Rae Desmond Jones
Biography of Rae Desmond Jones
Rae Desmond Jones was born in Broken Hill (Australia) , migrating to Sydney at the age of 17. He published a number of books of poetry through the 1970s, and several novels in the 1990s. He became the Mayor of Ashfield (New South Wales, Australia) for several years. He works as a teacher of History at Dulwich High School of the Visual Arts, and has two sons and a daughter.
Barring a resurgence of irritation with the holders of municipal power, he wants to devote the rest of his life to literature, so long as literature is as keen on him as he is on her.
Rae Desmond Jones's Works:
Orpheus With A Tuba, Makar Press, Queensland, Australia 1973.
The Mad Vibe, Saturday Centre Press, NSW, Australia,1975.
Shakti, Makar Press, Queensland, Australia,1977.
The Palace Of Art, Makar Press, Queensland, Australia,1981.
The lemon Tree, Angus & Roberston, NSW, Australia,1990.
Wisdom, Blackwattle Press, NSW, Australia,1995.
Walking The Line, Red Press, Sydney, NSW, Australia.1979.
DVD - Video (electronic media etc.)
Rae Jones - Poet With A Tuba, Vanguard Video,1985.
Two Voluminous Gentlemen, (With Professor Norman Talbot) , LP Record, Riverrun records, Newcastle, Australia 1979.
Rae Desmond Jones Poems
(For Christine) i wish:
The Little Boy
(To Patrick) the little boy in dirty shorts was
when you saw the burning marigolds set in beds
in the corner of the small square park a rat picks at a lunchwrap the night is quiet & the moon is still
The Front Window
it is raining softly as an old Greek woman dressed in black walks along the path with
in the hour after you left your brother coughed & slurped his soup & argued with Arnold Schwarzeneger. Arnold was talking through a glass tube
On the computer screen three American marines lie across a road West of Baghdad, arms curled as though they were asleep,
two girls sit side by side in the coffee lounge at a table cluttered with glasses streaked with ice cream & rimmed with lipstick bows.
It Might Be Fun To Be A Dead Poet
It might be fun to be a dead poet So long as i was there When awarded The nobel prize for literature
That Old Tart Spring Again
Offering your usual false promises, You have arrived early this year like a blousy aunt In a voluptuous taxi of light,
On the computer screen
three American marines lie across a road
West of Baghdad,
arms curled as though they were asleep,
the sun bleaching the blonde sand.
I press a button
& they fade into an empty screen.
In the next room,