Poetry

Context

The following small selection of works are the greater bulk of my paltry efforts at poetry in my life; or certainly the only ones I ever bothered to keep. They were written during my late teens/early twenties in a few of the many share houses I occupied over this period. I had left school at fifteen and the family home at seventeen. Like most young people, I was in the process of discovering and forging my identity, and struggling with loneliness, poor social skills, discrimination and perhaps at times, creative frustration; the seemingly typical floundering of our poorly educated and largely socially ignored youth.

They are arranged quite simply in chronological order. The first is perhaps particularly bleak but, importantly, I am still here and living a full life forty years later. The low troughs and high crests on this roller-coaster we call life are the yin and yang that give it flavour and balance; they don't sit in conflict or even so much cancel each other out, as provide, in combination, a varied yet complete unity. They invite us, as suggested in the Tao Te Ching, to 'blunt the sharp thing and untangle the knot'.

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Poems

Sunday

Blaring sax, from the speakers.

The washing's inside, it's raining.

Counting heartbeats, out of time.

How long have I been staring at that spider?

 

Five days work, two days nothing.

Feel like a shower, it's cold.

I'll turn the record over.

My fingers don't stop moving, they're nervous.

 

The phone rings, for me.

'Oh hi, how've you been, oh.

Oh yeah, if you like, yeah sure.

No, it's just that I'm down, no okay, bye.'

 

Looking at the movie lists.

They're lonely on your own.

Get some milk from the fridge.

They say it's hard to do, kill yourself.

 

Ha! I wouldn't have the guts.

It's stopped raining, but it's late.

Don't feel like cooking tea.

Maybe I'll write a letter. No, a poem.

 

Annandale, 1980

 

Curves

In a room with three corners and a curve

in the air, so the music's never the way it was

and your fingers stroll lost over the strings.

 

In a room with three corners and a curve

in the road outside the window, downstairs,

so the cars brake, your train of thoughts, lost.

 

In a room with three corners and a curve

in the time and the second hand falls quicker than it climbs,

your hand turns it anti-clockwise.

 

In a room with three corners and a curve

in your mind and the bats outside cry

as they plummet to their death three models old.

 

In a room with three corners and a curve

in the wall, and a floor below the ceiling which is white,

right where they're meant to be.

 

Double Bay, 1981

Escape #1

Melancholy is a beautiful thing

Standing

Staring

In the doorway

 

Music is a beautiful thing

Flitting

Floating

On the airwaves

 

Mountains are beautiful things

Majestic

Magnificent

In the sunset

 

Memories are beautiful things

Memories of mountains

Music

And melancholy

 

Memories of being with you

And wanting to escape

 

Paddington, 1982

 

Escape #2

Trapped, in a void

Free, in a cage

A city

 

Quiet, taxi's horn

Screaming, always silent

A street

 

Sad, speaking gaily

Happy, drunken depression

A house

 

An empty house

Mountains

Sunsets

Rain

 

Paddington, 1982

 

Surroundings

Out the window

Grey sky

Eye pot chimneys

Cool breeze

 

Through the doorway

Wet clothes

Photo ripped paper

Cockroach

 

In the kitchen

Dirty pans

Spray dead Mortein

Croissants

 

On the player

Black disc

Sad white sugar

Rodriguez

 

Of the mind

NMR scan

Old house songs

Images

 

Paddington, 1982

 

Bi Blues

Old or new born

Brings their scorn

On you

 

You didn't want it to be this way

You know it just turned out this way

 

See them so young

And feel it burn

Your heart

 

The gods play with the youths

The gods play with you too

 

What is this longing

This not belonging

You hope it will just go away

One day

Some day

 

Brief happiness

New found friend

It's him

 

You just wish it would last

But you feel it go fast

 

Older new girl

Feeling secure

Is it her

 

But then the arguments start

And again it's your heart

 

And so it burns

The calendar turns

You know it's going to be this way

For days

Some days

 

Surry Hills, (1983-6?)