Mark Mordue: Dastgah (Diary of a headtrip)

By BARBARA HARRIS

Anyone who calls chapters of a book "Day of the Dickhead" and "Is Terry Venables Evil?" knows how to get a reader's attention. The trick, of course, is to keep you hooked. Mark Mordue does so with ease.

His blend of poetry, journalism and philosophy makes this as much a journey of the mind as a record of his year travelling through India, Nepal, Iran, Turkey, Britain, Paris and New York.

The title is drawn from Persian classical music, with its complex structure, patterns and modulations. "I chose the title because I see these loosely woven stories, poems and fragmentary impressions as a more complete and true evocation of my journey than any narrative," says Mordue.

Mordue has come a long way since he listened to Neil Young in the Northern Territory mining town of Nhulunbuy where he grew up. He's been a pop music journalist and was founding editor of Australian Style.

In this debut book his short stories and poetry fizz. He is sometimes intense, sometimes distant, but always compelling. True to the subtitle, he's stoned and drunk in parts, but the real buzz comes from his ability to know when to alter the mood of his writing.

He also has a terrific ear for the rhythm of words: "Istanbul is a city of skinny cats. Slinking down a stairwell at the bazaar, slipping by a sea of blind human legs."

He gets to the nub of things quickly. In Nepal he coins a collective noun for his fellow backpackers, "a grump of travellers", and the image is clearly imprinted on the mind.

The story about the poet who must never sing brings home vividly the plight of Iranian women and strikes a raw nerve, given the topicality of life under the Taleban in neighbouring Afghanistan.

Mordue's book makes you realise that the world is really made up of many strange planets.

Allen and Unwin

$29.95