‘Library of Beautiful Hybrids’ Poetry by Ian Irvine Hobson

 
Songs of Interstitium is an online site created by Australian born poet, writer and academic Ian Irvine Hobson. I should start by telling the reader to this introduction. that I gather “Interstitium” to signify “inter-states” and that the writer in question is seeking to promote an idea of an emergent genre, as dimension for artistic creativity – “Transmedia”. The artifice he has chosen, as a literary device, is quantum physics and the multiverse, into it he pours, as in a cauldron, all the elements, science fiction, mysticism, metaphysics, mythology, archetypes, surreal fantasy, quantum physics and biological evolution to emerge with an art form in an age that finds itself transformed by the computer sciences and the digital media, the age of singularity.
 
A mysterious box containing 5 manuscripts of novels, a series of poetics and a DVD from a sect with super secrets from another world is discovered in an outback of Victoria, Australia transported from a parallel universe. The writings are created by poet and writer Rowan Sweeney, where later we find in the transcripts of the novels, Rowan Sweeney is himself a time traveller in other parallel universes, where he encounters his doppleganger likenesses living in alternative realities.
 
The theme of the multiverse, as fictional mode, is developed from the theory of physicist Hugh Everet, to explain the phenomena of the interference pattern and super position created through the double slit experiment in particle physics. The theory went into abeyance for nearly half a century until revived by quantum physicist and computer scientist David Deutch. Although, if I understand him correctly, in the two books he’s written on the subject, Fabric of Reality & The Beginning of Infinity, the idea of time travel and telepathy between parallel worlds is not a feasible reality. Nevertheless,Transmedia genre, launches us into the age of singularity, artificial intelligence and the digital media, where art and creativity must find there own special voice in an age otherwise transformed by the quantum computer .
 
In Songs of the Interstitium in Book 3 – Poetry Sequence from ‘Library of Beautiful Hybrids’ we are introduced to 3 series of poetics, all created by the fictional Rowan Sweeney. One is almost reminded of the Portuguese poet Pessoa and the many fictional identities he assumed to write poetry through. As I mentioned before, all the elements outlined previously in the first para, pervade these poems with tremendous innovative, imaginative literary force and mood. There are brilliant constructions, where the poet grapples with an understanding of consciousness and the history of archetypes that underlay it. However, I must admit, that for sheer force of lyricalism, where the poet depicts the shocked mind of Darwin, as the concept of evolution dawns on him, I personally am most drawn to the
” Coral Reverie: Voyage on the Beagle, The Darwinian Poems ” series.
 
But to return to the genre theme of Transmedia, David Deutch writes in The Beginning of Infinity his view of the importance of the art form in the emerging age of singularity in these words:
 
“This, too, is not as different from science and mathematics as it looks: poetry, mathematics or physics share the property that they develop a language different from ordinary language in order to state things efficiently that it would be very inefficient to state in ordinary language. And both do this by constructing variants of ordinary language: one has to understand the latter first in order to understand explanations, of, and in, the former.”
 
I can only add, that personally, i’m not an adherent to the multiverse theory in quantum physics, but that nevertheless it has been one of the great philosophical enigmas of the last and present century.
Editor Robin Ouzman Hislop
 
Book Three – Poetry Sequences from ‘Library of the Beautiful Hybrids’
 
alchemicaltreeinfluenceofheavens17thc
 

 
Ian Irvine Photo
 
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.
 
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Tribute to the late E. Darcy Trie by Wanda Brayton

Darcy Trie (onerios13) E. Darcy Trie
 
 
Darcy Trie was one of my first readers on the poetry site where we met over eleven years ago. Her unique talent was so obvious, it was intimidating. Her insights were keen, intelligent, witty and bright with creative energy. Her comments on my poems are incredibly astute, funny, intuitive and enlightening, causing me to read my own work in a different light. She had so many friends and admirers from all over the world. I’m happy that now she knows, without a doubt, her effect on so many and the inspirational seeds she planted. On a poem written by one of her friends, he replied to my comment by saying “her poetry writes fires”. My response was “Her poetry burns houses down. Entire subdivisions.” My bones ache with missing Darcy, yet I know our spirits are bound to reconnect someday on another sojourn on a different path.
 
