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\par }\pard \qc\keep\widctlpar\brdrt\brdrs\brdrw10\brsp20 \brdrl\brdrs\brdrw10\brsp80 \brdrb\brdrs\brdrw10\brsp20 \brdrr\brdrs\brdrw10\brsp80 \adjustright {\caps\f20\fs72 n}{\f20\fs72 ight }{\i\f20\fs72 of}{\f20\fs72  Warehouses
\par }{\f20 
\par }{\f20\fs40 
\par 
\par }\pard\plain \s3\qc\keep\keepn\widctlpar\brdrt\brdrs\brdrw10\brsp20 \brdrl\brdrs\brdrw10\brsp80 \brdrb\brdrs\brdrw10\brsp20 \brdrr\brdrs\brdrw10\brsp80 \outlinelevel2\adjustright \i\f95\fs44\lang3081\cgrid {\f20\fs40 New and Selected Poems 1978 - 2000}{
\f20 
\par }\pard\plain \qc\sl480\slmult1\keep\widctlpar\brdrt\brdrs\brdrw10\brsp20 \brdrl\brdrs\brdrw10\brsp80 \brdrb\brdrs\brdrw10\brsp20 \brdrr\brdrs\brdrw10\brsp80 \adjustright \fs22\lang3081\cgrid {\f20 
\par }\pard \qc\sl360\slmult1\keep\widctlpar\adjustright {\f20\fs32 
\par \sect }\sectd \marglsxn3119\margrsxn2977\binfsxn-1841\binsxn-1841\psz9\linex0\endnhere\sectdefaultcl \pard\plain \qj\sl360\slmult1\keep\widctlpar\adjustright \fs22\lang3081\cgrid {\f20 
\par 
\par 
\par 
\par 
\par }\pard \qc\keep\widctlpar\adjustright {\f20\fs36 Night }{\i\f20\fs36 of}{\f20\fs36  Warehouses
\par }\pard \keep\widctlpar\adjustright {\f20 
\par }\pard \qj\keep\widctlpar\adjustright {\f20 
\par 
\par }{\b\f20\fs24 Stephen Oliver}{\f20\fs24  grew up in Brooklyn-}{\i\f20\fs24 west,}{\f20\fs24  and was educated at Marist Brothers, Newtown and St Patrick\rquote s College, Cambridge Terrace, Wellington. He s
ubsequently completed a one year diploma course in magazine journalism at Wellington Polytechnic. He has lived in Paris, Vienna, London, San Francisco, Greece and Israel, where he signed on with \lquote The Voice of Peace\rquote 
 radio ship broadcasting in the Mediterranean out of Jaffa. He has worked throughout New Zealand and Australia as a freelance production voice, newsreader, broadcaster, journalist, copy and features writer. }{\i\f20\fs24 
Night of Warehouses: New and Selected Poems 1978 - 2000 }{\f20\fs24 is his sixth volume of poetry and spans two decades. Stephen Oliver is a}{\i\f20\fs24  transtasman}{\f20\fs24  poet based in Sydney.
\par }{\f20 
\par \sect }\sectd \marglsxn990\margrsxn659\binfsxn-1841\binsxn-1841\psz9\linex0\headery706\footery706\endnhere\sectdefaultcl \pard\plain \qc\keep\widctlpar\adjustright \fs22\lang3081\cgrid {\f20 
\par 
\par 
\par 
\par 
\par 
\par B Y   S T E P H E N   O L I V E R}{\i\f20 
\par }{\f20 
\par 
\par }\pard \qc\sl360\slmult1\keep\widctlpar\adjustright {\i\f20 Henwise [poem cycle]}{\f20 
\par }{\i\caps\f20 & i}{\i\f20 nterviews 
\par Autumn Songs [poem cycle]
\par Letter To James K. Baxter [poem]
\par Earthbound Mirrors
\par Guardians, Not Angels
\par Islands of Wilderness - A Romance
\par Unmanned 
\par Election Year Blues [poem]
\par Night of Warehouses: New and Selected Poems 1978 - 2000
\par }\pard \sl360\slmult1\keep\widctlpar\adjustright {\f20\fs18 
\par }\pard \qc\sl480\slmult1\keep\widctlpar\adjustright {\f20 \sect }\sectd \marglsxn1530\margrsxn1919\margbsxn567\binfsxn-1841\binsxn-1841\psz9\linex0\headery706\footery706\endnhere\sectdefaultcl \pard\plain \qc\keep\widctlpar\adjustright 
\fs22\lang3081\cgrid {\f20\fs40 
\par 
\par 
\par S T E P H E N   O L I V E R}{\f20\fs32  
\par 
\par 
\par 
\par 
\par }{\caps\f20\fs72 n}{\f20\fs72 ight}{\f20\fs64  
\par }{\i\f20\fs52 of}{\f20\fs52  }{\f20\fs64 
\par }{\caps\f20\fs72 w}{\f20\fs72 arehouses}{\f20\fs44 
\par }{\f20\fs40 
\par 
\par }{\i\f20\fs40 New and Selected Poems 1978 - 2000}{\f20\fs36 
\par }\pard \qc\sl480\slmult1\keep\widctlpar\adjustright {\f20 
\par 
\par 
\par 
\par 
\par 
\par }\pard \qc\sl360\slmult1\keep\widctlpar\adjustright {\f20 
\par }\pard \qc\keep\widctlpar\adjustright {\f20\fs36 HeadworX
\par }{\f20\fs20 W ELLINGTON}{\f20\fs36 
\par }\pard \keep\widctlpar\adjustright {\f20 
\par }\pard \qc\keep\widctlpar\adjustright {\f20\fs16 \sect }\sectd \marglsxn1530\margrsxn1649\margbsxn709\binfsxn-1841\binsxn-1841\psz9\linex0\headery706\footery706\endnhere\sectdefaultcl \pard\plain \qc\keep\widctlpar\adjustright \fs22\lang3081\cgrid {
\f20\fs24 \u169\'a9}{\f20  Stephen Oliver, 2001
\par 
\par 
\par 
\par 
\par First published 2001
\par 
\par 
\par 
\par ISBN 0-473-07388-9
\par 
\par 
\par 
\par 
\par 
\par }{\i\f20 Published by}{\f20 
\par 
\par HeadworX Publishers
\par 26 Grant Rd, Thorndon
\par Wellington
\par Aotearoa / New Zealand
\par http://headworx.eyesis.co.nz}{\f20\fs24  }{\f20 
\par 
\par 
\par 
\par }{\i\f20 Printed by}{\f20 
\par 
\par Publishing Press
\par 
\par 
\par 
\par HeadworX}{\f20\fs18 \u174\'a8}{\f20  is a registered trademark
\par of HeadworX Publishers
\par 
\par 
\par 
\par The text of this book is set in 
\par Garamond 11 pt
\par 
\par 
\par 
\par 
\par 
\par }{\i\f20 This book is copyright.
\par Apart from any fair dealing for
\par the purpose of review, private research
\par and study, as permitted under the Copyright
\par Act, no part may be reproduced without 
\par written permission from 
\par the author.
\par 
\par }{\f20 \sect }\sectd \marglsxn1530\margrsxn2976\margtsxn851\margbsxn284\binfsxn-1841\binsxn-1841\psz9\linex0\headery706\footery706\endnhere\sectdefaultcl {\footer \pard\plain \s16\qc\widctlpar\adjustright \fs20\lang3081\cgrid {
\par }}\pard\plain \keep\widctlpar\adjustright \fs22\lang3081\cgrid {\f20 A   C   K   N   O   W   L   E   D   G   E   M   E   N   T   S
\par }\pard \qj\keep\widctlpar\adjustright {\caps\f20\fs20 
\par }{\f20\fs20 I wish to thank the publishers of my previous books; Horizontal Press, Hazard Press, Penguin Books, Australia, and HeadworX Publishers, Wellington. Many of the poems originally appeared in a slightly different form.
\par 
\par Acknowledgements are made to the editors of the following magazines where a number of the }{\i\f20\fs20 New Poems}{\f20\fs20  originally appeared; }{\i\f20\fs20 The Weekend}{\f20\fs20  }{\i\f20\fs20 Australian Review,}{\f20\fs20  }{\i\f20\fs20 JAAM}{
\f20\fs20  (NZ), }{\i\f20\fs20 Landfall}{\f20\fs20  (NZ), }{\i\f20\fs20 The Perfect Diary}{\f20\fs20  (Australia), }{\i\f20\fs20 Southerly}{\f20\fs20  (Australia), }{\i\caps\f20\fs20 s}{\i\f20\fs20 taple / New Writing}{\f20\fs20  (UK), }{\i\f20\fs20 
Thylazine}{\f20\fs20  (Australia).
\par 
\par Several of the poems in this volume were read by the author as guest poet in Brisbane at: }{\i\f20\fs20 Subverse:}{\f20\fs20  }{\i\f20\fs20 Queensland Poetry Festival, 2000}{\f20\fs20 , and in Launceston at the }{\i\f20\fs20 Tasmanian Poetry}{\f20\fs20  }
{\i\f20\fs20 Festival, 2001}{\f20\fs20 .
\par 
\par The poems, }{\i\f20\fs20 Cultural Misappropriation, Generation of \lquote 68, Bruno}{\f20\fs20  }{\i\f20\fs20 Lawrence}{\f20\fs20  first read and recorded by the author on }{\i\f20\fs20 Bookmarks,}{\f20\fs20  }{\i\f20\fs20 
National Radio, and Plains FM 96.9, Christchurch, New Zealand.
\par }{\f20\fs20 
\par }{\caps\f20\fs20 p}{\f20\fs20 oems without main titles as in the collection, }{\i\f20\fs20 Islands of}{\f20\fs20  }{\i\f20\fs20 Wilderness - A Romance}{\f20\fs20  are tabled by the first line and numbered as originally published. 
\par 
\par The selections from }{\i\f20\fs20 Autumn Songs}{\f20\fs20  were first published in 1978 as an accompanying booklet to }{\i\f20\fs20 & Interviews.}{\f20\fs20  The poems taken from this publication are properly included here as part of that collection.

\par 
\par A 35 mm film short, based on the poem \ldblquote Something In The Air\rdblquote  from }{\i\f20\fs20 Earthbound Mirrors}{\f20\fs20 , narrated by the author to an original music score by Bob Jackson, jazz musician, and directed by Allan MacGil
livray. The film screened at the }{\i\f20\fs20 Auckland}{\f20\fs20  }{\i\f20\fs20 International Film Festival,}{\f20\fs20  1986. Screened, }{\i\f20\fs20 Roma Theatre,}{\f20\fs20  Sydney; dist. CEL, 1987.
\par 
\par A selection from }{\i\f20\fs20 Earthbound Mirrors}{\f20\fs20  recorded by the author at Mandrill Studios, and released through the Ode Records label, Auckl
and in 1984. This was the first undertaking by a recording company in New Zealand to put out a poet on cassette. 
\par 
\par /}{\i\f20\fs20 incident}{\f20\fs20  34 (from) }{\i\f20\fs20 & Interviews}{\f20\fs20  appeared in the anthology, }{\i\f20\fs20 A Cage of Words}{\f20\fs20 , ed., Harvey McQueen, Longman Paul, 1980.
\par 
\par }{\i\f20\fs20 The Woolshed}{\f20\fs20  and }{\i\f20\fs20 Emblem for Dead Youth}{\f20\fs20  appear in the anthologies, }{\i\f20\fs20 Jewels in the Water,}{\f20\fs20  and }{\i\f20\fs20 Doors}{\f20\fs20 
, respectively; ed., Terry Locke, Leaders Press, 2000, School of Education, University of Waikato, Hamilton, New Zealand. 
\par 
\par }{\i\f20\fs20 5/ The Departure}{\f20\fs20  (from) }{\i\f20\fs20 Autumn Songs, }{\f20\fs20 and,}{\i\f20\fs20  /answers 21 }{\f20\fs20 (from) }{\i\f20\fs20 & Interviews}{\f20\fs20  appear in REAL FIRE a counter anthology of New Zealand poets from the 
\lquote 60s / \lquote 70s, ed., by Bernard Gadd, Square One Press, Dunedin, 2001.
\par 
\par My gratitude to Laurence Aberhart, the New Zealand photographer, for generously supplying the front cover photograph: }{\i\f20\fs20 Dunedin}{\f20\fs20  [warehouse facade]}{\i\f20\fs20  1975.}{\f20\fs20  The display lettering O F C A stands for \lquote 
Otago Farmers Co-operative Association.\rquote 
\par 
\par My special thanks to Peter Ireland, friend of some thirty years standing, who from the very outset gave generously of his time and knowledge in honest support and encouragement of my early literary endeavours.
\par 
\par For those interested in learning more about my early days as a writer in Wellington, New Zealand, an autobiographical essay \lquote Chalk, Talk and Asphalt Days\rquote  appears in }{\i\f20\fs20 JAAM}{\f20\fs20 
 magazine, Issue No. 15 (May 2001). The Article puts in context my early development and literary '\lquote influences\rquote  as an emerging poet.
\par \page John Pule and Denys Trussell have written on my poetics in }{\i\f20\fs20 JAAM,}{\f20\fs20  Issue No. `3 (March 2000). See also a listing in the recent }{\i\f20\fs20 Oxford Companion to New Zealand Literature in English }{\f20\fs20 (OUP, 1998).
\par 
\par }\pard\plain \s17\qj\keep\widctlpar\adjustright \fs22\lang3081\cgrid {\f20\fs20 
I thank Pina Ricciu for her tireless support, Warren Dibble, playwright and poet, for his strong belief in my work over the years, and Professor Emeritius James Tulip, of the University of Sydney, for his early generosity.
\par }\pard\plain \qj\keep\widctlpar\adjustright \fs22\lang3081\cgrid {\f20\fs20 
\par My particular thanks go to Mark Pirie for his strong commitment in seeing through to publication }{\i\f20\fs20 Unmanned}{\f20\fs20 , as well as this representative selection of work spanning two decades.
