Steve Brock has inherited his sister’s ‘Buddhist mousetrap’ which is, in his hands, a poem. It’s primed to gently catch the small though not inconsequential events of the days of his working, writing and family life which rest lightly, then, along his wryly amusing lines. This collection is unpretentiously literary and accessible without banality; what the French call sympathique. Merci beaucoup, monsieur Brock!
A born-in-the-70s late comer to the Australian poetic scene, Steve Brock has come striding into his own with this low-key, lower-case and low-life poetry in a voice distinctly Stephenesque. Funny and free, experimental and excremental, postmodern drills into ordinary lives that drip with perspicacious poetry.
I first heard Steve Brock quieten an audience at the Cargo Club in Adelaide in the late 90s. People stopped and listened. Fifteen years on people are still listening to his evocative representations of urban life. There is always humour at the seat of Steve’s writing, and it’s invariably ironic, but he’ll wipe the smile off your face too with poems which convey the sadness of day-to-day life. The language is clear and concise—these are poems which will communicate not just with regular readers of poetry, but with the subjects of his gaze.
Double Glaze, by Steve Brock, explores the processes shaping the poetic experience. He explores how the poetic gaze brings about the image that when pushing its entrance into the real takes on a precarious ‘density’ and a life of its own. The poet ‘sees them/ crashing/ against/ the edge…’. This precious book explores the gaze in which both domains of reality, the material and that of the image, fold and unfold.
Antonia Pont in Cordite
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