or within these four walls, whichever is the larger. So, there's Martin Edmondhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15703987223264531057noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7261604.post-15102766680941878942010-01-14T00:51:00.002+11:002010-01-15T01:45:06.447+11:00Currawong DreamingOne of the joys of not driving, as I have not been these last ten days, is sitting out on the balcony watching the evening redness fading in the west . . . well, that was then. Next thing I'm seeing this tall spindly guy dressed like an undertaker without his jacket waving both arms outrageously on the other side of the road opposite the Waverley Court and Police Station. I go up to the Martin Edmondhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15703987223264531057noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7261604.post-5770806450648442362010-01-10T18:02:00.006+11:002010-01-10T18:05:37.317+11:00.Martin Edmondhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15703987223264531057noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7261604.post-35406816303076119922010-01-09T10:43:00.004+11:002010-01-09T10:44:23.676+11:00Martin Edmondhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15703987223264531057noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7261604.post-62435806606379460222010-01-06T18:02:00.004+11:002010-01-07T09:09:36.775+11:00hypnogeographies [ 7 ] [ the wedding party ]<!--[if gte mso 9]> Normal 0 0 1 289 1650 Blue Sea Pictures 13 3 2026 11.1282 <![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]> 0 0 0 <![endif]--> <!-- /* Font Definitions */ @font-face {font-family:"Times New Roman"; panose-1:0 2 2 6 3 5 4 5 2 3; mso-font-charset:0; mso-generic-font-family:auto; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:50331648 0 0 0 Martin Edmondhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15703987223264531057noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7261604.post-27906848702738236332010-01-01T12:52:00.003+11:002010-01-01T12:57:26.616+11:00hypnogeographies [ 6 ] [ lullaby ]<!--[if gte mso 9]> Normal 0 0 1 475 2712 Blue Sea Pictures 22 5 3330 11.1282 <![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]> 0 0 0 <![endif]--> <!-- /* Font Definitions */ @font-face {font-family:"Times New Roman"; panose-1:0 2 2 6 3 5 4 5 2 3; mso-font-charset:0; mso-generic-font-family:auto; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:50331648 0 0 0 Martin Edmondhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15703987223264531057noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7261604.post-5146175164313529862010-01-01T01:17:00.003+11:002010-01-01T12:58:20.002+11:00hypnogeographies [ 5 ] There is a third place that I have been to only a few times and then much against my will; although its grandeur and its gloom linger like a prodigy in the waking mind. It can be reached only by traversing, one by one, from zero to a hundred, each of the massive steps strung out and bending like the bridge on Jupiter over the methane haunted abyss clouding the planet below. Once you reach threeMartin Edmondhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15703987223264531057noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7261604.post-27789569484540545912009-12-30T12:25:00.006+11:002009-12-30T13:36:42.208+11:00In the Land of Ice and SnowAlthough I could not quite bring myself to name the dream country I wrote about in the last post, I can say this: it is curiously reminiscent of the landscape of my father's childhood and I think perhaps that when I go there I am not so much wandering in my own hypnogeography as in his; if such a thing can be. There is another dream country I visit that is more my own - the mountain that stands Martin Edmondhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15703987223264531057noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7261604.post-52012862627085537822009-12-23T11:00:00.005+11:002009-12-23T11:36:18.998+11:00lost horizonThere's a place I keep going back to in dreams. It is a land between two ranges of hills, the sea to the north, the sea to the south, and a complex pattern of creeks and ponds and lakes threading the flat green plains which are not uninhabited but not populous either. I can remember specific parts of this dream geography: a long, narrow apartment under a house on the eastern flank of the western Martin Edmondhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15703987223264531057noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7261604.post-48983794732647373452009-12-22T10:11:00.002+11:002009-12-22T11:39:52.802+11:00another view of the lakes of titan. . . that's Kraken Mare to the left of Ligeia Mare and the smaller lake to the north is called Punga Mare (Maori Latin); while elsewhere, but I don't know where, is Mayda Insula, named after the legendary island in the North Atlantic ocean on our beleaguered planet . . ..Martin Edmondhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15703987223264531057noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7261604.post-75736431850164774892009-12-22T08:16:00.009+11:002009-12-22T09:59:49.284+11:00titanic sailingOne of the places on the world wide web I like sometimes to go is the Gazetteer of Planetary Nomenclature. There you will find, among much else, that the geographical feature pictured above is called Ligeia Mare, a hydrocarbon lake towards the north of the northern hemisphere of Titan, Saturn's largest moon. Ligeia Mare is about 500 km in breadth and has a sister lake, Kraken Mare; they are fed Martin Edmondhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15703987223264531057noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7261604.post-91365117947352657952009-12-16T08:38:00.005+11:002009-12-16T11:25:58.827+11:00Authenticity is the abiding perversion of our times. It is indulged as a vice, worshipped as a fetish, embraced as a virtue. Like a deity it is pervasive, rapacious, and demanding: authenticity is the underwriter of history and culture, the guarantor of social legitimacy and personal integrity; it is the theorist of truth. Everything it touches turns to gold - or is at least burnished with a Martin Edmondhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15703987223264531057noreply@blogger.com0