\par }\pard \qc\keep\widctlpar\adjustright {\f20\fs20 \page }{\f20\fs28 C   O   N   T   E   N   T   S}{\f20\fs24 
\par }{\f20 
\par }\pard \qj\keep\widctlpar\adjustright {\caps\f20 
\par }{\i\caps\f20\fs21 I}{\i\f20\fs21 ntroduction}{\f20 
\par }{\caps\f20 
\par 
\par }\pard \qj\sl360\slmult1\keep\widctlpar\adjustright {\i\f20\fs24 from}{\f20  & I N T E R V I E W S  }{\i\f20 1978
\par }{\f20\fs21 10    The wait.    }{\i\f20\fs21 15}{\f20\fs21 
\par /}{\i\f20\fs21 still life    }{\f20\fs21 16    The window falls down to earth that is certain    }{\i\f20\fs21 17}{\f20\fs21 
\par 17    You can\rquote t hear the clouds    }{\i\f20\fs21 18}{\f20\fs21 
\par 19    Macrocarpa    }{\i\f20\fs21 19}{\f20\fs21 
\par /}{\i\f20\fs21 answers    }{\f20\fs21 21    there are of course, numerous combinations    }{\i\f20\fs21 20
\par }{\f20\fs21 30    Spring    out of October into the next month    }{\i\f20\fs21 21}{\f20\fs21 
\par }{\i\f20\fs21 /incident}{\f20\fs21     34    Birds knew   (the wait   then the second shock)   }{\i\f20\fs21 23}{\f20\fs21 
\par }{\i\f20\fs21 /incident}{\f20\fs21     36    10 O\rquote clock   }{\i\f20\fs21 24}{\f20\fs21 
\par }{\i\f20\fs21 /sketches}{\f20\fs21     45    Before the winds -    }{\i\f20\fs21 25}{\f20\fs21 
\par 48    & anyhow, I would write you a sonnet    }{\i\f20\fs21 26}{\f20\fs21 
\par 50    I   }{\i\f20\fs21 27}{\f20\fs21 
\par epilogue    }{\i\f20\fs21 28}{\f20\fs21 
\par }{\i\f20\fs21 from}{\f20\fs21  Autumn Songs   }{\i\f20\fs21 32}{\f20\fs21 
\par }{\i\f20\fs21 \tab   3/   The Flight
\par \tab   5/   The Departure
\par \tab   7/   The Encounter
\par \tab 12/   The Orchardist
\par }{\f20\fs21 
\par 
\par }{\i\f20\fs24 from}{\f20  }{\caps\f20 E A }{\f20 R T H B O U N D}{\caps\f20   M I R R O R S  }{\i\caps\f20 1984}{\i\caps\f20\fs18 
\par }{\caps\f20\fs21 S}{\f20\fs21 omething in the Air    }{\i\f20\fs21 40}{\caps\f20\fs21 
\par 7.5 }{\f20\fs21 on the Richter Scale    }{\i\f20\fs21 45}{\f20\fs21 
\par Flotilla    }{\i\f20\fs21 46}{\f20\fs21 
\par A Meeting    }{\i\f20\fs21 50}{\f20\fs21 
\par Mosaic    }{\i\f20\fs21 51}{\f20\fs21 
\par Whistle Them Up    }{\i\f20\fs21 52}{\f20\fs21 
\par Ascension    }{\i\f20\fs21 53}{\f20\fs21 
\par Perspective    }{\i\f20\fs21 54}{\f20\fs21 
\par The Find    }{\i\f20\fs21 55}{\f20\fs21 
\par \page }{\i\f20\fs21 from}{\f20\fs21  Earthbound Mirrors    }{\i\f20\fs21 56}{\f20\fs21 
\par \tab  i. ii. iii. iv. v. vi. vii. viii. xi. xii.
\par Black Concentrations    }{\i\f20\fs21 64}{\f20\fs21 
\par Song of Gravity    }{\i\f20\fs21 65}{\f20\fs21 
\par Sang the Sailsurfer    }{\i\f20\fs21 66}{\f20\fs21 
\par 
\par 
\par }{\i\f20\fs24 from}{\f20  }{\caps\f20 g U A R D I A N S,  N O T  A N G E L S  }{\i\caps\f20 1993
\par }{\f20\fs21 Waltzing The Gods   }{\i\f20\fs21 69}{\f20\fs21 
\par Ace    }{\i\f20\fs21 71}{\f20\fs21 
\par A Far Noise from Near Things    }{\i\f20\fs21 72}{\f20\fs21 
\par Halley\rquote s Comet    }{\i\f20\fs21 76}{\f20\fs21 
\par Manned Mission to the Green Planet    }{\i\f20\fs21 78}{\f20\fs21 
\par As The Painter Moves Toward His Canvas    }{\i\f20\fs21 80}{\f20\fs21 
\par Hallo Moon, }{\i\f20\fs19 Hallo Moon    81}{\i\f20\fs21 
\par }{\f20\fs21 Queen Street Riot    }{\i\f20\fs21 82}{\f20\fs21 
\par Guardians, Not Angels    }{\i\f20\fs21 83}{\f20\fs21 
\par Nicholas Charles Bochsa 1791-1856    }{\i\f20\fs21 84}{\f20\fs21 
\par Irina Ratushinskaya, }{\i\f20\fs21 Freed }{\f20\fs21    }{\i\f20\fs21 85}{\f20\fs21 
\par And all the Goodtime Charlies    }{\i\f20\fs21 86}{\f20\fs21 
\par John Keats Came On Too Strong    }{\i\f20\fs21 87}{\f20\fs21 
\par The Decadeers    }{\i\f20\fs21 88}{\f20\fs21 
\par 
\par 
\par }{\i\f20\fs24 from}{\f20  }{\caps\f20 I S L A N D S  o f  w I l d e r n e s s - }{\i\caps\f20 A  R}{\i\caps\f20\fs24  }{\i\f20\fs24 o m a n c e}{\caps\f20   }{\i\caps\f20 1996
\par }{\f20\fs21   15. Love is a way back    }{\i\f20\fs21 91}{\f20\fs21 
\par }\pard \qj\sl360\slmult1\keep\widctlpar\tx270\adjustright {\f20\fs21   22. As you wait to come    }{\i\f20\fs21 92
\par }{\f20\fs21   29. Then the rats up and    }{\i\f20\fs21 93
\par }\pard \qj\sl360\slmult1\keep\widctlpar\adjustright {\f20\fs21   32. }{\f20\fs18 DEAR LADY,}{\f20\fs21  regard my heart    }{\i\f20\fs21 94
\par }{\f20\fs21   35. All the tough kids got    }{\i\f20\fs21 95}{\f20\fs21 
\par   44. In the ancient city of Jaffa    }{\i\f20\fs21 96}{\f20\fs21 
\par   45. Yeah, there were props of    }{\i\f20\fs21 97}{\f20\fs21 
\par   51. }{\i\f20\fs21 \lquote Spirit and flesh}{\f20\fs21     }{\i\f20\fs21 98
\par }{\f20\fs21   55. The tubular wind    }{\i\f20\fs21 99}{\f20\fs21 
\par   58. On her sad    }{\i\f20\fs21 100}{\f20\fs21 
\par \page    61. The Orient (lighted beads    }{\i\f20\fs21 101}{\f20\fs21 
\par    67. Night of Warehouses.    }{\i\f20\fs21 102}{\f20\fs21 
\par   76. Sparrows pack in a family    }{\i\f20\fs21 103}{\f20\fs21 
\par   78. On the dark side of a    }{\i\f20\fs21 104}{\f20\fs21 
\par   86. Rain solid as riot gear    }{\i\f20\fs21 105}{\f20\fs21 
\par   87. \lquote Look pal, men do it    }{\i\f20\fs21 106}{\f20\fs21 
\par   91. Tank tracks down the    }{\i\f20\fs21 107}{\f20\fs21 
\par   92. True ham of the    }{\i\f20\fs21 108}{\f20\fs21 
\par   93. You promised you\rquote d    }{\i\f20\fs21 109}{\f20\fs21 
\par   94. Disappointment hung    }{\i\f20\fs21 110}{\f20\fs21 
\par   98. Sails whiter than an    }{\i\f20\fs21 111}{\f20\fs21 
\par 100. }{\i\f20\fs21 Pitiless}{\f20\fs21  is a word    112
\par 101. The millennial turtle    }{\i\f20\fs21 113}{\f20\fs21 
\par 103. What history, that of    }{\i\f20\fs21 114}{\f20\fs21 
\par 
\par 
\par }{\i\f20\fs24 from}{\caps\f20  U N M A N N E D  }{\i\caps\f20 1999}{\i\caps\f20\fs18 
\par }{\caps\f20\fs21 C}{\f20\fs21 ultural Misappropriation    }{\i\f20\fs21 117}{\f20\fs21 
\par }{\i\f20\fs21 from}{\f20\fs21  Word Maps    }{\i\f20\fs21 118}{\f20\fs21 
\par \tab   }{\i\f20\fs21 1.   Down By The River
\par \tab   3.   False Idols
\par \tab   8.   Continental Shelf Co.
\par \tab 12.   Hills Of Home 
\par }{\f20\fs21 Generation of \lquote 68    }{\i\f20\fs21 120}{\f20\fs21 
\par Pat Boon & Tonto}{\b\f20\fs21    }{\i\f20\fs21 121}{\f20\fs21 
\par To Talk of Flags   }{\i\f20\fs21 122}{\f20\fs21 
\par Words to Lure a Ghost    }{\i\f20\fs21 123}{\f20\fs21 
\par Sheet Music    }{\i\f20\fs21 124}{\f20\fs21 
\par Myth & Mariolatry   }{\i\f20\fs21 125}{\f20\fs21 
\par Unmanned    }{\i\f20\fs21 126}{\f20\fs21 
\par Braidwood    }{\i\f20\fs21 130}{\f20\fs21 
\par Brilliant Losers    }{\i\f20\fs21 131}{\f20\fs21 
\par Wardrobe Drinkers    }{\i\f20\fs21 133}{\f20\fs21 
\par Aunty Eve    }{\i\f20\fs21 134}{\f20\fs21 
\par Conrad & Wells & Co    }{\i\f20\fs21 136}{\f20\fs21 
\par \lquote Bob Orr\rquote     }{\i\f20\fs21 137
\par }{\f20\fs21 You Don\rquote t Remember Dying   }{\i\f20\fs21 138}{\f20\fs21 
\par Graham Clifford    }{\i\f20\fs21 139}{\f20\fs21 
\par \page Bruno Lawrence    }{\i\f20\fs21 140}{\f20\fs21 
\par Stork    }{\i\f20\fs21 141}{\f20\fs21 
\par }{\i\f20\fs21 from}{\f20\fs21  The Still Watches     
\par \tab III / VI / VIII / 1X / X / X11
\par 
\par 
\par }{\f20 N E W  P O E M S  }{\i\f20 [1998 \endash  2000]
\par }{\f20\fs21 Of Roofs    }{\i\f20\fs21 153
\par }{\f20\fs21 Taffy the Turtle    }{\i\f20\fs21 155}{\f20\fs21 
\par }{\f20 Treasure Island   }{\b\i\f20 157}{\b\f20 
\par }{\f20 Littoral}{\b\f20   }{\f20  }{\i\f20 158}{\f20\fs21 
\par }{\f20 \ldblquote Oldest Pine\rdblquote     }{\i\f20 159}{\f20 
\par }{\f20\fs21 This Way    }{\i\f20\fs21 161}{\f20\fs21 
\par Ergo Poem    }{\i\f20\fs21 163
\par }{\f20\fs21 Summer Cup    }{\i\f20\fs21 165}{\f20\fs21 
\par Emblem for Dead Youth    }{\i\f20\fs21 167}{\f20\fs21 
\par Tundra Flight    }{\i\f20\fs21 168}{\f20\fs21 
\par Salle d\rquote attente    }{\i\f20\fs21 169}{\f20\fs21 
\par Copestone for A Nation  }{\i\f20\fs21   170
\par }{\f20\fs21 The Mangawakas}{\i\f20\fs21     172}{\f20\fs21 
\par The Good Old Days  }{\i\f20\fs21 173}{\f20\fs21 
\par Transmission    }{\i\f20\fs21 174}{\f20\fs21 
\par Observatory Hill   }{\i\f20\fs21 176}{\f20\fs21 
\par }\pard \sl360\slmult1\keep\widctlpar\adjustright {\f20\fs21 Director\rquote s Cut    }{\i\f20\fs21 177}{\f20\fs21 
\par The Woolshed  }{\i\f20\fs21 178}{\f20\fs21 
\par Flagon Days   }{\i\f20\fs21 179}{\f20\fs21 
\par Portraits    }{\i\f20\fs21 180}{\f20\fs21 
\par \tab }{\i\f20\fs21 1. Old Groover
\par \tab 2. The Lonely Men
\par \tab 3. Lawman
\par \tab 4. Tour Guide
\par }{\f20\fs21 Brady\rquote s Grave   }{\i\f20\fs21 184}{\f20\fs21 
\par \lquote }{\i\f20\fs21 Wolfhound Century\rquote }{\f20\fs21    }{\i\f20\fs21 185}{\f20\fs21 
\par }{\f20 
\par }{\i\f20\fs21 Index of Titles or First Lines   189}{\f20 
\par }\pard \qj\sl360\slmult1\keep\widctlpar\adjustright {\f20\fs21 
\par }{\i\f20\fs21 \sect }\sectd \marglsxn1530\margrsxn1649\margtsxn851\margbsxn284\binfsxn-1841\binsxn-1841\psz9\linex0\headery706\footery706\endnhere\sectdefaultcl \pard\plain \qj\sl360\slmult1\keep\widctlpar\adjustright \fs22\lang3081\cgrid {\i\f20\fs21 

\par }{\i\f20\fs36 
\par 
\par \tab \tab \tab \tab \tab }{\f20\fs40 Night }{\i\f20\fs32 of}{\f20\fs40  Warehouses
\par }{\i\f20\fs36 \sect }\sectd \marglsxn1530\margrsxn1649\margtsxn851\margbsxn284\binfsxn-1841\binsxn-1841\psz9\linex0\headery706\footery706\endnhere\sectdefaultcl \pard\plain \qj\sl360\slmult1\keep\widctlpar\adjustright \fs22\lang3081\cgrid {\i\f20\fs36 

\par }\pard \qj\sl480\slmult1\keep\widctlpar\adjustright {\f20 
\par 
\par }\pard \sl480\slmult1\keep\widctlpar\adjustright {\f20 
\par }\pard \qc\sl480\slmult1\keep\widctlpar\adjustright {\b\i\f20\fs32 from}{\f20 
\par }{\f20\fs32 & I N T E R V I E W S}{\f20 
\par }{\f20\fs28 1 9 7 8
\par }\pard \sl480\slmult1\keep\widctlpar\adjustright {\f20\fs28 
\par \sect }\sectd \marglsxn1980\margrsxn2819\binfsxn-1841\binsxn-1841\psz9\linex0\headery706\footery706\endnhere\sectdefaultcl {\footer \pard\plain \s16\qc\widctlpar\adjustright \fs20\lang3081\cgrid {
\par }}\pard\plain \keep\widctlpar\adjustright \fs22\lang3081\cgrid {\f20 & I N T E R V I E W S 
\par 
\par \tab \tab \tab \tab \tab \tab 10
\par 
\par 
\par The wait.
\par 
\par \tab \tab Then the second shock
\par & at low level the land rattles
\par 
\par 
\par my voice
\par a dry riverbed deep in your land
\par 
\par 
\par our pact       you/me
\par stand apart     unshaken     separate structures
\par 
\par 
\par we enjoy the echo
\par of the child who tracks the ground between each
\par }\pard \keep\widctlpar\tx4320\adjustright {\f20 \tab /
\par }\pard \keep\widctlpar\adjustright {\f20 
\par his voice building a ripple from your wall to mine.
