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Mark Tredinnick Poet, Speaker, Teacher, Writer

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25.01.2022 From "Whitefaced Heron Above a Green Creek" by Mark Tredinnick "Brink" webinar with Brian Walters, February 11, 2021.

24.01.2022 The Wind, One Brilliant Day by Antonio Machado Translated by Robert Bly... The wind, one brilliant day, called to my soul with an odor of jasmine. "In return for the odor of my jasmine, I'd like all the odor of your roses." "I have no roses; all the flowers in my garden are dead." "Well then, I'll take the withered petals and the yellow leaves and the waters of the fountain." the wind left. And I wept. And I said to myself: "What have you done with the garden that was entrusted to you?"

24.01.2022 Imagine an intimate evening with one of our country’s finest poets and essayists join award-winning poet Mark Tredinnick Poet, Speaker, Teacher, Writer for en... exquisite night of exquisite spells that only poetry can cast on us. Mark will share the gifts of poetry, share his poetry and invite you to share yours. This salon-style online presentation/ workshop will be held on Sunday afternoon on . To find out more and to book your spot, please follow this link: https://www.talkingsticks.com.au//the-exquisite-spell-with #talkingsticks #poetry #poetrycommunity #poetrylovers #marktredinnick

23.01.2022 Joy Harjo, the first Native American poet laureate, is the second to serve three terms in a row since the current duties of the position were established 77 years ago. (From PBS NewsHour)

23.01.2022 A Mark of Resistance by Adrienne Rich

22.01.2022 #marktredinnick

22.01.2022 When profound human emotion can recruit the lyric, the personal can become the human, the particular the archetypal. And a collapse of self can become a gathering of distances, a habitat of healing. Mark Tredinnick

22.01.2022 The first of the four stanzas of "Walking Underwater". The poem, which won the inaugural Montreal International Poetry Prize in 2011, appeared in the anthology of shortlisted poems, and I included it in Almost Everything I Know, a bilingual (English:Chinese) selection of my work, published in 2014. It is the title poem in my next (fourth) full collection of poems, which is published by Pitt Street Poetry this coming December 2020. The poem was written in Portland, Oregon in ... early 2011. It reports a personal sense of displacement in mid-life, and it records a walk up a tributary (Eagle Creek) of the Columbia River, with the poet Kim Stafford. But it's also an elegy for the Fukushima Tsunami, which had struck days before. It reflects, indirectly, on the deepening alienation from the earth that contemporary society seems unable to stop acting out. The timid hope the poem carries (through the rain like birdsong) lies in love and friendship and the persistence of older wisdom than ones own. See more

21.01.2022 We need music because we have factories; we need poetry because we have politics; we need the humanities because we have economies, and because there is always the risk that one might enter dangerous times like this, and governments like this. From The Inhumanities; Or, the war on the humanities & why our humanity is at stake Mark Tredinnick #marktredinnick

20.01.2022 Plenty by Mark Tredinnick Dandelions break out like lies in the grass. There’s an election in the wind and promises on the table beneath the poplars and even the weeds... look good in the spring. But not far west crops fail in their red fields and rivers wither into memory. The future fails and the economy blooms its profuse abstractions. What will the children eat when the wheat no longer rises? See more

19.01.2022 Hatred is what it looks like to refuse to forgive yourselfor anyone elsefor being human. It’s a failure to be. Poetryrefusing as it does dogma and platitude and self-deception and cantis good for inducing the kind of wisdom and courage each of us, and all of us, always seem still to need to find in our lives. The image of the Miami police down on one knee: that is a moment of poetry. Of compunction. Of acceptance. Of grace. And in it there is hope. From The Fire Next Time Mark Tredinnick #marktredinnick

