tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-62695952008-05-08T07:32:20.054+10:00Ruby StreetJill Joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11239553936363212721noreply@blogger.comBlogger789125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6269595.post-11052581088977482752008-05-02T15:31:00.001+10:002008-05-02T15:34:39.319+10:00moving onIf you read down to the last paragraph of this article in The Australian’s Higher Education Supplement this week, you will see my name mentioned.
In other words, I am moving from Sydney to Adelaide in late May to take up a position as a Senior Lecturer in Creative Writing at the University of Adelaide. As someone who has lived, moved and had her being in Sydney, this is a big adventure.
And, Jill Joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11239553936363212721noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6269595.post-17024341395610763052008-04-27T22:40:00.001+10:002008-04-27T22:43:36.005+10:00hungercolour memory
ignited in eyes
sketched in flame light
giving to form
a hunger
ghosting
that necessity, pain
in which abundance is
its own hiding place
the inconspicuous spring
Jill Joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11239553936363212721noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6269595.post-83861170918801635472008-04-25T23:22:00.001+10:002008-04-25T23:22:47.342+10:00feather bonesbird looks like time
it flies above it
multitude
and flight movement
colours lost within
mountains
home lines end in
land becoming water
through seasons of
perpetual light, perpetual fall
the never-ending begins
what age is coming?
in silence
is no silence
feather bones
lifting the air
Jill Joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11239553936363212721noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6269595.post-58555918957423845152008-04-25T23:12:00.000+10:002008-04-25T23:14:06.968+10:00profusionin direct profusion
ferny light
captured green by the interior
a filter in the weeks
heated over by last summer
where is the dryness?
extended
and eliminated
too far from
wet coasts?
reach a hand
beyond reinforcement
a certain fresh forest
or another world
hot slow quarters
paradisical
the passage
seek them, breeze
always found face
outside improves
the molasses of fruit
garden directs its Jill Joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11239553936363212721noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6269595.post-62195395005542416642008-04-22T22:34:00.001+10:002008-04-22T22:36:00.000+10:00elasticitywhisper the dry track
veil of ways
dream fuelled
like escapees
this magician
the price of form
I have my words
their elasticity
connects skin
the alive thought
Jill Joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11239553936363212721noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6269595.post-11910374935432984182008-04-21T22:35:00.000+10:002008-04-21T22:36:52.400+10:00guttersThe privilege of beauty
is something we’ve imagined
rather than paid for.
When it all blows down
who claims the sky
lets dark outside the eyes.
As the garden perfects
one petal, leaves buckle
into heat streams.
The velvet is lush, alien
unlike diesel and gasoline
dripping rain, rather than sex
reminding you
the wall is pushed
by undone gutters.
Jill Joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11239553936363212721noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6269595.post-23156705760304544662008-04-21T22:17:00.000+10:002008-04-21T22:18:33.127+10:00making it up as you go alongI've been sifting all my life.
Who knows what you're looking for:
pageants of failures staged on memory television.
That may be reality or an exit strategy
(by you or whose army).
That's it: a list, warnings, a series of dreams.
Jill Joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11239553936363212721noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6269595.post-82747842891758789842008-04-20T14:03:00.000+10:002008-04-20T14:08:14.735+10:00globea globe of water
clear fruit, dirty fruit
water that is
water you never get
a circle, not a question
Jill Joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11239553936363212721noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6269595.post-2386198571894472962008-04-20T13:56:00.002+10:002008-04-20T14:02:34.374+10:00the trace of experience (?)The real becomes part of the words.
They are said, they are written.
What becomes history is one lead.
Emotion is another.
What is more unreliable?
Jill Joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11239553936363212721noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6269595.post-80305603072030809752008-04-19T18:07:00.000+10:002008-04-19T18:10:05.798+10:00a keyThe Now is surrounded by time.
Occasionally you fear there is no time, only billable hours.
The act as it stands is inconsistent with the models.
What of this failure to identify the measure?
Interests driven by gear, framing of loss and dividends.
So long as it’s written down, like disaster recovery.
There’s a key, silvery, sharp. Where’s the good news?
Where the work is?
Jill Joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11239553936363212721noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6269595.post-71436153464482397242008-04-17T23:02:00.002+10:002008-04-19T23:09:57.761+10:00what datawe appear as if
of beauty
to increase colour
the rebellion, the bud
dying in the data of time
subversive memory
we are
Jill Joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11239553936363212721noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6269595.post-50529209295906680692008-04-16T22:35:00.002+10:002008-04-16T22:42:16.806+10:00night-time in sydneyThe future often seems like the past, but it isn't.
