PARADISE (POINT OF TRANSMISSION)
Fremantle Press 2022
- BUY IT HERE -
“This remarkable first book marks Sutherland’s appearance on the poetic horizon with a fire and energy that will linger long after the first reading.“ - Tracy Ryan
This brilliant debut collection examines a ‘haunted’ Queer and HIV-positive identity. It follows an HIV diagnosis and a departure from Singapore as the poet moves from being secretive about his HIV status, towards living a more public life, in which living openly with HIV is characterised by the queer longing toward both resilience and transformation.
“Sutherland embraces rather than smooths over the messiness of his HIV diagnosis, while also finding rare moments of beauty in liminality. This poetry is visceral and erotic, moving seamlessly between free verse and prose poetry to defy the limitations of form.” - Prema Arasu
REVIEWS
Sydney Review of Books
Singapore Unbound
Limina Journal
LISTEN
The Other Me - Shadow Dance (a podcast produced by ABC Radio National)
Interview with poet Bron Bateman (Fremantle Press podcast)
Interview with RTRfm’s All Things Queer program
READ THE FIRST POEM
AIDS Play 1991
This is the year I was born.
Re-creation. Context & its dizzy cries.
Whenever we choose memory, it lives only
for the sake of those who are yet waiting.
If I had to identify death, it would be as the cat
under the wheel of some childhood neighbour’s car.
After that, it’s just another thought about a road.
I don’t think I can be responsible for describing loss.
Virgo ‘91. In this scene, I’m Time.
In this scene, Time represents a baby.
Interested actors perform the past, & I
cry at all the wrong moments. The past
performs a sickness. Time is still a baby.
The Reaper turns four on TV. 1991,
2014, 2021: I want to write a history
that speaks precious little. How I keep
my mornings swallowed: 2021, 2014, 1991.
As a newborn in 1991, I have no knowledge of or connection to the AIDS crisis, except one sharp & unexpected burst of memory, in which I recalled my HIV diagnosis back in 2014 -
This is the year I was born.
Re-creation. Context & its dizzy cries.
Whenever we choose memory, it lives only
for the sake of those who are yet waiting.
If I had to identify death, it would be as the cat
under the wheel of some childhood neighbour’s car.
After that, it’s just another thought about a road.
I don’t think I can be responsible for describing loss.
Virgo ‘91. In this scene, I’m Time.
In this scene, Time represents a baby.
Interested actors perform the past, & I
cry at all the wrong moments. The past
performs a sickness. Time is still a baby.
The Reaper turns four on TV. 1991,
2014, 2021: I want to write a history
that speaks precious little. How I keep
my mornings swallowed: 2021, 2014, 1991.
As a newborn in 1991, I have no knowledge of or connection to the AIDS crisis, except one sharp & unexpected burst of memory, in which I recalled my HIV diagnosis back in 2014 -