Biography of Chris Edwards
Chris Edwards is the Sydney-based author of utensils in a landscape (Vagabond Press, 2001) and A Fluke: A mistranslation of Stéphane Mallarmé's "Un coup de dés S¼" (Monogene, 2005). He has published poetry in a variety of Australian journals and online at Jacket Magazine and Poetry International. He edited Robert Adamson's Mulberry Leaves: Selected Poems 1970-2001 and Inside Out: An Autobiography and is an associate editor of Boxkite.
Chris Edwards's Works:
utensils in a landscape (2001)
A Fluke: A mistranslation of Stéphane Mallarmé’s ‘Un Coup de Dès
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Chris Edwards Poems
Many of you out there Will have encountered a world of calamity and ruin With one last gasp at the end of it And clearly labelled the instructions:
Dear Sir Madam,
It has been drawn to our attention that Oskar Panizza, The manifest content of the dream so ignominiously Mistreated by that Viennese doctor, may in fact Have been a glorified houseboy known to his peers
The Awful Truth
Despite the vast data at hand pertaining to his belief in the charm and ease of exposure, not much is known about Cary
Having been struck and left outside the violence of serious cartoons, life is a sad animal hunting. We know it’s mostly shopping,
In the beginning he’d herd people clocking up the hours in apartments above and below him but they heard sink and shower sounds and turned on washing
Behold, I bring you a straw to hang onto, for it is cocktail hour and you are clearly drowning, untroubled by many things. Perhaps dishing out cigars etc.
“Arrest me aura who is it who goads there? Who sends shadows up m’ deep end? Tweety? Pooh pooh
People Of Earth
Whenever I discover what an idiot I’ve been, I turn to television — “Oh screen of wonders, flick me on and off like an appliance,” I implore it
“Correct! The photo is important! I say, Listen, they have nothing When I get an idea. Then sit down and I make Peanuts – meaning that every time I open my mouth,
To all you people running loose on this planet: though each must date their own signature in this world, I hereby indicate agreement and understand
On The Turn
Like the twang of an old complaint, the pong of decomposing swan songs hit him as a jangle rose from the dee-jay equipment
Behind the bridge of the human nose one often strikes the eerie pose of Ferdinand Flocon, nineteenth century pen- pusher, who rendered the entire civil code of his country
Whisky poet! After eating a cold supper, the crowd Pat used to associate with when she was still at high school no longer want to hear you read your poems — it’s after
Time On Their Hands
Codswallop as we know it was first invented by simple people with time on their hands to pass it around in: they could see it
Behind the bridge of the human nose
one often strikes the eerie pose
of Ferdinand Flocon, nineteenth century pen-
pusher, who rendered the entire civil code of his country
into an epic poem. How interesting and helpful
his contemporaries were, who now knows?
On Flocon we have enough data to say
tokens of alarm, tidbits.
I offer you a psychic spanking: