Matthew Hall
Matthew Hall is a doctoral candidate at the University of Western Australia, where he is looking at violence in the work of J.H. Prynne. His poetry prose and criticism appears in journals around the world. In his down-time he is the Feature Editor at Cordite Poetry Review.
Pushlished in The Diamond & the Thief - November 10


A Triptych: Cut Landscapes in Haulm-light
By Matthew Hall

I

quill’s ascendency | in the leaves
|of dawn’s wash
    accelerant braided
                            in the updraft
the light scratches upon the dumb breath
of our mutual solitudes
by syllabic lapping
moving before the encampment
she gathers up bones and iridescence
hands trailing through a spill
                                        of white ash
amanuensis |
    the elicit sound

II

inland of estuary depth,
reading as sentences
the reddened landscape;
upon a rock face, before defense or slaughter

acts of gods are prodigious streaks of ochre and ash
numinous motions of a fire-lit night.

III

like water in water
footsteps in the dry sand’s unseasonal heat
    a wound of ineluctable conclusion

this path in its thousandth year
legs scathed by spinifex
    light-bare space
the burning itself barely a breathing
a scar-torn chest | a ritual of ancestry
a ritual of death’s elucidation

Pushlished in The Diamond & the Thief - January 11

fallen, a history
By Matthew Hall

The shade of this flaxen
    colour spreads over
     this tired path. I bear
     the ebb of wood
     the bow of thistle, it is
a monocline image of growth
as the distance to main tributaries
     Singing and dying
     on the road hands
     wreck the dull comportment
count back the years, tempered to white

     She wants
the patient tract of motion
or the value of drinking of the stone
     chalice of dispossession
     Tidal winds shift on
     the worn sutures of field
where the pallid sky bends forward
over fallow ground’s enclosures
and distinctions, too thinly sown for seed

     Surge what would toll across
rising up over tannin’s steep salve
at the sedge turn nothing accounts
for a moment which cuts to the quick
Light feasts in pollen filaments
hemmed to the ardent wire.