19.01.2022 My fourth collection of poems, Walking Underwater, comes out this December 2020, from Pitt Street Poetry, publishers of Fire Diary and Bluewren Cantos. The book... features poemsgardens of words, rivers, loves, griefs, birds, fires, pastorals, plaints, epiphanies, elegies, and odeswritten over the past five or six years, brand new pieces and others already well-known. The collection is named, of course, for the poem that won the Montréal Prize in its first year. Watch this space and insta and marktredinnick.com for launch details. See more

19.01.2022 There is no west and east; there is only civilisation and the wild, the world and the human heart and time, and time is running out. From The Inhumanities; Or, the war on the humanities & why our humanity is at stake Mark Tredinnick #marktredinnick

15.01.2022 From "Estuary" For Robert Gray by Mark Tredinnick... "Brink" webinar with Brian Walters, February 11, 2021

15.01.2022 By Judith Nangala Crispin

13.01.2022 Your grief for what you’ve lost lifts a mirror up to where you are bravely working. Expecting the worst, you look, and instead, here’s the joyful face you’ve been wanting to see. Your deepest presence is in every small contracting and expanding, the two as beautifully balanced and coordinated as birdwings. Rumi

13.01.2022 From The Blue Plateau by Mark Tredinnick #marktredinnick

13.01.2022 Harlem Valley Psychiatric Center by Victoria Korth One needs to be a little lost to find it on a Dutchess County knoll. Building 85... still stands. Look it up. Or better, go yourself. Its lower story windows broken, boarded, but the other thirteen floors appear intact enough to taunt the empty village outside its gates with State employment. Our lives, that campus and my journeying, have crossed: first as a child, and later as a doctor who made some kinds of work done there my habit, my profession, and today, when heading home from Danbury in the snow, with no one quite expecting me. I turned off at Wingdale, followed ditches lined with cow vetch dropping on the downside of a sudden rise. There: bakery, laundry, low-slung dorms, brick housing for unlicensed pharmacists, a minor stadium, and, hidden in the trees, burial ground with rotting gate and lettered arch patients abandoned to the placeevery inch dissolving, stripped of flashing, grizzling with mineral ooze. And over it all, like speaking eye, the glass high-rise, lobotomy suite, insulin tubs and narrow beds for the electrically changed. As my father was, strapped down in ’74, having been there months and shrugging his way beneath the gaping fence. He told us once he was tired of trading cigarettes for whiskey in the tunnel between the dorms, where sex was sold, and coke and heroin. Said he’d aimed for Armonk, IBM’s mainframe where he’d been a salesman, been okay, planned to show up like Santa in a limo, got as far as Ureles Liquor, collapsed beside the tracks, was brought back in, sent upstairs. No wonder he made us stay at the sticky picnic table in the shade when my mother took us there to see him. No wonder he was afraid to look the orderlies in the eye, or so I remember seeing, though it may be I imagined what I saw, eyes alive with what he didn’t tell, what I felt and what I’ve tried to know so well it would unknow itself, unwind to nothing, disappear, why I am unprepared for this cold fear and ragecould I tear that grim museum off the map, would that tear him, tear me in two no child should ever be there, or have been, no one. See more

12.01.2022 Alan Holley tells me we just clocked up 500501, actuallyhits on our song, "First Light," so gorgeously sung by Amelia Jones. Thank you, folks, for listening. ...And keep sharing it. It's hard for composers and poets and singers to make a living on hits and likes and shares, but it's also hard to make a living with them. Especially in a year when the stages of the world have been locked down and all the music silenced. The world, no matter how little it sometimes cares to pay for the way art redeems it, is wiser and lovelier for having this song in it. Thank you, Alan. And thank you Milly. Mark Tredinnick See more

12.01.2022 "When, along their shores, The shorebirds sing of love, whose Could they have in mind but ours?" Mark Tredinnick, 2020

10.01.2022 "THE GRASSES lead dance Classes in the dunesalong The shore my love walks." Mark Tredinnick... Sanctuary Point, 2018

09.01.2022 FromThe Rest by Mark Tredinnick "Brink" webinar with Brian Walters, February 11, 2021.

09.01.2022 Tell us your truest sentence. Learn about Ernest Hemingway’s writing journey during #HemingwayPBS, a film from Ken Burns and Lynn Novick. Premieres Mon, April 5 at 8/7c.

