logo


Nathan Hondros is one of the editors of the literary journal Regime Magazine.

Nathan’s work online at Masthead

His collection of short fiction with Australian playwright Damon Lockwood in 2009: Man and Beast

_______

Contributor Notes






Nathan Hondros

Nathan Hondros




Exhibition, Surry Hills, Sydney

 


like a god I watched

the exact prism of her being

 

from such a height;

she was luminescent

 

and throwing sparks

though inside I could see

 

her talent for shadows

and pitch black.

 

light begins again

coming in ocean dark blue

 

in buckling mouths

in the city’s underwater sobs

 

in fires brute weather

can’t extinguish

 

in the steel and wire bridge

of our leitmotif.

 

whatever I imagine is true

so she bends towards me

 

her hands knowing

all the ways home

 

finding out the colours

of my unknowable code.

 

 

 

Winter


pulling winter weeds

the soil shakes loose

 

while on our knees

and the edifice comes free

 

of a winter we can’t keep

it falls yellow around us

 

it’s even in our hair

and eyes after the rain

 

which was warm enough

infused with green light

 

and I’m in pieces

small enough to hold

 

and this moment

has no parenthesis

 

 

 

 

from Poems in Reverse


 

[xv.   untitled fire painting]

 

names are lost

between the thumb and forefinger

of early morning

 

all i hear is heavy weather,

syncopation, Scriabin’s fifth sonata

which she hammers

 

inside my ribs

that brute, that mystic

with his endless backwards phrases

 

it starts from nothing

when i am face down and refracted

in a basin of cold water

 

life suspended in that moment

between Slessor’s ‘Five Bells’

and the harbour lights

 

tossing their fireballs wearily

to the point where flames intersect

and what now do i know of her

 

as she looks from the window

seeing the orange halflight of geometry

and two empty chairs

 

where sleep is a handle i grip

and swing like an axe

then lose in the fire

 

the house is dark

i am four thousand

miles east of here

 

searching for words

i find them still in her mouth

then in Rimbaud’s letter

 

of 1871 to Paul Demeny

that you should not read at 3AM :

Donc le poète est vraiment voleur de feu