Tag Archives: Michael Farrell

Bareknuckle Blog Books Press Office Publishing

PRESS RELEASE – The Howl that still shakes the world

image2The Howl that still shakes the world

Bareknuckle Poet launches its first annual anthology at Avid Reader on 9th October with global 60th anniversary celebrations of Ginsberg’s seminal work.


Bareknuckle Books

Bareknuckle Books’ first annual poetry + fiction + nonfiction anthology launches at 6pm on the 9th October at Avid Reader Bookshop, West End with global 60th anniversary celebrations of Ginsberg’s seminal work.

Bareknuckle Books has gathered together some of the best authors working today in its first annual poetry, fiction and nonfiction anthology; including Robert Adamson, MTC Cronin, Anthony Lawrence, John Tranter and Reg Mombassa. The anthology also features an officially licensed reprint of Allen Ginsberg’s Howl in its entirety.



The anthology launchs at the HOWL & the Six Gallery reading at Avid Reader, West End, which is part of an international series of poetry readings celebrating the anniversary of Ginsberg’s classic. A.G Pettet MC’s the Brisbane event, with readings of new original work by Anthony Lawrence, Bronwyn Lea, Brentley Frazer and Eleanor Jackson.


Bareknuckle Books is a daring and innovative new Brisbane based publisher that champions the editorial principle to ‘only publish what we fall in love with’. Launched in 2014 they are already garnering a name for hunting out new work from great writers, both emerging and established.


List of contributing authors: L. Ward Abel, Robert Adamson, Venero Armanno, Melissa Ashley, Lisa Marie Basile, Mandy Beaumont, Sally Breen, MTC Cronin, B. R. Dionysius, Maria C. Dominguez, Martin Edmond, Michael Farrell, Toby Fitch, Brentley Frazer, Claire Gaskin, Allen Ginsberg, Matt Hetherington, Eleanore Jackson, Anthony Lawrence, Alexandra McCallum, Tim McGabhann, Laura Jean Mckay, Corey Mesler, Reg Mombassa, A. G. Pettet, Mark Pirie, Rufo Quintavalle, Kris Saknussemm, Gary Snyder, David Stavanger, Todd Swift, John Tranter, Joanna C. Valente, Samuel Wagan Watson, Fakie Wilde, Mark Young, Ali Znadi + More



Michael Farrell ~ Three Poems

michael-farrellThe Concept Of The Queue As A Justification For Linearity

Catching a bus offsets the cost of addiction. The Australian
Stands at the front yet belongs at the back. Things
Can be learned from browsing the fronts of books, but
There’s no free ride when it comes to
Entering a bus in the middle’s
Like an operation and causes rage from the Jonahs inside
Trying to escape. Being nervous like a word expecting to
Be edited, finding that it’s shifted place. No one takes
Logic that seriously; they take breaks and find themselves
Refreshed and to some extent alive. When translating we consider
The age of each word and the relative respect due
Yet a bus may come at any
Time and even on arriving refuse to go
Further or in the right direction. At the end of
The night’s service, most passengers have been shifted around and
The stops are empty, except for those who don’t want
To go anywhere. They are the full-stops
The ones insisting on shelter. In the line-up
There’s one maroon coat or the drabness is relieved
By a scarf printed with tulips. When did they arrive?
Will we see them again? Perhaps in a much larger
Space, where the scarf will appear like a foreign
Word or note of light and not as it does
Now, a fireplace

The Blue Wheelbarrow

I wake and I take my waking pillow
& cover it with warm milk. Things
Are not as they
Black chickens are popping on the piano lid
Again; Canto V Dorothy says dragging
On the chords. Years of widening
Undies, Canto LXXI drones Olga. Anything, anything
Under a bridge can be a giraffe
A blue wheelbarrow can become a platypus, barking
At a viper
In the night. The viper too cold
To respond. Some people make images, others swallow them
In the background – though life is not
A stage. When we read we put our hat
Under the pew and reach for
Its felt when done. Our hand is bitten, glazed
A blue chicken. Things are – perhaps
In reverse. Canto minus I snaps Mary. The foreheads
Of the National Front. The ideograms
Of purification. The nougat scene. There is a way
Of saying that may result in laying
A boy runs around, or boys, scared
Of talk, weather, tools, shit
Aesthetics, music, stories of paternity. It’s not that
I disagree, it’s that I don’t find
It meaningful. I didn’t want to open up because
Of the smell, which became an
Analogy that you found in a dream, but
I found in
A hymn, being the beneficiary of so much holiness
I mean so much finger. I am
A sick biscuit, tracing the expressions of windows
In the aftermath of friends mating
In the ashes. The blue wheelbarrow decides … Everything is
As they were and are. The War
Of 1812. The Coniston Massacre. Honour the method that
It’s not what I’ve seen that counts: emu wrenches
Off spinifex like they were chewing firecrackers
Giraffe pulls screaming wheelbarrow around the yard or rain

read more »


