Biography of Ken Setter
Ken is a member of numerous literary groups including the Fellowship of Australian Writers (NSW) inc.
The Screw Soapers Guild.
Poetry Alive, a group of Liverpool (New South Wales, Australia) , poets who have met for weekly readings since 1985.
Has travelled widely since migrating to the fair brown land in 1956. Born in London of Welsh parents he is proud to call Australia home. Is married with six adult children and 13 grandchildren, at last count, I think they are still working at that.
Ken has long been an active in the anti nuclear movement; he served as a board member of People for Nuclear Disarmament.
Has presided as New South Wales President of Animal Liberation for a number of years, and served as an executive member of the Nature Conservation Council of New South Wales.
As an activist, he regularly paddles his kayak himself in front of nuclear warships on Sydney Harbour.
As an animal activist, he carried out undercover raids on factory framing sheds housing both pigs and chickens. In addition, he has placed himself between shooters and native ducks in an attempt to bring some sanity to the killing fields.
His poetry has been published in Grass Roots, Green Left Weekly, Southland, Animal Liberation, Free Expression, and Write On.
His poetry can also he found in the anthologies
Poetry Alive, Poetry Alive and Well, In a Word, and Visions through the Mist.
Ken has been presenting weekly broadcasts on community radio 2GLF since 1989. Where he indulges his passion for jazz and blues
Ken Setter's Works:
A Time To write
Poetry Alive and Well
Visions Through the Mist
Ken Setter Poems
Then Land Remembers
The rooms of my Granny's Echoed with Bible readings.
The Voice Of Midnight
Samuel Becket was once asked how the Words of one of his plays should sound. He replied,
On Palace Walls
I walk the empty streets Cold, dark, desolate without you. Our favourite haunts deserted.
My Father was a Yoric kind of man Of infinite jest with eyes that sparkled.
A Time To Write
So Poet, Words do not come easy
The Snow Tree
The Snow Tree. Embracing whiteness she stands. A lover waiting.
Night And Morning
Night and morning I would Hear the recurring bark. Some distant wolf, hungry Impatient, shadows its prey
On Palace Walls
I walk the empty streets
Cold, dark, desolate without you.
Our favourite haunts deserted.
The old crowd now
Badger bald, plump,
Seldom venture outside
Their suburban refuge.
Our Palace dance hall switched to bingo