I am leaving town soon.
Tonight at the rise of the hill, the black sweep of a bat, the skreek.
Now the wind is up, the chill is in.
I feel that my bones are made of sandstone and mildew, that Sydney feeling.
What will I make of the dry, and the desert?
All around me is transport: trains, planes, dogs out walking.
The past was never the Jill Joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11239553936363212721noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6269595.post-21879036361906177462008-03-24T14:53:00.000+11:002008-03-24T14:55:06.692+11:00minutesI earn, you
earn, we sometimes
stand and watch
minutes without labour
gathering
Jill Joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11239553936363212721noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6269595.post-26238481930554703412008-03-24T14:51:00.000+11:002008-03-24T14:52:35.048+11:00are.era.earwhat
you are
is neither agreed
in
this era
of nomad screed
chasing
your ear
with pollute’s bead
Jill Joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11239553936363212721noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6269595.post-50034099363798576942008-03-24T14:49:00.002+11:002008-03-24T14:59:09.745+11:00heatTemperatures
like emails continued
heat in the hard drive
a love song
businesslike
Jill Joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11239553936363212721noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6269595.post-29609747614342520622008-03-24T14:46:00.001+11:002008-03-24T14:58:21.853+11:00leavesUndermined
by service delivery
you don’t get it, leaves
tenuous in late
autumn
Jill Joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11239553936363212721noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6269595.post-50002722619052638692008-03-24T14:45:00.001+11:002008-03-24T14:57:05.074+11:00airA little breathless
in the sexualised
the conditioned and
the happy sad
air
Jill Joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11239553936363212721noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6269595.post-65415031903531294662008-03-24T14:23:00.003+11:002008-03-24T14:42:02.193+11:00time outI've been taking time out from the blogosphere; I haven't timed out. I've been hot in Adelaide and shivered under my own blanket, accompanied by a series of strange dreams. The list of 'things to do' has grown longer, but many of them are happy things. I am changing direction, but as the wheel is still in its turn, I can't say what that will be. But I have shown poems in progress to a couple of Jill Joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11239553936363212721noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6269595.post-85716928603257830272008-02-13T12:09:00.000+11:002008-02-13T12:17:34.032+11:00sorrySorry seemed to be the hardest word for a long time but now, today:
"Today we honour the Indigenous peoples of this land, the oldest continuing cultures in human history.
We reflect on their past mistreatment.
We reflect in particular on the mistreatment of those who were stolen generations - this blemished chapter in our nation's history.
The time has now come for the nation to turn a newJill Joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11239553936363212721noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6269595.post-4284654130828238462008-01-26T17:04:00.000+11:002008-01-26T17:10:22.546+11:00listeningHermitude - Rare Sightings
Ricardo Villalobos - Fabric 36
Bonnie Prince Billy - Master and Everyone
... and some Led Zeppelin, primarily to do with a project I'm writing, but enjoyable anyway.
Jill Joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11239553936363212721noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6269595.post-8382201769113071442008-01-26T13:22:00.000+11:002008-01-26T13:24:58.745+11:00review - and a mentionBarry Hill does the rounds with two recent Australian poetry anthologies. A mention of JJ amongst the other new and notable.
Jill Joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11239553936363212721noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6269595.post-23015856285645976382008-01-20T11:25:00.000+11:002008-01-20T11:26:24.332+11:00temporaryThread the light
that goes out
leaning on the door
...
What doubt is there
about the sky?
Is it the blue?
Jill Joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11239553936363212721noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6269595.post-29430402815117488282008-01-19T16:34:00.000+11:002008-01-20T11:22:24.188+11:00listeningQuartet for the End of Time, Messiaen
Gaspard de la Nuit, Ravel
Triple Concerto, Piano Trio Op.121a, Beethoven
... and the rain
Jill Joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11239553936363212721noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6269595.post-54050852954960148102008-01-13T23:49:00.000+11:002008-01-13T23:50:35.005+11:00fluxflux
of sound, syntactical
manoeuvres, dictions
Jill Joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11239553936363212721noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6269595.post-35712992388906633322008-01-13T23:48:00.000+11:002008-01-13T23:49:12.468+11:00ruinslook at the sun
along the off-white
afternoon over my shoulder
memory
speaks through heroic ideal
shivered beauty
lashed by cold light
your questions
lip air
go out
fall to ruin
walk ordinary matter
Jill Joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11239553936363212721noreply@blogger.com