Michael Farrell ~ Five Poems


grunge obsessionmichael-farrell


the picture left us unimpressed shattering

cannibals apparently

just like our fountain

a lowclass ape


the city of lessons


got him to clean up for once

all i knows been exaggerated

badges worn just for the shine


meant being mistaken for a ghost

& not coming out for coffee

left their hair shower wet


youll scare it

with the sunrise

for the bourgeoisie for     them only when things change they change for them for          the dust in their poc    kets & the feelings of life  down like water blue & rocking no          thing anyone could take of                 fence at for them for you at           the end at the last the          sack the     sex the boot are involved go            ing on like     cows to their deaths the          tracks you find the dry leaves a sense of          being found a secret now          only some can hold before           the idee fixe          arrives people just need a           shove a few days in a cage with   seed & water or flocking           together all jaundiced in the     rainy season some kinds of confor          mity are free          dom change for them for the ings of life down like water blue          &          roc          king nothing a could take offence at for     them for you at the end          at the last the sack the are involved going on like tracks you find the dry leaves a sense of now only idee fixe arrives few days in a cage with gether all jaundiced in on some kinds of conformity are them only when things for the dust in their          anyone could take offence at the end at the last the sack the are          in          volved going on like cows to their leaves a sense of being found a        dee fixe arrives people          just need a shove a few days in a cage with seed & jaundiced in the rainy season conformity are freedom for the only when things change they change their pockets & the feelings of life king anyone could take          the last the ved going on like cows to their leaves a sense secret now only some can hold be ple just need a shove a few days in a cage flocking together all the rainy season for the bo only when things change they change for          water blue & rocking one could take offence at for the end at the last the sack the ing on like cows to their deaths the tracks ing found a se      cret now only           some can hold before the idee fixe arrives          ter or floc    king toge   ther all jaundiced kinds of conformi          dom them only change for them for the dust in their po

colt figure

there wanting to join the herd for
kept behind barbed wire these are the
a month for a break from monotony
is riding water & rails the weight
that would pass if they kept reading
terminally potent on the screen the long

evolution a race against punctuation
like a neigh its suicidal
like beckett as they starve
painting a backing for white
with hair down there wanting
at thirteen for a coven
these are the notes needing
weak a tempting lifestyle returning
understand you understand the hand
the weight of one who
pass if they kept reading

are so their impotency becomes terminally potent on
a race against punctuation its writing real water
sweet singing like a neigh its suicidal country
just a vision of poets forced into the
all they see & oats are all their
vb foaming with hair down there wanting to
home at thirteen for a coven used to
are the notes needing a whip to breathe
tempting lifestyle returning to the city once a

you understand the hand that threatens that outflanks
need for an image that would pass if
in horses thats what their wordless hearts are
long distorted video face reads out the lines

water with ophelias head in it
but for us its just a
oats are all they see &
storm my neck like a vb
sex only the queer look brought
behind barbed wire these are the

on the remaindered books pity the
re or just juiced phones arent
understand the hand that threatens that
& rails the weight of one
they create their own death in
the screen the long distorted video

in the reflection reared
up a painting for
up hippies leaving home
naked group ritual &
being kept behind barbed
breaking away & stamping
getting re or just
my thing callers get
defensive this for the
few that understand you
this is riding water
would feel mine the
lyricism the individual need
like hungers they create
that evoke an evolution
she was often in
the stables her sweet
try galloping on the
eroding icy trails malaparte
knows but for us
lake by soldiers collaborating
at last looking like
& their hair freezes
authentic philosophers at last
memories & texts in


the trouble in his study the bright contemplation of the
brilliant evil mo-ment – the trivia and satire, psychology of a
drug called books and a tape recorder his experience. is
the active American for centuries – the quality of yet is
less toxic resist one of those weaknesses the moment a
switchboard in the Buick on surgical duty, junkies in messages
by members of at least waiting for me in conversation
never read, in the field. almost, where My experience &
all other close musicians, at least fighters, who feel for
taking will do in the Scotch whiskey. in the contemplation
some-times. Sometimes disorderly handsome exaggerated burns had caused. as


ash so that checked out in a room there, they
would all afternoon stare at a tape recorder. a lot
to show There under mere life work, reluctant & try
Some eyesight. in California, so the closest in the corridor
was entering who were the sun. What is due
to suggesting anything to identify), probably musca- effect their basic
in the deal more sweet talking slips the moon years
ago lose nearly five using the winter. some- in relation
to the east; Police on this incident if they get
lost.” a watch London & streets. London, buildings ramble a
few of all odd, of all solitary taller hills.” felt,
reminder, water,

girl from mars

by the window straw falling from her hair her air
then she would disappear when we would try out

our sympathy & lose interest in our other class

es it became a quip thats nothing read though
there they have no light & the two became con
,                         .
flated in my mind & others too id guess who
elsed write it down the rest were all in ban
ds & smoking dope they kept studying like it

was a part of them they could switch on &
off rather than a field of love which sub

jects became to me even the coldest ones
while others questioned the ethics of their

actions eating chips or chocolate bars my question &
it became a matter of feeling or instinct was would it block
the field the energy which held it all together she wore
,                                          ,
a beard to a party she sent her cigarette butts back to

peter stuyvesant in little red envelopes until she quit she left
university to farm mice & save up for a telescope & start
,                     ,
a magazine if every girl did it would change the world some
one finally wrote a song about her saying she was from m
ars thinking it would be uncommercial & unthreatening yet i
n the song he claimed he was on fire with love for her

–    ,


© Michael Farrell

Michael Farrell has published five books: ode ode (Salt Publishing), BREAK ME OUCH (3 Deep), a raiders guide (Giramondo), open sesame (Giramondo) and most recently ‘Cocky’s Joy‘ (Giramondo 2015); ‘Writing Australian Unsettlement‘ is out later this year (2015) from Palgrave.

He coedited ‘Out of the Box: Contemporary Australian Gay and Lesbian Poets‘, published by Puncher & Wattmann in late 2009. Recently he cowrote ‘Waste the Alphabet‘ the Dick Diver single.  His short story ‘Making Love (To A Man) was published in Overland in 2012. He has recently completed a PhD at the University of Melbourne on experimental poetics in the nineteenth century