\par 
\par 
\par }\pard \keep\widctlpar\tx1440\adjustright {\f20\fs24 \tab }{\f20\fs24 {\field{\*\fldinst SYMBOL 25 \\f "Courier New" \\s 12}{\fldrslt\f2\fs24}}{\field{\*\fldinst SYMBOL 25 \\f "Courier New" \\s 12}{\fldrslt\f2\fs24}}{\field{\*\fldinst SYMBOL 25 \\f 
"Courier New" \\s 12}{\fldrslt\f2\fs24}}{\field{\*\fldinst SYMBOL 25 \\f "Courier New" \\s 12}{\fldrslt\f2\fs24}}}{\f20 
\par }\pard \keep\widctlpar\adjustright {\f20 
\par 
\par No matter that you persist look upon
\par me as landmark with old block to new stone.
\par 
\par 
\par I have taken my measure
\par I size you to a scale beyond the ornamental moment.
\par 
\par 
\par }{\caps\f20 y}{\f20 ou no longer turn upon me
\par you turn as \lquote figurine\rquote  it is a matter sensitive to style.
\par 
\par 
\par Sustain the ideal / the lie
\par and heap the words at your pedestal
\par 
\par 
\par on your bier maybe?
\par I hoist you upon the miles     (like shoulders).
\par 
\par 
\par 
\par }{\i\f20\fs20 Grass Street, Oriental Parade, Wellington, 1975}{\f20 
\par \page \tab \tab \tab /}{\i\f20 the still life}{\f20 \tab \tab 16
\par 
\par 
\par The window falls down to earth that is certain    
\par imperturbable    the window flows in gravity
\par 
\par 
\par a fly fixed there would take a hundred years to shift its
\par length on the glass tide
\par 
\par 
\par outside
\par I view the world as a hall of mirrors day by day the land distorts
\par 
\par 
\par the wind is buckled / the putty sound of skin stretched /
\par the turning of the head
\par 
\par 
\par tomorrow the clouds I hang neatly as curtains.
\par \page \tab \tab \tab \tab \tab \tab 17
\par 
\par 
\par You can\rquote t hear the clouds.
\par 
\par 
\par Motionless as a glacier over Mt Cargill
\par how they tumble to the bay:
\par 
\par 
\par no movement / certain as a slow growth
\par this time of year the clouds could be happening
\par 
\par 
\par while the days spin    you/me    different ways.
\par 
\par 
\par The little changes that occur are:
\par (like the weather)
\par 
\par 
\par \lquote heartless\rquote     wouldn\rquote t you say?
\par \page \tab \tab \tab \tab \tab \tab 19
\par 
\par 
\par Macrocarpa
\par \tab holding green against sundown
\par where the last of these searchlights        dim
\par 
\par 
\par to that westward compound of cloud & the monotony of dusk
\par : is the drama of Sawyers Bay.
\par 
\par 
\par \tab Such luminant clich\u233\'8es
\par }\pard \keep\widctlpar\tx2160\adjustright {\f20 \tab ending each day     hold me.
\par }\pard \keep\widctlpar\adjustright {\f20 
\par 
\par This I understand is transferable (like habit)
\par 
\par 
\par moving against the casement windows the sun is over
\par the house & with one slow bounce outside the macrocarpa.
\par \page \tab \tab \tab /}{\i\f20 answers}{\f20 \tab \tab 21
\par 
\par 
\par There are of course, numerous combinations ....
\par my cells regard but don\rquote t decide against }{\i\f20 your}{\f20  sex
\par 
\par 
\par I argue with my hormones
\par as the old tyranny exerts, again, you upon me.
\par 
\par 
\par Who gathers about you now?
\par 
\par 
\par I cannot hear your breath.
\par 
\par 
\par Even before your cells met in conference
\par to spill warmth one into the other
\par 
\par 
\par the brute impact fell you
\par 
\par 
\par knocked whole zones of flesh into silence
\par 
\par 
\par you do not know it, now
\par that absolute rejection flows smoothly through you.
\par \page \tab \tab \tab \tab \tab \tab 30
\par 
\par 
\par Spring     out of October into the next month
\par the winds chasing bits of broken growth
\par 
\par 
\par even against the deadened tree / that bird / & peeling bark
\par spring!
\par 
\par 
\par Oyster/catchers     dabs of tar on the factory roof
\par throats noisy & in on the act     right now
\par 
\par 
\par the whole crazy arithmetic of the species.
\par Sawyers Bay. Port Chalmers. Careys Bay. Deborah Bay.
\par 
\par 
\par }{\f20\fs24 \tab \tab \tab }{\f20\fs24 {\field{\*\fldinst SYMBOL 25 \\f "Courier New" \\s 12}{\fldrslt\f2\fs24}}{\field{\*\fldinst SYMBOL 25 \\f "Courier New" \\s 12}{\fldrslt\f2\fs24}}{\field{\*\fldinst SYMBOL 25 \\f "Courier New" \\s 12}{\fldrslt
\f2\fs24}}{\field{\*\fldinst SYMBOL 25 \\f "Courier New" \\s 12}{\fldrslt\f2\fs24}}}{\f20\fs24 
\par }{\f20 
\par The severe brush strokes of the sea at Aramoana.
\par 
\par }{\f20\fs24 \tab \tab \tab }{\f20\fs24 {\field{\*\fldinst SYMBOL 25 \\f "Courier New" \\s 12}{\fldrslt\f2\fs24}}{\field{\*\fldinst SYMBOL 25 \\f "Courier New" \\s 12}{\fldrslt\f2\fs24}}{\field{\*\fldinst SYMBOL 25 \\f "Courier New" \\s 12}{\fldrslt
\f2\fs24}}{\field{\*\fldinst SYMBOL 25 \\f "Courier New" \\s 12}{\fldrslt\f2\fs24}}}{\f20 
\par 
\par Pulling at the tubers     ferns     pulling at the chopped
\par soil, at the neatly cropped rows 
\par 
\par 
\par pooling the pockets of the market/gardeners 
\par (God\rquote s yards) in on the act. Spring.
\par 
\par 
\par Wisteria scrambles along the weatherboard
\par to     our casement windows, framing this.
\par 
\par 
\par Against cloudwork     the bruise spread yellow
\par with some dismantling to the west.
\par 
\par 
\par These structures of / distance / balance / perspective
\par tarnish their plaques     owning     (not us)
\par 
\par 
\par : words that doodle in cloudstrokes
\par to remake the boundaries & the commonplace of seasons.
\par 
\par 
\par }{\f20\fs24 \tab \tab \tab }{\f20\fs24 {\field{\*\fldinst SYMBOL 25 \\f "Courier New" \\s 12}{\fldrslt\f2\fs24}}{\field{\*\fldinst SYMBOL 25 \\f "Courier New" \\s 12}{\fldrslt\f2\fs24}}}{\f20\fs24  }{\f20\fs24 {\field{\*\fldinst SYMBOL 25 \\f 
"Courier New" \\s 12}{\fldrslt\f2\fs24}}{\field{\*\fldinst SYMBOL 25 \\f "Courier New" \\s 12}{\fldrslt\f2\fs24}}}{\f20\fs24 
\par \page }{\f20 Mt Cargill continues under detonation to loosen
\par giant cubes     a mouth widening over the years
\par 
\par 
\par & elevated terraces look east to the harbour
\par where the dredge lets the shipping run back to the sea
\par 
\par 
\par \tab \tab \tab \tab \tab }{\i\f20 bluish.}{\f20 
\par \page \tab \tab \tab /}{\i\f20 incident \tab \tab }{\f20 34
\par 
\par 
\par 
\par 
\par Birds knew     (the wait   then the second shock)
\par 
\par 
\par I know it
\par that in the space of one morning / a space /
\par 
\par 
\par & the macrocarpa toppled to the next door paddock
\par because we heard it     the land rattled
\par 
\par 
\par as at low level the trunk was cut
\par 
\par 
\par \tab \tab \tab we saw the whole operation
\par 
\par 
\par through our casement windows that frame     now
\par more open air.
\par 
\par 
\par 
\par }{\i\f20\fs20 Durham Street, Wellington, 1975}{\f20 
\par \page \tab \tab \tab /}{\i\f20 incident\tab \tab }{\f20 36
\par 
\par 
\par 10 O\rquote clock
\par 
\par \tab        still hangs thin under the Otago night.
\par 
\par 
\par Down the otherside of the hour
\par \tab I take the hill road to Reynolds town
\par 
\par 
\par a walk back up through the broken glass of the skyline
\par where the pieces scatter     (on)     the horizon:
\par 
\par 
\par \tab \tab at this hour/
\par \tab \tab \tab       the moon shapes to a cocktail glass
\par its tube filling the harbour heads.
\par 
\par 
\par Here we boarded.
\par 
\par 
\par There were three homes we had     each in its own time
\par one celebration.
\par \page \tab \tab \tab /}{\i\f20 sketches\tab \tab }{\f20 45
\par 
\par 
\par Before the winds -
\par \tab \tab those trumpets!
\par 
\par 
\par The absolute length of the wall dropped
\par that is, the sea fell:     flat
\par \tab \tab \tab   /
\par 
\par 
\par lettering, }{\i\f20 graffito}{\f20      (not words)
\par figures, hieroglyph     the unexplained billboard
\par 
\par 
\par lay down with much noise onto the land
\par & is still falling.
\par 
\par 
\par I do not ask you to match
\par your parenthesis of understanding
\par 
\par 
\par against that of the sea     still falling
\par 
\par 
\par before those trumpets - it is     inconclusive.
\par \page \tab \tab \tab \tab \tab \tab 48
\par 
\par 
\par & anyhow, I would write you a sonnet
\par as all the others     dear     to theirs
\par 
\par 
\par but can\rquote t square off this account
\par (i.e.     mine with yours)
\par 
\par 
\par can\rquote t wrap up this ongoing conference
\par I hold dear     with you/me
\par 
\par 
\par can\rquote t square the deal as they say -
\par can\rquote t square it off at the edges
\par 
\par 
\par neat as a quarter acre section.
\par Clich\u233\'8es we had were never that clear
\par 
\par 
\par & anyhow I would write you a sonnet
\par that is final:
\par 
\par 
\par Our son continues     }{\i\f20 yes }{\f20     he continues;
\par our son is an unbroken sentence that\rquote s final.
\par \page \tab \tab \tab \tab \tab \tab 50
\par 
\par 
\par \tab                         I
\par \tab                   call them
\par \tab           the floating triangles
\par \tab from Whangarei Heads, the land
\par }\pard \keep\widctlpar\tx567\adjustright {\f20          moves 1000 mls. back to Sawyers Bay
\par }\pard \keep\widctlpar\adjustright {\f20 
\par 
\par & where I rest    now    on the arrowhead of this island
\par there is a folding of the land behind.
\par 
\par 
\par It comes to this    no matter what moves me
\par I am squared to The Prevailings
\par 
\par 
\par as (once) a fugitive in your flesh
\par I slipped through the mesh
\par 
\par 
\par who has never fled such hunger?
\par 
\par :is: the third breath that quakes    you/me    quakes all
\par 
\par 
\par 
\par }{\i\f20\fs20 Whangarei / Onerahi, 1976
\par }{\f20 \page }{\f20\fs24 epilogue}{\f20 
\par 
\par 
\par The grey overcoat of the sky flung open!
\par A hundred buttons threaded with rain
\par 
\par 
\par wrapped about itself & as suddenly - stopped.
\par 
\par 
\par The air disintegrated,
\par or perhaps that\rquote s too neat?
\par 
\par 
\par It becomes harder & harder to people
\par these lines
\par 
\par 
\par to lay them flat as on a slab of ice.
\par With a gun/shot I could evoke a crowd
\par 
\par 
\par but don\rquote t wish that either. I am
\par a white/coated official hemmed within
\par 
\par 
\par & completely attendant on the Brueghel noises
\par of the mob;
\par 
\par 
\par wrapped about itself.
\par 
\par 
\par These lines then, are hurdles
\par they are poles to bruise the shins of the rabble.
\par 
\par 
\par The tongue that troubles
\par the top of the mouth 
\par \tab \tab \tab / is a birdflight
\par 
\par 
\par that takes me back to initial ancestors
\par who coupled together in rhyme 
\par 
\par 
\par who created the memory of me
\par that takes me back     }{\i\f20 that}{\f20  turns me back.
\par 
\par 
\par I would like to say I am vintage
\par of all which consumes me; that I
\par \page would like to have said a lot of things
\par though have not scanned these yet.
\par 
\par 
\par Meanwhile, across the light
\par my shadow behind me     behind me walks out.
\par 
\par 
\par The moment drops as though dead/wood
\par & there is light slipping from it
\par 
\par 
\par & there is a breath of wind,
\par this wind that parts wooden mobiles.
\par 
\par 
\par The bleep of lie detectors
\par on the branches
\par 
\par 
\par on the sonic trees
\par pressed out under an over/pass
\par 
\par 
\par which takes a left/hand turn
\par into dusk,
\par 
\par 
\par from these birds piled high along the plane/trees.
\par 
\par 
\par For them & me the same repetition
\par the simple image of the hour to take refuge in.
\par 
\par 
\par If you wish,
\par I am making bricks out of air for them & me.
\par 
\par 
\par All it takes is for one bird to escape
\par one wing to drop like a half/moon
\par 
\par 
\par & then the thing is undone
\par as a girl who walks the middle of the street
\par 
\par 
\par at night. Who veers neither left nor right.
\par \page The air has gone clear.
\par 
\par 
\par Your whisper is a heated flat/iron
\par pressed to my ear
\par 
\par 
\par clear as the visibility of day. Clear as that.
\par Sounds are flying night/blind
\par 
\par 
\par as though a playground
\par or the vocals of it had assembled on the air.
\par 
\par 
\par I hear
\par that your voice takes too much of my vision
\par 
\par 
\par & crowds me in.
\par I elaborate     
\par \tab      /  why I make bricks out of air.
\par \page }{\i\f20\fs24 from}{\f20    A U T U M N   S O N G S
\par 
\par 3/
\par 
\par \tab }{\i\f20 The Flight}{\f20 
\par 
\par 
\par Grape/shot of blackbird
\par get there before the stars do,
\par 
\par 
\par Black Concentrations!
\par 
\par 
\par & so the fabric loosens
\par & the mesh of the centre is diffuse
\par 
\par 
\par (allows mist through).
\par 
\par 
\par Then, as they are about to settle
\par I see them scuffing the inches
\par 
\par 
\par off next season\rquote s spring.
\par Over the rise & fall of the tree/line
\par 
\par 
\par such Black Concentrations!
