Hawksley Burns for Isadora

***** Apologies to the the soup kitchen *****I was lucky enough to be at the book launch. It was at a hair salon cum art gallery at Church and Richmond, across from my local. An amazing gallery showcase for the beautiful travails of the graceful and marvellous, and I will one day afford the investment, Beverly. Most of the paintings in the book were on display. I brought my two kids dressed accidentally in matching tie dye. My favourite passion filled painting of [i]the feet,[/i] was apparently purchased by a newlywed couple, so fitting. It was a champagne sipping event. My three year old daughter was a little disappointed because it was not a party like I told her it was going to be. (No cake and balloons). I could not get a baby sitter. Hawksley walked around and shook hands with everyone in the room. It was beautiful. I used to glance at these poems in the personals section of Now Magazine. I did not understand the investment back then. But now, this twelve dollar book, and all the insight and illumination, what a return! The book was being sold (and autographed) by the writer and illustrator - and some little helpers handled the transactions. This is an importantly profound and romantic work. We all shout these thoughts out to no one and everyone. As poetry and art, it helps explain us to ourselves. In simple words and lavish paint, it also explains our thoughts to the rest of the world. It is a thesaurus of the sensuous for the macho and clumsy. Mr. Workman naturally and effortlessly speaks in poetry. It has changed the way I look at verse. I see beauty differently in writing and art now. I will never be able to eat a peach the same way again. I have more patience when perusing paint, scrutinizing extraneous sounds or wrestling with the written word."What are these rhythms that infect my hips when I meet you? Hypodermic needles carried by golden beams, filled with animal serum, to land in my thighs."Eventually, some of us get lucky and connect with our own Isadorai. I realised that evening, holding my copy of Isadora while standing in that room with all the warmth of the surrounding decorations, that I was standing in a spotlight's silhouette?s shadow, scratching my eyes. I am not the same. I like that. Thom Toner

***** Apologies to the soup kitchen ****It was a champagne sipping event. My three year old daughter was a little disappointed because it was not a party like I told her it was going to be. (No cake and balloons). I could not get a baby sitter. Hawksley walked around and shook hands with everyone in the room. It was beautiful. I used to glance at these poems in the personals section of Now Magazine. I did not understand the investment back then. But now, this twelve dollar book, and all the insight and illumination, what a return! The book was being sold (and autographed) by the writer and illustrator - and some little helpers handled the transactions. This is an importantly profound and romantic work. We all shout these thoughts out to no one and everyone. As poetry and art, it helps explain us to ourselves. In simple words and lavish paint, it also explains our thoughts to the rest of the world. It is a thesaurus of the sensuous for the macho and clumsy. Mr. Workman naturally and effortlessly speaks in poetry. It has changed the way I look at verse. I see beauty differently in writing and art now. I will never be able to eat a peach the same way again. I have more patience when perusing paint, scrutinizing extraneous sounds or wrestling with the written word."What are these rhythms that infect my hips when I meet you? Hypodermic needles carried by golden beams, filled with animal serum, to land in my thighs."Eventually, some of us get lucky and connect with our own Isadorai. I realised that evening, holding my copy of Isadora while standing in that room with all the warmth of the surrounding decorations, that I was standing in a spotlight's silhouette’s shadow, scratching my eyes. I am not the same. I like that.

I received Hawksley Burns for Isadora for Christmas, and I've read it about a million times since then. The lyrical words and images are amazing, and can only be described as pure gold.