Darcy Trie (1975 - 2016) onerios13
 
This column is about Darcy and her writing; I sent her the questions and she replied in her own original way.
 
http://allpoetry.com/column/10955759-Poets-of-AP—ONERIOS13-by-WandaLeaBrayton
 
I created a list where I will add poems inspired by and/or written to Darcy as they’re discovered. As of now, there are 84 poems, but it will continue to grow.
 
http://allpoetry.com/list/588544-Darcys_Genius_-_In_Memory_of_onerios13
 
E. Darcy Trie’s poems found online
 
http://allpoetry.com/onerios13
 
Her best friend Nicole Hanna created this website for Darcy:
 
www.e-darcytrie.com/
 
Facebook Poetry Life&Times
 
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Sara Russell’s Twitter page (Tribute)
 
paper.li/pinkyandrexa/1321389290
 
www.artvilla.com/plt/category/poets/e-darcy-trie/
 
www.artvilla.com/plt/navigator-a-poem-by-wanda-lea-brayton-in-memory-of-darcy-trie/
 
mindfulofpoetry.homestead.com/pageforafrica3.html
 
www.thehypertexts.com/Darcy Trie.htm
 
www.wordriot.org/template_2.php?ID=1747
 
poetsporch.blogspot.com/2008/02/from-good-friend-c-darcy-trie-onerios13.html
 
altwrite.blogspot.com/2005/02/xing-nin-qia-lua.html
 
altwrite.blogspot.com/2005/02/penny-candy.html

 
Poem for Darcy Picture
“Ophelia [lying in the meadow]”, 1905 by John William Waterhouse
 
Poem for Darcy by Wanda Brayton
 
The One who softly calls for you to come at night
hears the wind roar as sudden storms flow through your bones;
an oasis of laughter, quiet whispers fluttering upon your hips
where sustenance may be found without a compass,
only murmurs cast into shadows to reveal the light you weave
with terrible truths and beautiful sorrows before dawn
 
You spend odd moments wailing wildly, walking in silence,
singing beneath moonlit stars, gathering madder,
crisped leaves fallen from sacred trees
to make your precious poultice; you create mandalas
made of jasmine ash, of myrhh’s seduction,
of frangipani memories, of green apple seeds
 
When you sleep, you travel swiftly, a bright arc
through time’s geography, tracing latitudes and longitudes
with purpose in your flight, fires lit within your belly,
love in your fingertips so deep, oceans rise
in envious whirls, tidal beasts howling admiration
for she who wears invincible wings
 
You are every woman history had once forgotten,
their existence erased by cruel men’s aspirations;
still, in their slumber, they moan your secret name –
yet, when they awaken, they cannot describe
those dire disturbances they felt so keenly,
their blood surged toward an invisible ache
 
Even now, they are haunted, their flesh dark with restlessness,
longing for a single glance of a beautiful bird they’ve never seen,
its song their only savior, their only sweetness, their mightiest woe –
Ophelia knew, Lilith knew, Delilah knew, and yes, even Medusa knew,
long after they’d tangled her silken hair with curses, then refused
to look into her eyes, understanding all too well
what burning thorns they’d find


 
 
Wanda Lea Brayton after wedding
Wanda Lea Brayton is a lifelong scholar, a prolific poet and a former college librarian who has been writing poetry since 1973 and columns since 2004. She’s done extensive editorial work and has assisted others with editing, compiling and promoting their own manuscripts. She married a brilliant writer in April 2009; they’ve disproved the theory that two artists cannot live together in harmony, let alone with only one computer between them. Her poems have been published by Clackamas Literary Review, Main Street Rag, World Poetry, Hudson View Poetry Digest, The Pedestal Magazine, Poetry Life & Times, Oak Bend Review, Aquillrelle, Stone Voices and other anthologies. She is a featured poet on a number of websites. A large volume of her poetry is available, titled “The Echo of What Remains Collected Poems of Wanda Lea Brayton”.
 