\par \page 5/
\par 
\par \tab }{\i\f20 The Departure}{\f20 
\par 
\par 
\par Flies have short memories
\par 
\par \tab \tab \tab      /
\par 
\par immediately toward the instinct of smell
\par they collect themselves,
\par 
\par 
\par there!
\par 
\par 
\par The comma softens the breath
\par and I wait
\par 
\par 
\par the possibilities of coldness
\par rejected as     meat
\par 
\par 
\par the blackness of my anger
\par setting to a stench.
\par 
\par 
\par Who is it falls from whom?
\par \page 7/
\par 
\par \tab }{\i\f20 The Encounter}{\f20 
\par 
\par 
\par You would think sparrows
\par moved through pebbles.
\par 
\par 
\par That sound that falls behind them
\par that sound that flows behind them
\par 
\par 
\par somewhere,
\par a dog is boasting his bass notes
\par & moves on.
\par 
\par 
\par At fear     the body temperature drops
\par & the hair on the neck     rises
\par 
\par 
\par through the pricked/blanket of skin.
\par \page 12/
\par 
\par \tab }{\i\f20 The Orchardist}{\f20 
\par 
\par 
\par The smell of largeness, of breath,
\par white destinations of rain
\par 
\par 
\par lift over the glass
\par these fragmented molecules:
\par 
\par 
\par the dizziness of a too upright man.
\par 
\par 
\par & how the motes before his eyes
\par catch at the skeins of pride
\par 
\par 
\par lungs big as a cloud -
\par who will take anything in his stride;
\par 
\par 
\par an obstacle course played in a
\par set of rhymes.
\par 
\par 
\par Purple leaves at his soles.
\par 
\par 
\par 
\par }{\i\f20\fs20 Wood Street, Ponsonby, Auckland, 1977}{\f20 
\par \page 
\par 
\par }\pard \sl480\slmult1\keep\widctlpar\adjustright {\f20 
\par 
\par }\pard \qc\sl480\slmult1\keep\widctlpar\adjustright {\b\i\f20\fs32 from}{\f20 
\par }{\f20\fs32 E A R T H B O U N D   M I R R O R S}{\f20 
\par }{\f20\fs28 1 9 8 4
\par }\pard \sl480\slmult1\keep\widctlpar\adjustright {\f20\fs28 
\par \sect }\sectd \marglsxn1980\margrsxn2819\margbsxn1134\binfsxn-1841\binsxn-1841\psz9\pgnrestart\pgnstarts25\linex0\headery706\footery706\endnhere\sectdefaultcl {\footer \pard\plain \s16\qc\widctlpar\tqc\tx4153\tqr\tx8306\adjustright \fs20\lang3081\cgrid {

\par }}\pard\plain \keep\widctlpar\adjustright \fs22\lang3081\cgrid {\f20 S O M E T H I N G   I N   T H E   A I R}{\f20\fs18 
\par }{\f20 
\par 
\par }{\i\f20 Auckland you big arsehole,}{\f20 
\par ah, soul is what the man meant, what you lack
\par 
\par 
\par on this pock/baked earth scraped from the barren uteri of
\par The Seven Dead Ones.
\par 
\par 
\par But that don\rquote t matter a scrap
\par as you ease your carcass into the breech of summer
\par 
\par 
\par into the season of reprieve and airy flocculence.
\par It is summer.
\par 
\par 
\par Summertime, and the intersecting motorways
\par sparkle with loads of tinsel that dissolve and bubble
\par 
\par 
\par through long distances of heat.
\par There is something in the air,
\par 
\par 
\par and it is not that coruscant light
\par which burns down through the fluffy elements
\par 
\par 
\par that drift and break against the cold sides of the sky.
\par An unique breed here in Wood Street, in Wood Street,
\par 
\par 
\par which leads onto a home (in Elizabeth Street)
\par for them other citizens, there without fortune
\par 
\par 
\par have had (it) their souls slammed in the door of Auckland.
\par 
\par 
\par You would think it broke them, yes, their backs
\par that they carry so much weight
\par 
\par 
\par to and fro Wood Street they go
\par 
\par 
\par they carry the imaginary golden key to this city on back
\par bowed    it breaks them    }{\i\f20 them\rquote s the breaks buddy}{\f20 .
\par \page To and fro Wood Street they go
\par bearing that weight, and I wonder
\par 
\par 
\par whether them broken backs feel it too,
\par 
\par 
\par they could be sniffing the air?
\par 
\par 
\par \tab \tab \tab **
\par 
\par 
\par \lquote O the Gulf
\par opens out a chest bare as Sir Dove Meyer Robinson
\par heaving
\par 
\par 
\par in the morning
\par light shapes up for another day of commercial
\par }{\i\f20 wham bam}{\f20 
\par 
\par 
\par (thank you mam)
\par O thank you for turning out and already one of them
\par days
\par 
\par 
\par where cloud
\par has discounted some of the brightness off the hours
\par (the weatherman tells us)
\par 
\par 
\par and nose-sense
\par tells me that here we\rquote ve got a ring / ding / ding / 
\par of a Queen city.\rquote 
\par 
\par 
\par And only then is the air tight with warning.
\par 
\par 
\par \tab \tab \tab **
\par 
\par 
\par This is a poem and place of asides.
\par 
\par 
\par This is a town of asides; public ground has been set aside
\par for:
\par public walks have been set aside
\par for:
\par \page street corners have been set aside
\par for:
\par recreational purposes and pick/ups.
\par 
\par 
\par Victoria Park is a green depth swimming under an overpass
\par and the heavy pollen of petrol settles here ever so gentle.
\par 
\par 
\par O gently now still float the fumes over the public trees
\par and the public seats therefore
\par 
\par 
\par it is an open stillness right down here under the girdered
\par grip of the sky where cold edges of buildings and motors
\par 
\par 
\par flail by
\par 
\par 
\par on the other (wild) side of that band of leafy trees
\par still feeding off them metallic bees
\par 
\par 
\par that are getting nowhere    fast.
\par 
\par 
\par Auto/fellatio flippancies of \lquote the good guys\rquote 
\par running rings round Auckland you vast arse
\par \tab \tab \tab \tab \tab     / }{\i\f20 soul
\par }{\f20 
\par you\rquote ve got your very own marketable twist
\par here at the top O\rquote  the Isle,
\par 
\par 
\par never a truer phrase passed than the }{\f20\fs20 HAURAKI}{\f20  Gulf:
\par 
\par 
\par you know,
\par someone oughta builda Radio Station Heir  }{\i\f20  (ha ha).
\par 
\par }{\f20 
\par \tab \tab \tab **
\par 
\par 
\par They\rquote ve slapped a contraceptive writ on Aotea Clinic
\par while a darkening flood of women drag ripe bellies off
\par 
\par 
\par the international tarmac and down the long slide
\par to the Sydney skyscrapers incisive in the surgical light
\par \page for there is something in the air over the Tasman Sea
\par a free/load of immigrants
\par 
\par 
\par an airborne web/like gauze of foetal parachutists
\par raining down, still fallen on another soil.
\par 
\par 
\par \tab \tab \tab **
\par 
\par 
\par When the city has become one fluorescent tube
\par the Black Concentrations blockade the Gulf.
\par 
\par 
\par Islands and islands coast out of the bluestone waters
\par which slide like an abacus the tides,
\par 
\par 
\par the tides that short/change with spillage of distance
\par the numerous beaches here.
\par 
\par 
\par Rangitoto has a secret stash of water which no living soul
\par has seen or smelt, perhaps fed by the dark stream
\par 
\par 
\par that ran the course of Queen Street when Auckland
\par was nothing but scrub and ti-tree,
\par 
\par 
\par when Auckland was nothing. Now, in a thousand basements
\par buildings pump back the unseen sea unseen, back
\par 
\par 
\par to the thrumming tides before folk here get salt
\par in wounds and nostrils. Auckland is returning to the sea
\par 
\par 
\par undercover of dark, undercover of the eternal trig/stations
\par which mark out the cold boundaries of the sky
\par 
\par 
\par and this town won\rquote t end with a bang, but smooth as any jingle
\par open-ended.
\par \page 7. 5   O N   T H E   R I C H T E R   S C A L E
\par 
\par 
\par A metal/rod the colour of cloud vibrates on the trees.
\par 
\par 
\par \lquote Raw ore\rquote  is the grain of birdsong fed back to the leaves.
\par 
\par 
\par And how the whole construction breaks.
\par 
\par 
\par And how the entire circuitry runs out upon
\par the sounding board of air.
\par 
\par 
\par Live/wires everywhere and a tonnage of breathing space.
\par From the harbour, ships sound out horns and depart
\par 
\par 
\par against the mist and along the metal/rod of cloud.
\par 
\par 
\par Through the Black Concentrations of Auckland
\par the metal/rod the colour of cloud vibrates like a tuning fork.
\par 
\par 
\par Tuneless,
\par the sounds gather into flatness and the whole construction
\par breaks.
\par \page F L O T I L L A
\par 
\par }{\i\f20\fs20 Suicide is the result of infinite faith in matter}{\f20\fs20  
\par \tab \tab - P.D. Ouspensky
\par }{\f20 
\par 
\par Would you salute them
\par butterflies     or aggressors
\par \tab \tab \tab     /
\par switchblades in the Rangitoto channel?
\par 
\par 
\par On this furnace day it is summertime
\par and too much light for anger to stand tall
\par 
\par 
\par as it is, here,
\par 
\par 
\par compressed along the volcanic distances
\par without tint of shadow
\par 
\par 
\par to the band (lava) rotunda emerging from the Hauraki Gulf
\par where the switchblades betwixt and between them
\par 
\par 
\par show sail and colour.
\par 
\par 
\par \tab \tab \tab **
\par 
\par 
\par Point of relaxation
\par \tab \tab      /
\par \tab \tab       to idiocy.
\par 
\par 
\par And across the bent back of this city
\par a cool breeze withers into the bland mud/flats.
\par 
\par 
\par Jumbo/booted beyond the bridge, buildings
\par relax into the distances (would you salute them?)
\par 
\par 
\par Lifting switchblades against the back/wash sun
\par the idiocy of those eternal trig/stations
\par 
\par 
\par over the bent/back of the sky, flick into sight.
\par \page Today, they closed the outer lanes of the bridge,
\par the \lquote Nippon-clip-on\rquote  ran empty as an erased tape, over and over,
\par 
\par 
\par traffic running so fast it is oblique. A continuous fall
\par from balance toward the grace of the bridge from the city
\par 
\par 
\par over and over that bent back: an oblique return to the sea,
\par a lemming mentality.
\par 
\par 
\par How he flicks into sight! Sailsurfer
\par takes his body to the \lquote point of balance we have not got\rquote 
\par 
\par 
\par a human switchblade / a dangerous stamen /
\par fixed to the full blossom of canvas
\par 
\par 
\par a diminished bead along the edge of the horizon.
\par 
\par 
\par Butterflies or aggressors, you will see them
\par twist obliquely back to the city slide like an abacus the tides
\par 
\par 
\par and those other citizens, to and fro over the bridge they go
\par over the bent back of Auckland the metal rod the colour of cloud
\par 
\par 
\par that something     in the air.
\par 
\par 
\par \tab \tab \tab **
\par 
\par 
\par And if you should decide to drop, an anguished plumb-bob
\par of flesh, from the bridge and the point of balance
\par 
\par 
\par (which you have just left) arms and legs
\par in salute of the air, yeah, you will be honoured
\par 
\par 
\par as a fully fledged citizen
\par 
\par 
\par in having met the full expectations of this city and
\par the bluestone waters where you have left your mark, prophetically.
\par 
\par 
\par \tab \tab \tab **
\par \page Should you decide to drop, the tilted head takes the end
\par of brightness in - of sky and of the sea.
\par 
\par 
\par Either way, it is the horizontal rod of balance that is broken
\par 
\par 
\par as you sink into the green depths of Victoria Park
\par where it could be under you that the surface recedes
\par 
\par 
\par back from the tree tops to the Black Concentrations
\par of stars. Flicked through the currents of air, your body
\par 
\par 
\par in its fall, arched as an astronaut, inverted as suicide
\par 
\par 
\par : as the brightened beads of traffic flip by the band of leafy trees
\par 
\par 
\par : as the girdered grip of the bridge falls away from you
\par 
\par 
\par know that there is enough of the sky and its innocence
\par (especially at the corners) to wipe a city clean, any dawn.
\par \page A   M E E T I N G
\par 
\par 
\par \lquote I got myself short. Should be two dollars. 
\par Have to get my cigarettes Wednesday.\rquote 
\par 
\par 
\par }{\i\f20 The other voice remains inaudible.}{\f20 
\par 
\par 
\par \lquote You see? Count it.\rquote 
\par 
\par 
\par }{\i\f20 The voice is inaudible though accepts one hand to the shoulder.}{\f20 
\par 
\par 
\par \lquote Three dollars. That\rquote s all right. Where you going?\rquote 
\par 
\par }{\i\f20 
\par The upright, inaudible voice slides away, smiling.}{\f20 
\par 
\par 
\par The hour rolls like a pinball across the hammock of Wood Street
\par this meeting of two hands    to and fro.
\par 
\par 
\par This is the monorail on which one preoccupation chimes
\par with another.
\par 
\par 
\par This is the attempted synchronisation of two blades
\par at an imaginary switch/point.
\par 
\par 
\par The surface of each face breaks recognition with the other.
\par Salute them.
\par 
\par 
\par 
\par }{\i\f20\fs20 Wood Street, Ponsonby, Auckland, 1978}{\f20 
\par \page M O S A I C
\par 
\par 
\par The colour plate of Auckland pressed against that cupola.
\par 
\par 
\par On the air and in that vibration
\par how the line distorts -
\par 
\par 
\par the inverted images of the city dropped into the round.
\par 
\par 
\par And how the enamel cubes express their light
\par within the dark fan of the sky, and how!
\par 
\par 
\par There ain\rquote t nothing antique about this city when it has become
\par 
\par 
\par \tab \tab one fluorescent tube
\par 
\par 
\par even in reflection is sliding back to the sea
\par into pre-biotic ruin.
\par 
\par 
\par O to slip quietly from the face of the sky and break the surface
\par 
\par 
\par and break the waters
\par 
\par 
\par and break the capillary tubes of the nostrils of the people here.
\par 
\par 
\par O to break recognition with one another (like a memory restored.)
\par \page W H I S T L E   T H E M   U P
\par 
\par 
\par The silent war blows me away,
\par not the Golden Hand Shake of foreign metals
\par 
\par 
\par where one history breaks recognition with the other,
\par 
\par 
\par it is the \lquote inaudible\rquote  slip of the key
\par where eyes meet in strict consultation.
\par 
\par 
\par O to break recognition with one another, that frightens.
\par 
\par 
\par Those long bass notes coast out on the horns
\par of the ocean liners and tankers
\par 
\par 
\par whose vibrations flick the whitened hulls.
