michael hogan

Michael misses the Western Australian beaches on which he would inevitably get sunburnt as a kid. Redder than a boiled crayfish, his loving mother would cure him by smothering him in metholated spirits while his loving father would click his tongue and shake his head. Some may say the sun has touched Michael somewhat, but that's OK, he only ever harms himself, although, he IS searching for a copy of 'Catcher in the Rye'. Now settled in Edmonton after years of exile in the ridiculous surreality of northern Alberta, this Australian immigrant finds solace and calm in expurgating his demons through poetry.

His favourite passage of poetry comes from Cold Chisel's 'Letter to Alan':

And if I don't hang 'round
Our old gambling grounds
It does not mean that I've forgotten
We believed
And I still do.