new poems on canadian experimental poetry site, ditch
I have had my eye on Ditch for a while now. It’s a Canadian poetry site that specialises in the experimental, off-beat, non-linear & just plain excellent. I stumbled across the site about 2wo years back now & have delved into it from time to time to discover some of the world’s more edgy & exciting voices in poetry.
Now, it seems, I get to add mine to the mix.
Ditch have published 4our of my pieces, which include:
- grammatical instances // instant grammar (extract)
- bolting for certainty
As you know, the first poem is from a collaboration I did with my brother, Eric James Mitchell. We produced a photographic book, extravagant in size & experimental at heart - I took 22wo of Eric’s photographs & wrote a poetic response to each. Then Eric supplied a further 22wo images, these abstract & uncertain in content. Then, using all the words from the 22wo poems already written, we created 22wo abstract poetic responses via a computer program that randomly regenerated the texts into secondary, somewhat ‘broken’ poems. The idea was to play with the structure of the expression, both visually & sonically, & see what could be created with the inspirations supplied to present a secondary instant of meaning, insight & creative expression that chance - or technology - supplied us with. As brothers, the opportunity to emphasise chance operations is something that we both hold dearly in our theory & our creative expression - process yields a profundity that is liberating yet poignant.
review of the rutting season in The KSP News
It was almost a decade ago that American ex-pat come Perth poet Zan Ross took me under her wing. She became the first poetry mentor I ever had. Her brash, loud style was a charm, her poetry a sensual assault on literary theory. We found a resonance in the other. It was she who first edited my work in a way nobody else had ever done prior. The most crucial thing I learnt from her? Other than that there would always be somebody louder than myself? That poems constellate to collect narrative around them.
Now, a decade on & 4our minor collections later, Ross has stepped across from mentor to reviewer. Her subject? My latest release the rutting season, a collection of queer love poetry published this year by WA poetry chapbook publisher, Mulla Mulla Press.
reviews for forthcoming release, the rutting season
Everyone now is finned in “calling” in the archipelagic – “gull & man combat a / turf where elements converse,” (with) Scott-Patrick Mitchell’s (the rutting season an) invocation that each reader crawl forth from seafoam – an archipallium implanted, sub-memory, “curled like shells sidle / head – cochlea ocean dead / – ear we amplify what was,” released… from the decadent into newly lit luminescence.
- Edric Mesmer, Yellowfields
Be sure to read Scott-Patrick Mitchell’s the rutting season out loud, and hear the poems as deft performances of language. You will find here a lovely combination of the tough and the sweet, a rhyming and a stammering, a fist full of language slamming into your ears - all the stories of love and loss woven into a nest of linguistic tangle. At once lyrical and jarring, you’ll want to revisit these poems again and again.
- Ellen Zweig
Scott-Patrick Mitchell’s the rutting season sets out a new constellation for the male muse, the stag, each line punctuated with unexpected breath and leap and stroke. In each poem the poet’s tongue is tied to the body-object, rolling with and against the bonds that fuel our writing, and we—the readers—are tempted forward into the disco dance: “let our dreams together/ we create”. The raveling score will light the sky.
- Jessica Wilkinson, rabbit: a journal for non-fiction poetry
the rutting season comes out may 2012 through mulla mulla press.
under the pink
At the request of my eldest sister, Susannah, I wrote this poem for my sister Rebecca’s funeral in England. Unfortunately I was unable to attend, so Susannah read this poem as my elegy for Becky on my behalf. Becky succumbed to trans-vascular lymphoma after several years of struggling with this virile and nasty form of cancer.
She leaves behind her loving husband Jerry and two amazing children, Jacob and Jennifer, to whom I send all my unending love across the mighty oceans.
This poem was published in Elbow Lane Poems today, the day after Becky’s funeral.
Pink was her favourite colour. Please note the title takes its name from Tori Amos’ sophomore album.
Becky was 42 and a half when she passed.
under the pink
16.8.1969ine - 17.3.2012elve
sunset glints pink: beauty
is always just an instant
, passes through like humans
do. moments are made for
sharing. we will never forget
the way night arcs across
horizon as wide as her smile
is light. fierce leo girl, your
fire will always burn bright
, teeth sparkling like stars
& constellations ignite the
darkness. your heart’s laugh
booms like thunder, pushing
lightning wit across heaven
. up there, where the clouds
thin to moisten edges of our
imagining, you are now, in
every sky yielding colour
, but especially the pink, at
dusk, or at dawn, the night
space we travel through to
remember the daughter,
sister, lover, mother, wife
, friend who will always be
beside us, who we will love
, forever & again, when the
sun is gone, know it will
return: as will you, rebecca
voice of verbs // at the cafe at GRAMMATICAL INSTANCES
everyone knows what pelicans look like