\par 
\par 
\par Through different orbits deliver them from the volcanic distances
\par and the jaws of the roaring lion
\par 
\par 
\par beneath the moon which sheds its golden fleece
\par is a nursery rhyme to shake us, alarmingly.
\par 
\par 
\par O kill them softly O sweetly with that song.
\par \page A S C E N S I O N
\par 
\par 
\par Rangitoto does not possess light.
\par 
\par 
\par Rangitoto (sparkles as a tube of crystal water) inside.
\par 
\par 
\par Rangitoto absorbs itself.
\par 
\par 
\par \tab \tab \tab **
\par 
\par 
\par The baked charcoal island weighted on the bluestone harbour
\par brittle as the fluorescent tube
\par 
\par 
\par as the gulls lift over to it that something in the air.
\par 
\par 
\par Rangitoto of The Dead Ones / the seventh seal of the barren uteri
\par you would expect to explode colour like a Japanese graphic.
\par 
\par 
\par \tab \tab \lquote A great mountain, all in flame.\rquote 
\par \page P E R S P E C T I V E
\par 
\par 
\par The physicist will tell you:
\par \tab \tab God is matter of fact
\par equals
\par \tab /
\par \tab   no one need be surprised at guilt anymore, quoth
\par the lay poet.
\par 
\par The explanation holds the centre together.
\par 
\par }{\i\f20 Surprise: fear: suicide: surprise.}{\f20 
\par And that\rquote s an equation like the man
\par 
\par 
\par arms and legs in salute of the air over and over the same problem
\par and so I remind myself that I must remind myself
\par 
\par 
\par {\pntext\pard\plain\f3\fs22\lang3081 \loch\af3\dbch\af0\hich\f3 \u-3913\'b7\tab}}\pard \fi-283\li283\keep\widctlpar{\*\pn \pnlvlblt\ilvl0\ls1\pnrnot0\pnf3\pnstart1\pnindent283\pnhang{\pntxtb \'b7}}\ls1\adjustright {\f20 
the astronaut yawns life onto the universe
\par }\pard \keep\widctlpar{\*\pn \pnlvlcont\ilvl12\ls0\pnrnot0\pndec }\ilvl12\adjustright {\f20 
\par 
\par {\pntext\pard\plain\f3\fs22\lang3081 \loch\af3\dbch\af0\hich\f3 \u-3913\'b7\tab}}\pard \keep\widctlpar{\*\pn \pnlvlblt\ilvl0\ls1\pnrnot0\pnf3\pnstart1\pnindent283\pnhang{\pntxtb \'b7}}\ls1\adjustright {\f20 the poet draws breath back out of the earth

\par }\pard \keep\widctlpar{\*\pn \pnlvlcont\ilvl12\ls0\pnrnot0\pndec }\ilvl12\adjustright {\f20 
\par 
\par {\pntext\pard\plain\f3\fs22\lang3081 \loch\af3\dbch\af0\hich\f3 \u-3913\'b7\tab}}\pard \keep\widctlpar{\*\pn \pnlvlblt\ilvl0\ls1\pnrnot0\pnf3\pnstart1\pnindent283\pnhang{\pntxtb \'b7}}\ls1\adjustright {\f20 
the sailsurfer plays the division between earth and sky.
\par }\pard \keep\widctlpar\adjustright {\f20 \page T H E   F I N D
\par 
\par }{\i\f20\fs20 for Hone Tuwhare}{\f20 
\par 
\par 
\par They dug her up in Queen Street.
\par A fossilised colonial woman clutching a parasol,
\par stiff and rigid in her flannel frock.
\par 
\par 
\par Pince-nez clay encrusted on the bridge
\par of her nose, she was pointed toward
\par Alexandra Park, English settler fashion
\par 
\par 
\par when the pneumatic bursts shattered the
\par ear-bone. A couple of spades and they wedged
\par her out of the mould (intact) 
\par 
\par 
\par and leaned her against the side of a
\par }{\i\f20 Kenworth}{\f20  and then broke for \lquote smoko\rquote  -
\par propped there as though to advertise it.
\par 
\par 
\par She was carbon dated 1863, and by the salt stains
\par on her handkerchief (tucked under the sleeve)
\par she had either been crying or spending
\par 
\par 
\par too much time with the boys down at the
\par Whaling Station. Records failed to prove this.
\par One thing remained a mystery to authorities:
\par 
\par 
\par the stake, or rather, surveyor\rquote s peg
\par driven through the breast bone, attested 
\par to an acquisitive quarrel over which
\par 
\par 
\par were her rights, and which weren\rquote t?
\par \page }{\i\f20\fs24 from}{\f20    E A R T H B O U N D   M I R R O R S
\par 
\par 
\par [i]
\par 
\par In these days, we don\rquote t exult the sun.
\par 
\par 
\par Instead, we pay cheap coinage to
\par its reflection and I\rquote m reminded
\par 
\par 
\par that there ain\rquote t nothing new on a metaphor.
\par 
\par 
\par Who would dare praise the sun
\par that something close to our hearts?
\par 
\par 
\par Exult him then!
\par 
\par 
\par That great runner who sees the track before him
\par and that makes me feel real proudful.
\par 
\par 
\par In these days, we don\rquote t exult the sun.
\par 
\par 
\par A man shot in the snow will distort
\par like a hall of mirrors     I mean;
\par 
\par 
\par there\rquote s just too much other beauty about.
\par 
\par 
\par [ii]
\par 
\par A woman polished as an earthenware jug
\par filled with northern light:
\par 
\par 
\par and you know     there isn\rquote t a chance of that.
\par Is that what beauty\rquote s all about
\par 
\par 
\par what you\rquote d like to give into most
\par to make a gift of it, to get what\rquote s going?
\par 
\par 
\par Right through your eyes     allow me
\par to see these transparencies
\par \page which crush me like ice. }{\i\f20 Now, that\rquote s beauty.
\par 
\par }{\f20 
\par And so I practise at departure
\par as this light moving the trees - airily.
\par 
\par 
\par What saves me (if you can call it that)
\par are the words here which stick,
\par 
\par 
\par something like a rubber/boot on damp ash.
\par 
\par 
\par [iii]
\par 
\par O the renown of the writer who put it:
\par \lquote the arse end of nowhere\rquote 
\par 
\par 
\par this place which has light through
\par it as the wet across the back of a fish
\par 
\par 
\par and the whole damn island     rising.
\par 
\par 
\par The arse end of nowhere has got this
\par geological radiance, the likes of which
\par 
\par 
\par make an unwritable thesis.
\par The sun is resin all over the day it bubbles
\par 
\par 
\par and all over these pencil/scrapings
\par which have the sound of laughter.
\par 
\par 
\par O the renown of the chorus who sang it.
\par 
\par 
\par [iv]
\par 
\par A whistle draws the thread of response
\par 
\par 
\par from those small motors of the heart
\par the drum solo that prompt the limbs to beat.
\par 
\par 
\par A cough starts nothing but an audience -
\par \page the jubilant cord of breath (that\rquote s different).
\par In the beginning was the whistle
\par 
\par 
\par and then believe it or not     the word
\par like a lead pellet stored in the lungs.
\par 
\par 
\par I would reckon it (personally) that the cough
\par is the beginning of speech though the word
\par 
\par 
\par has grown thick with hair and as dry as hurt.
\par 
\par 
\par On our hands the question is raised
\par which came first     the whistle or the word?
\par 
\par 
\par [v]
\par 
\par I turn my back on the world
\par my tendons between the shoulder/blades
\par 
\par 
\par set me against the pokings of this planet
\par 
\par 
\par like any other. I am a small corner into
\par which the noises of the continents
\par 
\par 
\par gather and eddy.
\par I turn my back on the world and feel
\par 
\par 
\par the sharp blows on the back of the neck,
\par in this way, I add to the noises of the earth.
\par 
\par 
\par }{\i\f20 I drive my centre to the eye of your hurricane.
\par }{\f20 
\par 
\par (I say) that our love is a little
\par like a summit meeting, we swap histories,
\par 
\par 
\par we bargain for terms. Our own separate
\par bag of noises we throw at each other as
\par 
\par 
\par so many sticks and stones to break our bones
\par and with sudden percussion fall upon one another.
\par \page [vi]
\par 
\par Even from their dust they shall adore
\par (and done!) how the bits of peoples
\par 
\par 
\par stagger, dazed and numinous out into the sunlight.
\par 
\par 
\par Unbeliever calls it / divinity pollution
\par this light     the colour of chopped straw.
\par 
\par 
\par O hearts of dust puff up ambitions at the day.
\par 
\par Dust as a hand clap in the Roman Senate.
\par 
\par Dust as the ancient sound of the conquered tribe.
\par 
\par 
\par With a large effort I pull myself together,
\par so what (I ask) so what else is there then
\par 
\par 
\par as I concentrate myself onto the here and now
\par and feel the sun as blotched copper on my skin?
\par 
\par 
\par [vii]
\par 
\par Our bodies move through one single arc of sorrow.
\par (Forgive) them who haven\rquote t noticed a whit.
\par \tab \tab \tab \tab \tab       /
\par \tab \tab \tab \tab \tab }{\i\f20         }{\f20 Brother!}{\i\f20 
\par }{\f20 now that\rquote s about as meek and mild as you can get:
\par 
\par 
\par like people setting up road blocks
\par 
\par like fright stretched to a piano wire
\par 
\par like people holding out against themselves
\par 
\par 
\par and I won\rquote t let go of you till you let go of me
\par yes I will no I won\rquote t yes I will you to the devil.
\par 
\par 
\par Our bodies move through one single arc of regret,
\par c\rquote mon     be fair     that\rquote s only afterwards.
\par \page Sister, I tell you that for the moment
\par them bells toll to kick the shit out of us (gently).
\par 
\par 
\par [viii]
\par 
\par Q: Why don\rquote t us people just hold together
\par than set about with the purpose of dying?
\par 
\par 
\par and this is done expressly (the hidden wish)
\par nothing\rquote s more tangible than the self-destruct
\par 
\par 
\par button we play our signature tune on.
\par O to synthesise our (very) selves to bits
\par 
\par 
\par and sometimes, that music squeezed is
\par O so very beautiful as smooth as cordial even
\par 
\par 
\par as water is the conductor to smell - well,
\par we can simply hear our own ending coming
\par 
\par 
\par as an untainted and complete intoxication, don\rquote t we?
\par 
\par 
\par O to synthesise our (very) selves to shreds
\par the blood the beautiful flow of water as music.
\par 
\par 
\par Sometimes, that music     sanguine     is
\par O so very beautiful as smooth as cordial and even.
\par 
\par 
\par [xi]
\par 
\par Here I am then,
\par a spotted handkerchief and stick on my shoulder
\par 
\par 
\par the southern/hemisphere like a cairn behind me.
\par 
\par 
\par I whistle a merry tune
\par into the corners of the world sniff the prospects
\par 
\par 
\par my heart the colour of camouflage.
\par Under indifferent stars I don a different hat
\par \page buried as a worm in the northern half of this apple
\par I digest another set of sins.
\par 
\par 
\par Here I am then,
\par a spotted handkerchief and stick on my shoulder
\par 
\par 
\par O every so slightly worse for wear.
\par 
\par 
\par [xii]
\par 
\par I have as many jests as checks on my coat
\par and a smile as dry as a brush of chalk.
\par 
\par 
\par The black/band of the crowd holds me in -
\par but I show them my colours.
\par 
\par 
\par Overhead, the big tent of the Shooting Star Circus
\par 
\par 
\par and I know it is me who is phosphorescent.
\par I drift from north to south, from east to west
\par 
\par 
\par and they know it is me who is fun loving.
\par 
\par 
\par I have many jests as checks on my coat
\par and a smile as dry as a brush of chalk.
\par 
\par 
\par How I love them,
\par those women with crisp, sibilant voices,
\par 
\par 
\par whose eyes fall like rotten fruit about me.
\par \page B L A C K   C O N C E N T R A T I O N S
\par 
\par 
\par }{\i\f20 Morning, noon, evening who drinks the milk of darkness?}{\f20 
\par 
\par 
\par I consider the magic or aggression
\par gone out of it - entirely. Lives, that is.
\par 
\par 
\par A distinct peace.
\par 
\par 
\par The immediate slowed to peace / sans / colour.
\par 
\par 
\par Stillness plump as a cushion not sat upon.
\par 
\par 
\par Understanding if you wish and that is what you wish.
\par 
\par 
\par So much habitation and no one to hear me observe
\par and no one to inform me they do not hear me say
\par 
\par 
\par what sort of peace is this?
\par 
\par 
\par I am a small area of agitation. I am here
\par and everyone finding nourishment in other places.
\par 
\par 
\par }{\i\f20 Evening, noon, and morning who drinks the milk of darkness?}{\f20 
\par 
\par 
\par 
\par }{\i\f20\fs20 Vienna, 1979}{\i\f20\fs18 
\par }{\f20 \page S O N G   O F   G R A V I T Y
\par 
\par 
\par Icarus, torn from his focus on the sun, reached
\par the supreme consummation (like any woman)
\par 
\par 
\par and took unto himself a worldly weight -
\par the complete possession of centre and gravity.
\par 
\par 
\par Does the woman forever plummet the whole
\par like (in the masculine) how one helicopter
\par 
\par 
\par taken at a certain angle entering the skyline,
\par possesses an entire city?
\par 
\par 
\par The want to get more than gravity can provide
\par is simply an exercise in non/love.
\par 
\par 
\par Icarus should have taken a tilt of the head
\par to look down and see the sun the water.
\par 
\par 
\par Who can work that proposition with eyes open,
\par even buckle oneself to a question mark
\par 
\par 
\par and contemplate the centre of the earth?
\par (thoughts: }{\i\f20 shoving my muscle through black hair).
\par 
\par 
\par 
\par }{\i\f20\fs20 San Francisco, 1979}{\i\f20\fs18 
\par }{\f20 \page S A N G   T H E   S A I L S U R F E R
\par 
\par 
\par Wherein that zone of coming toward
\par (not quite rainbow) where all is possible
\par 
\par 
\par possession takes place the colours running
\par and the boundaries non-existent
\par 
\par 
\par and at once the reach of prophecies is present
\par before final settled things begin before
\par 
\par 
\par corybantic moon and the sun remunerative
\par resume their different and separate reserves.
\par 
\par 
\par And only then is the air tight with warning.
\par 
\par 
\par No hour can be appointed to this time
\par which decides against the rhythms of day
\par 
\par 
\par as the mind reels out in perfect balance
\par and with itself (is sought out in turn) 
\par 
\par 
\par and at once the reach of prophecies is present
\par a woman will foretell who plays with light
\par 
\par 
\par this is the song of the Black Concentrations
\par in the scooped hollow at the back of the head.
\par 
\par 
\par And only then is the air tight with warning.
