The Happiness of Banging a Nail In

from Nick Laird, On Purpose

 

Pick one suitable for masonry.

Each flat or house should set aside

a room for such a purpose.  This one,

as you might have guessed, is mine:

so close the door; until it clicks.

Here, the Great Rift Valley,

consciousness, submits to dusk,

and you can focus on an object

located only in the radius

your arms make: a moth, a tooth,

a hand of cards.

                At some length

you set the nail against the wall

as if you mean to throw a dart,

and weight the hammer in your palm

to peck the tip into the plaster.

The repose of minor measurements!

Each swing and neat assailing tap

that scatters down the grip and wrist,

the spine, the nervous system, that crashes

on the cilia that line the inner ear;

you may pick up a rhythm here,

as the nail is struck, and shunted through

each  quick equivocal withdrawal

from this particular continuum

into the night sky of the party wall.

Filed under: Poetry, quotations

Exile

‘”You feel that it is not your home that is in your mind, that it’s somewhere else,” Bei Dao said. “It belongs to a strange world to which you don’t belong.”‘

This is poet Bei Dao, talking about his relationship with China. He is in Sydney this week for the Sydney Writers’ Festival.

Filed under: Bei Dao, China, Poetry, literature

When the evening is spread out against the sky

Filed under: Poetry, pictures