INDIGO DREAMS

PUBLISHING LTD

 

John Gallas is a New Zealand poet who has 11 books with Carcanet and others with Cold Hub (NZ), Five Leaves, Agraphia Press and now Indigo Dreams.

 

He lives in Markfield, Leics., but returns home each year to

re-charge his soul.

 

Fellow of the English Association, librettist, St Magnus Festival poet, and Lincolnshire wanderer.

 

John recently completed John Clare’s walk from London to Northborough.

He has a well-pedalled bike.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Poetry

 

138 x 216mm

 

26 pages

 

£6.00 + P&P UK

 

ISBN 978-1-910834-66-4

 

PUB: 8th January 2018

 

 

ORDER HERE

 

 

 

 

 

 

Joint Winner

Indigo Dreams Pamphlet Prize

2016

 

 

‘The greatest New Zealand poet no one has ever heard of’

Spinoff, NZ

 

‘One of the UK’s most fascinating poets … hilarious’

Yorkmix

 

‘A true non-belonger

Peter Porter

 

 

 

John Gallas

 

17 Very Pacific Poems

 

 

12. the Natural Kindness of Vanuatu

 

this enviable quality

was preserved

here

by some

inconceivable bloody turn of events

concerning

Gondwanaland

and the Trans-Siberian Railway.

 

Halo, says Prime Minister,

Yu orate?

 

to which reply is

Yis,

tata.

 

 

 

14. nice Smiling Dogs, near Pang Pang

 

the original

Smiling Dog

was knitted by a kindly old Palm Tree

long ago

in a time

of universal love

it says here.

 

Some say

it is a hopelessly corrupted text,

but I,

who once was rabid,

hold it to be true,

for one of the dear little fellers

is wagging up the road

with me

now.  

3. mighty Laufoli, his pit near Veli

 

Mighty Laufoli polished off

his own heroic life

(which was famously

luminous & fair)

by taking a running jump

at a fiery oven.

 

His mighty arms,

aclonk with shiny shells,

waved at the azure sky.

Goodbye.

 

How many brightnesses is that?

 

His heart and toenails did not burn:

one is the scream of roosters,

the other the scuttle

of dead fronds.

 

 

 

4. Captain Cook lands briefly on a nice beach at Opaahi

 

Gentleman James jumped ashore.

He planted the Union Jack.

He brought some beads and a pruning saw

And a bottle of Armagnac.

 

Fuck off, fuck off, fuck off! they cried

And threw a spear at his head.

The Ship went home on the following tide

And the Savages went to bed.

 

 

 

 

 

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