\par 
\par \sect }\sectd \marglsxn1980\margrsxn2819\margbsxn1276\binfsxn-1841\binsxn-1841\psz9\linex0\headery706\footery706\endnhere\sectdefaultcl {\footer \pard\plain \s16\qc\widctlpar\tqc\tx4153\tqr\tx8306\adjustright \fs20\lang3081\cgrid {
\par }}\pard\plain \keep\widctlpar\adjustright \fs22\lang3081\cgrid {\f20 
\par }\pard \qc\sl480\slmult1\keep\widctlpar\adjustright {\f20 
\par 
\par 
\par 
\par }{\b\i\f20\fs32 from}{\f20 
\par }{\f20\fs32 G U A R D I A N S,   N O T   A N G E L S}{\f20 
\par }{\f20\fs28 1 9 9 3
\par }\pard \keep\widctlpar\adjustright {\f20 
\par \sect }\sectd \marglsxn1980\margrsxn2268\margbsxn993\binfsxn-1841\binsxn-1841\psz9\pgnrestart\pgnstarts53\linex0\headery706\footery706\endnhere\sectdefaultcl {\footer \pard\plain \s16\qc\ri360\widctlpar\tqc\tx4153\tqr\tx8306\adjustright 
\fs20\lang3081\cgrid {
\par }}\pard\plain \keep\widctlpar\adjustright \fs22\lang3081\cgrid {\f20 W A L T Z I N G   T H E   G O D S
\par 
\par 
\par As if they could not lift themselves high enough
\par children who unfold into fantasies
\par 
\par kites over Philopappou Hill
\par from string, pull cloud out of thin air
\par 
\par the way a comma tugs when the line runs out.
\par 
\par The clouds I spoke of, augmented, became italic
\par and passed through the stilled serif of the Acropolis
\par 
\par as did the kites that worked the air \endash  }{\i\f20 bluish}{\f20 
\par like the freshly exposed socket of a bone.
\par 
\par As if they could not lift themselves high enough
\par where sideways
\par 
\par a 747 snipped to view and halved the sky
\par and cut the string that played the fingers that lifted
\par 
\par the hands that tossed the kites the children built.
\par 
\par Behind certain white walls you can hear
\par the untroubled plumbing of the flute
\par 
\par and you would propose that here, the player
\par transposed fingertips to a flock of doves.
\par 
\par Or at certain quay-sides,
\par brake drums within the throats of mules, screech.
\par \page On the sounding-board of these cobbled ways (that is)
\par from the whitewashed alley-ways
\par 
\par noisy with the approach of mules, events of sound.
\par 
\par Then the heavy swallowing of the bell-tower
\par makes solid the hour and you would conclude that
\par 
\par it was here events had collected
\par as though people, objects exchanged substances.
\par 
\par As marble broke down against the skyline \endash 
\par broken and suggestive of an absent architecture
\par 
\par the half dome of the observatory rose \endash  frozen,
\par locked up the moon for the night on an empty sky.
\par 
\par And the Acropolis, silent as a construction site,
\par held down the curled blueprint of the stars
\par 
\par a tiny model made to house a universe while
\par over Philopappou Hill closed the dark shutters of bats:
\par 
\par 
\par closed the theory of darkness we call night
\par 
\par opened the small recognitions we call the stars
\par 
\par parted the vast separations we call the winds
\par 
\par revolved the minute gravities we call stillness.
\par 
\par 
\par \tab \tab }{\i\f20\fs20 Ano Petralona, Athens 1979
\par }{\f20 \page A C E 
\par 
\par 
\par Sky ploughs and grades to
\par partial storm, quick moments
\par of darkness, casual rain.
\par An aircraft drags badly taped
\par sound through another hour.
\par The engine rocks its mounts
\par confident. The prop turns,
\par autodidactic. Quartz landing
\par lights calculate a downward
\par path. An early idiom of
\par stars surface upward. He gives
\par his scarf one comic flick,
\par college style. He taxis in.
\par By planets and galaxies of gas
\par light he dreams ambition
\par high as a stealth bomber,
\par swerves o\rquote er massy thunderhead.
\par With eyes blitzed as Beirut
\par his Gatling laughter strafes.
\par Or, tearing a dotted line
\par down the Dead Sea - noise
\par chasing after - he sways that
\par horizon cradle fashion, sweeps
\par the Left Bank, banks to the
\par Apollo glare of the Sinai high
\par noon. He dreams his family
\par safely bunkered and quartered
\par suburbwise, happy as a neatly
\par clipped hedge, kids hopping
\par Frisbee quick on the broad lawn.
\par His spouse, blond as bread,
\par awaits the whisperings of his
\par black-box heart, mooning for
\par dog fight love at home coming.
\par \page A   F A R   N O I S E   F R O M   N E A R   T H I N G S
\par 
\par 
\par That which has gained a little
\par further, high enough to curve out the
\par earth, the diminished rainforests
\par 
\par 
\par of Brazil, the hole in the ozone above
\par Antarctica, the lessened bushtribes of
\par Africa, the years pushed out by light,
\par 
\par 
\par the greenhouse globe over-photographed
\par is how we picture ourselves back,
\par falling. Or rice paper moon in the
\par 
\par 
\par July afternoon. Bulkheads of tankers
\par whitelit on the horizon. Night,
\par underground with a silence of escalators.
\par 
\par 
\par Sky and cloud, a dream of snakes.
\par A fallen leaf against the skylight.
\par A leaf against the skylight fallen, so.
\par 
\par 
\par And we then who engage the light
\par take ourselves to the work of aerial
\par attention the Ancients were part of - 
\par 
\par 
\par remembrance of time, atomistic. 
\par The seasons knew us as we learned. 
\par Our lessons learned well, too. 
\par 
\par 
\par Around the roulette wheel of the world, 
\par throught he yellow pages of the sun flicking
\par over decades what migrations made,
\par 
\par 
\par from the micro-chip to Star Wars,
\par digital sex to right wing abstinence,
\par eclipse of personal vision, limitation of
\par 
\par 
\par immediate memory, the object of 
\par our desires objective love, love at several
\par removes in our falling. }{\i\f20 Sangsara.
\par \page }{\f20 The great lesson came in a sudden hurt
\par of killing, our first knowledge
\par reflected through caves ochre-images
\par 
\par 
\par of the slain. We began worship,
\par measured time, and built against the
\par shock, the pain. These sentiments amongst
\par 
\par 
\par the tumbled blocks of older verse are
\par gone from the heart, the darkest galaxy,
\par and memory alone promotes sorrow.
\par 
\par 
\par It is today always, green as a computer
\par screen and elsewhere, unrecorded, 
\par the high surgery of the supernova which
\par 
\par 
\par never exploded now, but once.
\par Child dream. An abandoned railway
\par siding overgrown with nettle, hide-
\par 
\par 
\par out for a wizard. Backdrop of gentle
\par slopes, elms at distance. 
\par Adolescent visions of Irish barrows, 
\par 
\par 
\par hollowed darkness, whisperings, a wish
\par to locate the signal in self back in time.
\par This resides still. Downwards and over
\par 
\par 
\par the garden (a dark, humped square) 
\par my neighbour shadows through dropblinds
\par before a startled TV. Dirtied cloud
\par 
\par 
\par frames a full moon that is sideways in
\par this movingly. Gravity takes hold
\par and accentuates. Gestures weigh in their
\par 
\par 
\par orbits. Bright as cufflinks, radio
\par telescopes revolve on red tablelands
\par to uncover one more sacred site between
\par \page the stars. A brain-based society
\par ornately tracks the lusty technologies
\par and the years recognise our whereabouts.
\par 
\par 
\par In the beginning wooden paddles echoed
\par from atoll to island. Air whitened,
\par thunder reverberated. A riot of leaves
\par 
\par 
\par under malarial rain. Then came the
\par creak of rigging, came the off-shore
\par companies, came synthetic drugs 
\par 
\par 
\par and salvation, and finally, came migration
\par back to Vanuatu, Samoa, Tonga, Niue
\par to light up the rim of the Pacific.
\par 
\par 
\par The hour turns, an electric train flicks
\par blue flashes over suburb and hoarding,
\par brick arch and emptied streets.
\par 
\par 
\par The day\rquote s news ceases amongst the
\par satellites. High enough to curve out earth, 
\par painted prows of long boats are falling 
\par 
\par 
\par on Southern skies, dragging their keels
\par across some coral harbour where - fitfully,
\par gracious guns of goodwill ride at anchor.
\par 
\par 
\par 
\par }{\i\f20\fs20 Chelmsford Street, Newtown, Sydney, 1987}{\f20 
\par \page H A L L E Y \rquote  S   C O M E T
\par 
\par }{\i\f20\fs20 \ldblquote  Bushy as a great broom held across the sky \rdblquote }{\f20\fs20  
\par \tab - Wang (}{\i\f20\fs20 c}{\f20\fs20 . AD 120) }{\i\f20\fs20 trans}{\f20\fs20 . Arthur Waley
\par 
\par 
\par }{\f20 At first there was
\par brilliant sunlight
\par anticipating earlier
\par 
\par 
\par years. A breath of
\par lit wind that did not
\par possess any location
\par 
\par 
\par dissolved back into
\par the evenness of day,
\par became a gift-wrapped
\par 
\par 
\par surprise from an
\par unknown friend unthought
\par of until then.
\par 
\par 
\par Earthquakes which
\par rumoured those things
\par done and forgotten
\par 
\par 
\par were sufficiently
\par compacted in some other
\par and inhuman memory,
\par 
\par 
\par for every creature
\par must have its fair say
\par at the end as did these.
\par 
\par 
\par The anti-climax 
\par had been expected 
\par and surprised one.
\par 
\par 
\par Without a scream
\par the disasters continued
\par unhurried, as if it
\par \page were an appointment
\par that had to be kept; 
\par for this had always been
\par 
\par 
\par arriving beyond any
\par personal memory of the
\par wisest man that might
\par 
\par 
\par have served as an
\par invitation, warning. When
\par the comet finally
\par 
\par 
\par described the finitude
\par of the heavens, coming
\par back a millennium
\par 
\par 
\par later, we remembered
\par his words about the
\par serpent consuming its tail.
\par \page M A N N E D   M I S S I O N   T O   T H E   G R E E N   P L A N E T
\par 
\par 
\par Behind some night bush Rousseau green, 
\par some dwelling in one place, some in another,
\par it had been agreed between us by courier
\par and hesitation to meet in the village centre
\par at midnight. The first figure to emerge
\par was to be greeted this: }{\i\f20 America comes to}{\f20 
\par }{\i\f20 interpret its humour:}{\f20  the hurried reply; 
\par }{\i\f20 community halls abound.}{\f20  Back, beyond our
\par allotted frequency, The General who had
\par not been posted gathered over another Power
\par Lunch. After the brief and the oiling of
\par rifles we set forth across the causeway
\par through the marble green of foothills, 
\par into the grey of higher ground. The thought,
\par like a saffron scarf caught on a thorn
\par bush seemed even now on the closed terrain a
\par crusade of sorts, - kept us ahead. Amply,
\par unnumbered rivers plashed into the battery
\par green of immeasurable hollows. So it was
\par that we became inseparable, spirit creatures
\par to the forest life, the journey boundless,
\par the orders which concerned the depot, unread.
\par \page A S   T H E   P A I N T E R   M O V E S   T O W A R D   H I S   C A N VA S
\par 
\par 
\par 1.
\par 
\par Momentarily; we knew we could
\par own nothing. An orchestra crackled
\par in parenthesis on the emergency
\par band as if from another age. Through
\par mountain passes the white dirigible
\par tilted at electrical storms. Yet,
\par what felt like fear looked like a
\par pink, tropical orchid in close up,
\par deadly in every detail. The colour
\par plate said it, though got mixed with
\par others after the catalogue got
\par lost. An afternoon hot and steamy.
\par After the rain had finished the
\par thought came through like a gilded
\par sun that we could luxuriate our
\par every wish, music too, if we wanted.
\par 
\par 
\par Civic Leaders pushed their pitch:
\par the tallest building in the southern
\par hemisphere (Sydney) was soon 
\par to rise beyond the computer graphic,
\par apparitional as a water spout!
\par O the half sunk water wheel rests its
\par spokes on the ancient river basin,
\par only to re-emerge as the harbour
\par bridge into early morning, traffic fog.
\par And passing by the Western Quarter,
\par open frontages, cotton shirts, rack
\par upon rack, hot smell of metal on felt,
\par often backing onto smaller factories
\par and interwoven lanes, sometimes
\par a glimpse of whitewash hanging out 
\par picket-fence lettering: }{\f20\fs20 EVERY SPECIES}{\f20\fs18 
\par }{\f20\fs20 IS AN ENDANGERED SPECIES}{\f20  and claims
\par \page to long-lost sacred sites. Charcoal
\par flaked fences under yellow gorse,
\par the valley falling away to memory of
\par bush fires which swept long before
\par his boyhood took this place as playground,
\par an image now taut as comprehension.
\par 
\par 
\par 11.
\par 
\par Pull in from celluloid an early
\par afternoon from 1954 (Rpt) pulsing
\par cloud up mountain valleys seen on
\par location in Peru as you recalled then
\par someone toppling two miles through
\par thin air - }{\i\f20 Chuck,}{\f20  our hero, black leather 
\par jacket hard-pressed against the 
\par mountain. Yet, it was the light which 
\par figured, flickering there in your
\par young matinee years some found memory,
\par reservoir to intelligence, long ago.
\par Not the mop-topped birds, nor the sun
\par heading toward warmer seasons
\par built out of piano notes from the
\par echoing school facing the little park.
\par But turning through those chords,
\par something you had to say lies behind
\par where it always was. That empty
\par space calls you now, asks your energy
\par and faith more than the body can
\par give, to finally give out. The day
\par shoulders through our personal gravities.
\par With a slight shift on the wind
\par current as if to eventually make up its
\par mind, the white dirigible turns cloud
\par faint over the long horizon - its
\par guy-ropes whisker thin, the day languid.
\par \page H A L L O   M O O N,   }{\i\f20\fs20 H A L L O   M O O N}{\i\f20\fs18 
\par }{\f20 
\par 
\par Janis Joplin had duende, made her feel
\par good but can you take it? The Stone Age people
\par worshipped the heart, hardline love of elements.
\par 
\par 
\par The vision meets the image perfectly.
\par }{\f20\fs20 MOON BOUNCING}{\f20  radio operators call it - Kepler
\par dreamed this too. Signals bounce back visually.
\par 
\par 
\par If you\rquote ve the right equipment you become
\par the man without qualities, a prism in your hand.
\par You don\rquote t know the weight of heartwood.
\par And, who do you love anyway? You went past
\par your original, became mud only to become human
\par once more. Something remembered you.
\par With a kind of irradiance, your soft focus
\par fell back upon me through an arch of greenery.