website: http://wandaleabrayton.blogspot.com/
 
Various links: Allpoetry author’s page: (member since June 2004) http://allpoetry.com/WandaLeaBrayton
 
Allpoetry columns link: http://allpoetry.com/columns/by/WandaLeaBrayton
 
Book: “The Echo of What Remains Collected Poems of Wanda Lea Brayton”
(8 1/2 x 11″, 556 pgs, approximately 1500-2500 poems, print and pdf)
http://www.lulu.com/product/paperback/the-echo-of-what-remains/16114406
 
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Transforming with Poetry at Inkwell Arts Centre Leeds UK

 
Transforming with Poetry-a
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 
 
 
 
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LUCKY. A Poem by Marc Carver.

 
 
Today the beggar
who sits in the street on his sleeping bag in the rain was
on the bench
 
He looked like he was waiting for something
then a young girl came along with a pie and a coffee.
 
She gave it to him
I turned and looked at her face
it was filled with wellbeing
but my thoughts were with him
what a lucky bastard I thought

 
 
Dog Image 4 Motherbird poem
 
 
Bio.
 
I am an old dog of a man
dogs look at me as they pass and say
is that a man or a dog.
So i continue to write for the dogs
and the occasional email i get from someone i don’t know who tells me they like my work

 
 
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Hotdish – A Poem Of The Great North Woods

Hotdish
by Ron Olsen

God bless hotdish
It kept us alive
But first we’d pray
Our Sunday morning ritual
Praying
To get through it all
For just one more day

We meant it too
We were so unworthy
The Vicar told us
And vile
And ungrateful
Not worthy to “gather up the crumbs” under His table
Which we really didn’t need
Truth be told

We had hotdish

Plenty of it
Stronger than theology
And tasty too

Tuna
Noodles
And sour cream
Pimentos
Olives
A splash of milk with a can of soup
Mix it together
Crush some potato chips on top
A sprinkle of paprika for an exotic edge
Throw it in the oven
And there you go

Salt and pepper
To give it taste
Bracing your blood to stand up
To the demon weather
Wailing outside
Begging you to come out
So it could try and kill you one more time

But we had hotdish
Made by the Ladies of the Ladies Aid
Who knew what they were doing

Big, strong German and Scandinavian farm ladies
With secrets they brought over from the old country
Arriving with only their bibles, babies and the family jewels
Bending over stoves
In the Episcopal Guild Hall basement
The heat flooding out to envelop the entire room

Making heavy, hearty, homemade hotdish in
Big Pyrex glass baking dishes
Doing their part
To keep the kids and the cardiologists going

And just as you were about to burst with joy
Unworthy as you were
There was even more to come
Through the passthrough and out into the main hall

Giant bowls of green and yellow Jell-O, wiggling and jiggling with life
Bits of cottage cheese suspended inside
And green olives
Molded in the shape of pinwheels
Or Christmas trees
Or peculiar giant half-moon shaped fish with big scales

And the old men would watch
Mumbling under their breath
“Damn kids don’t know how good they’ve got it…”

So we prayed to be forgiven
And were mindful of the need to be always alert
If the weather didn’t kill you some crazy old man might
Or you could fall through the ice and drown a horrible death in the lake

And all the while the wind screamed
Threatening to take your soul

And it might have
Except for the hotdish

Neither the north wind
Nor the crazy old men dared cross
The ladies of the Ladies Aid
Who knew exactly what they were doing

                     §


© Ron Olsen – all rights reserved

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Ron Olsen is a retired journalist who lives in Los Angeles, where he writes essays and an occasional poem.  You can find more of his poetry on his website, workingreporter.com.