09.01.2022 "History says, don't hope On this side of the grave. But then, once in a lifetime The longed-for tidal wave Of justice can rise up,... And hope and history rhyme." Seamus Heaney See more

08.01.2022 No approach works so well for saying Love, and being what love is on the page, as metaphor and utterance rendered erotically and made over into a vivid geography, a loving place. Celebrating in the world’s shapes and forms and masks and moments, the love that saves one’s life and gives it back to that world, whose organising principle, whose divinity, is Love. #marktredinnick

08.01.2022 Don't miss this: Online, 6pm AEST, 1 October 2020.

06.01.2022 Last Thursday evening, Brian Walters and I read poems and talked urgently for an audience of 80 or moreAELA's Poetry as the Conservation of the Wild." Thank yo...u, all who listened in. I thought we got some lyric blows struck, some nurturing work advanced toward the remembering of the earth, its conservation, and ours along with it. Today, I see, Brian has posted John Donne's great prose work, which includes this passage from which so much wisdom and so many eternal phrases come, and I wanted to share part of it here: "No man is an island, entire of itself; every man is a piece of the continent, a part of the main; if a clod be washed away by the sea, Europe is the less, as well as if a promontory were, as well as if a manor of thy friend's or of thine own were; any man's death diminishes me, because I am involved in mankind, and therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls; it tolls for thee. Please let's forgive John Donne the patriarchal turn of his pronouns. Let's not be distracted too long by "the man" and the "mankind," too long from the humanity and the timeless/timely wisdom in his words. If Donne were with us in this present climate catastrophe, I'm sure he'd gladly recast his words this way: each tree that burns, each species that ceases, each bird song that fails, each language that falls silent, each child that is not allowed to flourish, each river that atrophies, diminishes me, for I am involved in the earth (and all its people), and their wreck is mine, and their beauty mine, and the bell that tolls for any one of them in her pain of dying, tolls for me. Let us identify ourselves again with the earth, not merely with our selves. We are part of the main. What we put right in the world, we put right in ourselves. Thanks for the gig the other night, Brian. And thanks for taking us back again to these words of Donne's.

04.01.2022 "We sit and talk quietly, with long lapses of silence, and I am aware of the stream that has no language, coursing beneath the quiet heaven of your eyes, which has no speech." William Carlos Williams

02.01.2022 íše By Heather Cahoon This poem describes the body's response to trauma, which is one of many related themes explored in more detail in my forthcoming collection of poems Horsefly Dress, named for the only daughter of Coyote, an important figure in my tribe’s oral traditions. The poemsincluding 'íše,' which means older sisterdeal with issues stemming from Coyote’s transformation of the world and his decision to leave present certain ‘evils’ including cruelty, greed..., hunger, death, etc. In more specific terms, these topics are explored through first-person experiences and the experiences of my family and larger tribal community. Heather Canon See more

02.01.2022 Don’t miss your chance to join What the Light Tells, my online poetry masterclass, which starts this coming Monday evening 16 November (or Wed morning) and runs through six sessions till just before Christmas. Check it out at www.marktredinnick.com Learn how to tell, so it stays told, the news only poetry tells, or come deepen your craft. Still a few places left, but hurry.

02.01.2022 Congratulations to my friend and mentee Peter Ramm on his shortlisting in this year's Tom Collins Poetry Prize, run by the FAW in Perth. Pete's poem is "Barren Grounds in Late Autumn," and it's a lyric knockout. Congratulations to all the shortlisted poets. https://www.fawwa.org/writing-competitions

01.01.2022 Mark Tredinnick #marktredinnick