\par \page Q U E E N   S T R E E T   R I O T
\par 
\par 
\par }{\i\f20 The breaking of the shield.}{\f20 
\par Clouds beat out their gongs, call
\par the pohutukawa bloom to the
\par Auckland summer. Above glass
\par office blocks, black as tornadoes,
\par the gong beat out again, boomed
\par the length of Queen Street.
\par At Aotea Square the crowd smiles,
\par hangs in the balance under an
\par overturned moon. A hundred heads
\par turn as one to meet recognition.
\par And the dream? That becomes
\par the body working inside its costume.
\par }{\i\f20 The breaking of the shield.}{\f20 
\par Night falls with a thickness of
\par batons. Riot police, armed,
\par visored, moving upon the hobbled
\par hearts of the people (violent
\par against property and themselves)
\par moving from side-streets under
\par shields, riot police moving in one
\par black net to catch Auckland.
\par And the deed? That becomes a 
\par moment in time. The moon thumps 
\par the blue wrists of Queen Street 
\par up from a darkening sea. The Lady 
\par Mayor walks by flashing cameras, 
\par walks by the doll-house city broken 
\par on the black and white screen of 
\par Aotea Square. And this hour turns 
\par the colour of pale, lemon light.
\par }{\i\f20 The breaking of the shield.
\par \page }{\f20 G U A R D I A N S,   N O T   A N G E L S
\par 
\par 
\par Lake Wairarapa? I think it
\par the eye of the fish Maui hauled.
\par A still place at sea level,
\par brackish. A grey pupil over which
\par weather comes makeshift to
\par Martinborough from the coast.
\par For each of us there exists a
\par mystic-scape drawn from fact; 
\par the image recurs stealthily.
\par Lake Wairarapa waits for the
\par keeper of its colours through
\par dream vigilance.
\par Lake George? Gold tussock suggests
\par it. A deepening breath defines
\par to a temporary surface,
\par vapours through heat, sinks, rises
\par again. As though it wished to
\par retrieve itself back through
\par time and is remembered elsewhere.
\par No one knows how,
\par yet a certain guesswork stays,
\par like the way Turner blurred the sky
\par and smeared the shock of living,
\par made a moist gauze of light.
\par Could it be done?
\par To reshape the globe into a cube
\par not flung elliptical,
\par but rolled upon its points.
\par Continuously, the unseen figure
\par stumbles out of the park
\par made perfect by a perfect hand,
\par and under a scapula moon chases
\par }{\i\f20 thought }{\f20 toward contentment.
\par \page N I C H O L A S   C H A R L E S   B O C H S A   1 7 9 1 - 1 8 5 6
\par 
\par }{\i\f20\fs20 \tab \tab Camperdown cemetery, Sydney}{\i\f20\fs18 
\par }{\f20 
\par 
\par I liked your story and the
\par stone placed by your lover, Ann
\par Bishop, in St Stephen\rquote s cemetery.
\par How Ann left her composer
\par husband Henry to his knighthood
\par and in Paris found you, Nicholas
\par Bochsa. You became lovers,
\par travelled the continent giving
\par concerts, she with her magical voice
\par and you with your lyre. Then you
\par sailed on to Sydney and your final
\par curtain call at the }{\i\f20 Royal}{\f20 .
\par Did the \lquote Agents of Napoleon\rquote  truly
\par track you down under, pay you
\par off for crimes of embezzlement?
\par You knew return to France meant
\par immediate arrest and jail.
\par Knowing you were dying you wrote
\par your own requiem, a loud laugh
\par at Catholicism. After, Ann gave you
\par an Anglican burial and the whole
\par town turned out. She never looked
\par back, continued on to China.
\par So you took thousands from the
\par emperor, shows you knew a good rort,
\par were pretty good with your hands.
\par \page I R I N A   R A T U S H I N S K A Y A,   }{\i\f20 F R E E D}{\f20 
\par 
\par 
\par Something has lit up your
\par Motherland. Whose eyes? What flock
\par of birds? }{\i\f20 Camplights?}{\f20 
\par Late summer eve and the freeway
\par insists its traffic through wind.
\par Rubbed off sound. Handfuls of
\par enjoyment coming and going.
\par Not the noise of barbed wire dragged
\par through snow, and not the dull
\par weight of concrete at Zone 4 Mordovia.
\par Irina Ratushinskaya, would this
\par have reached your last address
\par before your Russian God brought you
\par safe to England, and safely to
\par her hospitals, to the }{\i\f20 freeworld}{\f20  and a
\par million little decisions?
\par Handfuls of shouting reach out from
\par solitary confinement, your breath
\par amplifies and your words
\par bite warmth. Something has lit up
\par your Motherland.
\par \page A N D   A L L   T H E   G O O D T I M E   C H A R L I E S
\par 
\par }{\i\f20\fs20 \tab for my mother, Cecily Joan McCormack, 1920 - 1990}{\i\f20\fs18 
\par }{\f20 
\par 
\par Striding girls spill from
\par office blocks, cool light through
\par May leaves. The moon, a hayrick
\par unsettled before palings of cloud.
\par A bat caught on wire makes
\par one buckled lampshade. 
\par Your generation ends with you now.
\par }{\i\f20 Swell, so long! }{\f20 I see chrome hubs
\par spinning backward along green
\par embankments under a tribute of elm.
\par Something carries through laughter
\par like a klaxon, and shuffles
\par black swans over the Taieri river.
\par The town clock ceased sometime
\par back in 1920, when brassy sounding
\par trams halted by the Band Rotunda.
\par \page J O H N   K E A T S   C A M E   O N   T O O   S T R O N G
\par 
\par 
\par To Fanny his girl he did. 
\par To think, if telephones existed in 
\par those days, what a mess he would\rquote ve 
\par made of it. Verily, the best Romantic
\par is an isolated one. Post-by-carriage.
\par Reflection through a long
\par sea-cliff stroll. A quiet cough in
\par Rome, or blood the colour of
\par port? So he\rquote d write Fanny and say:
\par \lquote On the 21st of this month,
\par Sunday at 10.30 a.m. precise, check out
\par Shakespeare\rquote s sonnet No. 38,
\par }{\i\f20 ditto, }{\f20 I\rquote ll do the same. Thinking of
\par you.\rquote  She didn\rquote t give a rat\rquote s
\par arse for John as genius and he never
\par got to bonk the woman. He just
\par couldn\rquote t cope. O My Belov\u233\'8ed, so it is
\par that in the mind\rquote s eye I scale 
\par you down to little dimensions, and
\par you but a gentle cough away.
\par \page T H E   D E C A D E E R S
\par 
\par 
\par }{\i\f20 Yi-yippee-yo!}{\f20  The picket line of
\par verse slingers stretches back to the \lquote 50s.
\par The decadeers ride on in anthological
\par gallop to blaze the way with found
\par poetry into one more famous sunset.
\par Kerouac is laid back on the trail, strung
\par out beneath the bo-tree. Bukowski has
\par lit out for the badlands of L.A.
\par Stead\rquote s skull hangs over the ripped off
\par limbs of embryo poets at El Academia.
\par Jacques Derrida signs up, notches
\par a trope on the butt of language: -
\par they ride on off the page onto the stage.
\par All that day smoke rose untroubled
\par from the desk-top mesas into a blank sky.
\par In the borderless regions the racist
\par ape yawled through the stadiums of Europe.
\par Then night came fast as a fax, 
\par and as they leaned into saddles on that
\par wordless waste, each writer pondered: what
\par had been altered by the observation of it?
\par The }{\i\f20 furor poeticus}{\f20  sang like a
\par great wind down the Information Highway.
\par 
\par \sect }\sectd \marglsxn1980\margrsxn2819\margbsxn1276\binfsxn-1841\binsxn-1841\psz9\pgnrestart\pgnstarts61\linex0\headery706\footery706\endnhere\sectdefaultcl {\footer \pard\plain \s16\qc\ri360\widctlpar\tqc\tx4153\tqr\tx8306\adjustright 
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\par 
\par 
\par 
\par }\pard \qc\sl480\slmult1\keep\widctlpar\adjustright {\b\i\f20\fs32 from}{\f20 
\par }{\f20\fs32 I S L A N D S   O F   W I L D E R N E S S
\par }{\i\f20\fs32 A   R o m a n c e}{\f20 
\par }{\f20\fs28 1 9 9 6
\par }\pard \sl480\slmult1\keep\widctlpar\adjustright {\f20\fs28 
\par }\pard \qc\sl480\slmult1\keep\widctlpar\adjustright {\f20\fs28 \sect }\sectd \marglsxn1980\margrsxn2819\margbsxn1276\binfsxn-1841\binsxn-1841\psz9\pgnrestart\pgnstarts83\linex0\headery706\footery706\endnhere\sectdefaultcl {\footer \pard\plain 
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\par }}\pard\plain \keep\widctlpar\adjustright \fs22\lang3081\cgrid {\f20 15.
\par 
\par 
\par 
\par 
\par Love is a way back
\par to the first sense before
\par association, beyond the large,
\par lit city of mind, to
\par departure before it became
\par loss, to memory before it became
\par sorrow, and so on back to
\par original models before we bought
\par the bright, imitative ones.
\par On hearing the above,
\par her brow arched into a bow,
\par dismissively. His discoveries
\par sank, this in turn gave
\par rise to pity, and so on.
\par }{\f20\fs24 
\par 
\par 
\par }{\i\f20 Grafton, Auckland, 1981}{\f20 
\par }{\f20\fs24 \page }{\f20 22.
\par 
\par 
\par 
\par 
\par As you wait to come
\par back, lives mass to concussion.
\par Past sunsets froth up
\par like fizz from a bottle.
\par You are left with hat in hand
\par before the task had begun.
\par What is discovered is
\par the backward gesture. The gun
\par returns to the holster
\par and the victim judders upright.
\par We do not worry forward
\par but stalk the old securities.
\par The rest is ambush.
\par \page 29.
\par 
\par 
\par 
\par 
\par Then the rats up and left.
\par Much later, the pied-piper
\par and the townsfolk,
\par following upon the greedy heels
\par of illusion, walked into
\par the mountain. }{\i\f20 Tough.
\par }{\f20 So she plays the song she wants
\par to hear inside another\rquote s head.
\par Or did. Until the echo
\par came back like a boulder telling
\par the same old story:
\par in the beginning was \lquote The Word\rquote 
\par for those with heart enough
\par to hear.
\par \page 32.
\par 
\par 
\par 
\par 
\par DEAR LADY, regard my heart
\par as a waiting room. The
\par magazines lie fanwise on
\par the empty seat. The poster
\par reads: SAVE THE BEECH FORESTS.
\par An undergrowth of light through
\par bamboo blinds warms
\par the body\rquote s mind. My hands
\par make an appointment with your
\par breasts, and that mountainous
\par plateau of exquisite flowers
\par where you hail me from.
\par \page 35.
\par 
\par 
\par 
\par 
\par All the tough kids got
\par married and made a homework
\par full of kids who went to school
\par and got tough and didn\rquote t
\par believe what mum and dad said.
\par I let loose my dart at you.
\par But the message inside was too
\par heavy and I missed. I wanted
\par to say I would walk you
\par home because that\rquote s where
\par the heart is, and, if I am
\par to find yours it\rquote s the first
\par place I would look.
\par \page 44.
\par 
\par 
\par 
\par 
\par In the ancient city of Jaffa
\par yellow steps descend to the whale\rquote s
\par belly, to white weddings in cool,
\par stone rooms. }{\i\f20 Shalom.}{\f20  Between
\par the explosions and the weather
\par life is matter-of-fact. But today
\par space is tense and boasts occupations,
\par like bunkers built on the moon.
\par At the dead centre of this
\par amphitheatre the echo laps back
\par from my feet.
\par \tab }{\i\f20 Unavoidable.
\par }{\f20 \page 45.
\par 
\par 
\par 
\par 
\par Yeah, there were props of
\par wind, gusty and folded, and the
\par weather satellite did its job days
\par ahead of schedule. Other signs,
\par too. The picture jolted sideways
\par a bit but no one felt it.
\par Significance came later, after the
\par laughter swung on a boom
\par around the room. None dared to name
\par it. About then, the dame in furs
\par pulled the grate on the lift,
\par leaving the wise-guys to hang out
\par in the vestibule.
\par \page 51.
\par 
\par 
\par 
\par 
\par }{\i\f20 \lquote Spirit and flesh}{\f20 
\par }{\i\f20 don\rquote t work,\rquote }{\f20  she said, }{\i\f20 \lquote together.\rquote }{\f20 
\par Upon this thought stole
\par the man with stockinged head.
\par Her words climbed as broomsticks
\par over the willow trees.
\par }{\i\f20 \lquote To avoid the rape,\rquote }{\f20  she said,
\par }{\i\f20 \lquote allow the aggression.\rquote }{\f20 
\par And so she had been beaten
\par into division. Softly, the night
\par with its protective arm drew
\par across her eyes.
\par \page 55.
\par 
\par 
\par 
\par 
\par The tubular wind.
\par The motorcycle beat of
\par snow on Arctic wastes. 
\par That\rquote s me moving into frame.
\par A hunched figure fur-edged
\par against the cold.
\par O bring back the ghosts.
\par Against the closed set of my
\par heart, under the laddered
\par sky, O my love, this is
\par a preview to let you know
\par I don\rquote t mean it. This is
\par an emerald iceberg I float
\par \tab \tab \tab    /\tab 
\par \tab \tab \tab      to you.
\par \page 58.*
\par 
\par 
\par 
\par 
\par On her sad
\par pilgrimage she leaned into
\par hills on her way home, forever
\par bent against nostalgia, to
\par where she has always been, that
\par childhood round as a world.
\par Impossible now. And this is why
\par she is still going,
\par caught there on the track
\par under the green cliff, as
\par though it were merely a day\rquote s
\par walk away.
\par 
\par 
\par 
\par 
\par *Under the collection\rquote s original title, }{\i\f20 Romances,}{\f20  No 58 was taken by the New Zealand painter, Tony Fomison (1939-1990) as title and dedication to a work which depicted this scene.
\par \page 61.
\par 
\par 
\par 
\par 
\par The Orient (lighted beads
\par quickly flipped through the hands
\par of darkness) Express.
\par The gentleman with the black
\par fedora didn\rquote t move a muscle.
\par The lady with diamond
\par fingers, languished. And then, the
\par thin-lipped man. A hiss
\par of steam under the vaulted roof.
\par The dream ended abruptly on
\par a high note as the lady slumped
\par forward onto the sign:
\par R18. SUITABLE FOR ADULTS ONLY.
\par 
\par 
\par 
\par }{\i\f20 Awatea Rd, Parnell, Auckland, 1983}{\f20 
\par \page 67.
\par 
\par 
\par 
\par 
\par Night of Warehouses.
\par The wind of God blows through
\par ventilation ducts rank as
\par carbolic. Lucky Luciano makes
\par a deal with Dutch Schultz.
\par }{\i\f20 Rat-ta-tat-tat-tat.
\par }{\f20 \lquote Even if you ain\rquote t seen it,
\par you\rquote ve heard it all before.\rquote 
\par \lquote Sure, it reminds me of
\par a dream I never had.\rquote 
\par And the two old priests drink
\par and roll dice and each harbours
\par a gangster in his heart.
\par 
\par 
\par 
\par }{\i\f20 France Street, Newton, Auckland, 1984}{\f20 
\par 
\par \page 76.
\par 
\par 
\par 
\par 
\par Sparrows pack in a family
\par above the sea-sound of traffic.
\par Under busted cornices
\par and behind neon billboards
\par night rain saddens to yellow.
\par Sparrows pack in a family
\par on the green, }{\i\f20 underwaterstreets}{\f20 
\par of May, in Vienna.
\par I once looked with hard knowing,
\par the seeing is circular now.
\par Gulls turn through the gusty
\par wet of this hour, and so
\par I hear you.
\par \page 78.
\par 
\par 
\par 
\par 
\par On the dark side of a
\par cold hill }{\i\f20 (they sang)}{\f20  bullets
\par were the one light, and roses
\par blossomed from out his chest
\par }{\i\f20 (they sang)}{\f20  against a green,
\par green sky. He dreamed then
\par of being tossed into the Spanish
\par night on the horns of the sun.
\par Federico Garcia Lorca,
\par the most humble of village fountains
\par lifts its sword to clash
\par against the icicles of the moon,
\par your silence.
\par \page 86.
\par 
\par 
\par 
\par 
\par Rain solid as riot gear
\par on beach palms, the day flexible
\par under Cyclone Gaddafi.
\par A landing barge pulls to the cove
\par and the General proclaims
\par a Banana Republic. }{\i\f20 
\par }{\f20 Props: pink canvas chairs 
\par and lettuce green towels.
\par Back on Lava Mountain natives
\par fire up the Bicentennial Beacon.
\par The South Pacific sure has
\par a lot to answer for but -,
\par }{\i\f20 that\rquote s cool.
\par 
\par 
\par 
\par Chelmsford St, Newtown, Sydney, 1988}{\f20 
\par \page 87.
\par 
\par 
\par 
\par 
\par \lquote Look pal, men do it
\par for prestige, and women for
\par security, so write that across
\par the sky. Both demand different
\par things, relationships, that is.\rquote 
\par }{\i\f20       Roman de le Rose}{\f20  
\par was rooted out centuries ago, killed
\par off with a high powered mix
\par of cynicism and freedom.
\par In fact, the last couple seen
\par heading into the labyrinth
\par was Laurel and Hardy,
\par looking terribly confused.
\par \page 91.
\par 
\par 
\par 
\par 
\par Tank tracks down the
\par arm of Afghanistan. Supertankers
\par plunge into the Persian Gulf.
\par We forever enact a terrible
\par knowledge, that all of us contain 
\par the negative of the \lquote Big Bang,\rquote 
\par are those self-same atoms.
\par Energy continuously surfaces as
\par anger, creation turned inside-out.
\par Sacred domes on the
\par highest mountains revolve toward 
\par that farthest point of
\par fleecy light.
\par \page 92.
\par 
\par 
\par 
\par 
\par True ham of the
\par heart, you inflect attic-sad
\par at the moon, farm affections out
\par on the car phone. Vowels
\par populate over mansard roofs,
\par you\rquote re in Paris; over ganoid slick
\par of gutters, you\rquote re in New York;
\par over stained counterpanes,
\par you\rquote re in Kings Cross.
\par \lquote When I hear the word heroin
\par I reach for my magnum,\rquote 
\par says the ansaphone.
\par }{\i\f20 Well - how do you feel?}{\f20 
\par \page 93.
\par 
\par 
\par 
\par 
\par You promised you\rquote d
\par show me an Argentinian
\par rainforest where the butterflies
\par harvest moisture from
\par massive waterfalls!
\par I thought of Lord Greystoke
\par who couldn\rquote t hack the fashions of
\par the \lquote 90s: char-a-bancs,
\par steam engines, banners and brass,
\par frock-coats, the formaldehyde;
\par and with }{\i\f20 force majeure}{\f20  (leaving
\par Sir Ralph skidding on a tea-tray
\par off the landing) went back.
\par \page 94.
\par 
\par 
\par 
\par 
\par Disappointment hung
\par slack like rope on a bollard.
\par town planners downed pens
\par when we missed out on the America\rquote s
\par Cup. Seminal designs for the
\par Auckland harbour boulevard
\par went up in smoke.
\par And when }{\i\f20 Mlle}{\f20  }{\i\f20 Leprieur}{\f20  blew up
\par the \lquote Rainbow Warrior\rquote  she got
\par the perfect \lquote gitaway\rquote  holiday!
\par a South Pacific Hideaway.
\par Now she\rquote s home and pregnant, a
\par little live corpse afloat
\par inside her.
\par \page 98.
\par 
\par 
\par 
\par 
\par Sails whiter than an
\par Opera House tilt toward the
\par continent flat as a postage stamp,
\par lift to the Centre Point Tower.
\par Discovery Day is, what it is.
\par }{\i\f20 And give the blacks the old heave-ho
\par in the wake of the first fleet.
\par }{\f20 There\rquote s the balloon hike
\par and Expo 88, there\rquote s the woodchip
\par graft from a grateful parliament,
\par futons and Snugglepot Awards.
\par Discovery Day is, what it is.
\par }{\i\f20 And give the blacks the old heave-ho
\par in the wake of the first fleet.
\par }{\f20 \page 100.
\par 
\par 
\par 
\par 
\par }{\i\f20 Pitiless}{\f20  is a word
\par disowned. It is honour minus
\par object, subsumed, majestic 
\par as a Shade. Buried metres 
\par down and locked in ice, it is
\par irretrievable as a mammoth.
\par }{\i\f20 Pitiless}{\f20  is a word
\par like extinction. It is rain
\par sweeping vast tracts of basalt.
\par It haunts the migratory
\par paths of ungulates and birds.
\par }{\i\f20 Pitiless}{\f20  is a word of 
\par immense resource, and wakes 
\par in delicate, ancient heat.
\par \page 101.
\par 
\par 
\par 
\par 
\par The millennial turtle
\par parted ocean plates. Goldrush on
\par the Pacific rim of Fire,
\par Misima Is. Papua New Guinea.
\par On quarried thermal reserves of
\par Rotorua. On open-cut volcanoes
\par of Polynesia. On atolls
\par landscaped as heliports, and mines
\par worked by repatriated ethnic groups.
\par }{\i\f20 Ladies and Gentlemen,}{\f20 
\par I unveil this devolutionary
\par model, an infrastructure worthy
\par of Disney or Darwin.
\par \page 103.
\par 
\par 
\par 
\par 
\par What history, that of
\par Cultural Apologists, or the
\par Individual Egoist?
\par A.M. on the semiotic main,
\par post-modern pirates plunder 3-D
\par ghost ships for Found Booty.
\par Kierkegaard makes a leap but hit
\par the deck. Umberto Eco makes
\par a movie. In the Captain\rquote s quarters
\par a Chubb safe and mementos
\par of Miss O\rquote Hara.
\par The word processor broadsides:
\par COME. AS. YOU. WERE. PM.
\par 
\par }\pard \qc\sl480\slmult1\keep\widctlpar\adjustright {\f20 \sect }\sectd \marglsxn1980\margrsxn2819\margbsxn1276\binfsxn-1841\binsxn-1841\psz9\pgnrestart\pgnstarts128\linex0\headery706\footery706\endnhere\sectdefaultcl {\footer \pard\plain 
\s16\qc\ri360\widctlpar\tqc\tx4153\tqr\tx8306\adjustright \fs20\lang3081\cgrid {
\par }}\pard\plain \qc\sl480\slmult1\keep\widctlpar\adjustright \fs22\lang3081\cgrid {\f20 
\par 
\par 
\par 
\par }{\f20\fs28 
\par }{\b\i\f20\fs32 from}{\f20 
\par }{\f20\fs32 U N M A N N E D}{\f20 
\par }{\f20\fs28 1 9 9 9
\par 
\par \sect }\sectd \marglsxn1980\margrsxn2819\margbsxn1276\binfsxn-1841\binsxn-1841\psz9\pgnrestart\pgnstarts128\linex0\headery706\footery706\endnhere\sectdefaultcl {\footer \pard\plain \s16\qc\ri360\widctlpar\tqc\tx4153\tqr\tx8306\adjustright 
\fs20\lang3081\cgrid {
\par }}\pard\plain \keep\widctlpar\adjustright \fs22\lang3081\cgrid {\caps\f20 C u l t u r a l   M I s a p p r o p r i a t I o n}{\b\i\caps\f20 
\par }{\caps\f20 
\par 
\par }{\f20 Is that what I hear you cry, citizen?
\par If a delph-glazed moon with its O so
\par delicate pattern pans over Holland, flat as
\par a tack, it also comes by way of the
\par Antarctic circle right to your door-step
\par in equal measure. If the sun clamps
\par its golden torque on mosque or synagogue, pa,
\par cathedral or sacred site does this endorse
\par any one people over another? Is it your wish
\par to head off the cultural bandits at the
\par historical impasse, citizen, by placing a
\par patent on your mana? Beware the polemicists
\par who define and so divide, who aggregate
\par authority unto self where before lay none.
\par Symbol becomes the circumference of
\par time and custom. It is not the thing itself,
\par but the beautiful echo of a people\rquote s harmonic
\par which cannot be bounded nor weakened.
\par Here lies the camouflage that protects the
\par ancient matrix, the silent memory of our
\par blood\rquote s journey and sound leads you to it.
\par \page }{\i\f20\fs24 from}{\f20    W O R D   M A P S
\par 
\par 
\par }\pard \qj\keep\widctlpar\adjustright {\f20 1.}{\i\f20 \tab Down By The River
\par }{\f20 
\par Of the brain, mushroom shaped as
\par bomb blast, we project the image to
\par fact; up river from the torrent,
\par amongst the calmness of boulders, the
\par angler shadow-casts looping
\par the steady surface for the archetypal
\par fish whose leapt arc anticipates -
\par but the headwaters are held greyly
\par back by a concrete-net on this
\par dappled and uncaptured urban afternoon.
\par He deftly flicks and spools back 
\par and forth from channel to channel.
\par \page 3.}{\i\f20 \tab False Idols
\par }{\f20 
\par It was always wood, wood
\par along the way, and exits went from
\par grove to sacred grove till deeper wood
\par lay beyond the Roman shield and sword;
\par that, though, belongs to another
\par picture book. The lyre-bird mimics the
\par chainsaw and Birds of Paradise
\par spit chips. Along the Hume Hwy. east
\par of Eden, a concrete Mountain Ash
\par dubbed \lquote }{\i\f20 Yggdrasil}{\f20 \rquote  boasts a
\par wide-screen computer enhanced vista:
\par an arrow-straight mono-rail running
\par from Uluru clean through the Olgas.
\par \page 8.\tab }{\i\f20 Continental Shelf Co.}{\b\f20 
\par }{\f20 
\par I officially declare the millennial
\par Poets\rquote  Symposium on the Age of Inner
\par }{\caps\f20 s}{\f20 pace now open: Welcome to }{\f20\fs20 OCEANISM.}{\f20\fs18 
\par }{\caps\f20 p}{\f20 oets are required to be proficient
\par in submarine mythology of an exploratory
\par and Cousteau-esque manner, able to
\par identify myriad life-forms luminescent yet
\par undiscovered (except, perhaps, for the
\par }{\i\f20 Vampire Squid}{\f20 ) at depths unsounded, 
\par in sea-trenches unknown, free, hopefully of
\par maritime wrecks and missiles from any epoch;
\par whose task it is to float lines at once
\par filigreed as plankton, filtered as sunlight.
\par \page 12.}{\i\f20 \tab \ldblquote Hills }{\i\caps\f20 o}{\i\f20 f Home\rdblquote 
\par }{\f20 
\par Greywacke mostly, and fat pale
\par clay where I troubled the hills about
\par Wellington (Brooklyn-west) that
\par you dug through to reach China as a
\par kid out-the-back of our place.
\par The gorse gully and yellow flowers,
\par black seed-pods bursting in the summer
\par heat. Down you went past broken
\par bottle glass to the untouched cool
\par clay hoping any moment to pot-hole up
\par into a paddy field through the
\par earth\rquote s centre. Every failed dig
\par stayed a secret from adults, forever.
\par }\pard \keep\widctlpar\adjustright {\f20 \page G E N E R A T I O N   O F   \lquote 68}{\b\i\f20 
\par }{\f20 
\par 
\par Frank O\rquote Hara (here I\rquote m skating slow
\par on sacred ice) has got a lot to answer
\par for, yet who hasn\rquote t? Take the legacy
\par of \lquote 60s poets, for example, who can\rquote t
\par help but write like him; syntactically
\par careering around his blizzard of words,
\par elbow-jolting crazily, clutching at
\par each others\rquote  ear-muffs, button-holing
\par opportunity. Seems they did that as
\par par for the course till it got too dizzy.
\par Round and round the freedom rink they
\par went and those who zigzagged quick 
\par or cut up rough fell back upon the railings
\par youth-exhausted to exhale worn, cautious
\par success, though tried not to show it.
\par What happened to the stragglers in the
\par maul is anyone\rquote s guess; some unmarried,
\par a good number courted hardship - whatever.
\par Nobody cares overly much. The \lquote 60s poets
\par they go on to write like Frank 0\rquote Hara:
\par fewer drop-by parties, }{\i\f20 meaner}{\f20  somehow.
\par }\pard \qj\keep\widctlpar\adjustright {\f20 \page P A T   B O O N E }{\caps\f20  &  t o n t o
\par }{\b\i\caps\f20 
\par 
\par }\pard\plain \s17\qj\keep\widctlpar\adjustright \fs22\lang3081\cgrid {\f20 White-shirted (not blue)
\par }\pard\plain \qj\keep\widctlpar\adjustright \fs22\lang3081\cgrid {\f20 they approach in twos:
\par \ldblquote Excuse me Sir, a small
\par moment of your time?\rdblquote 
\par Soft-selling eternity 
\par and the clean-cut Hereafter.
\par The boyish accent downloads
\par the serious side of the
\par American dream, eyes fixed
\par computer bright. The other
\par is slower, slope-shouldered
\par and discipled, backgrounded
\par by a blandished brain.
\par As a child, when the God
\par was always friendly,
\par big as a house, long as a
\par street and the day endless,
\par the knock upon the door
\par signalled: \ldblquote Excuse me
\par young man, is the lady of
\par the house in?\rdblquote  Welcome
\par the suitcased salesman; the
\par Bon-Brush Man}{\i\f20 : }{\f20 big-bristled,
\par wooden-backed scrubbing
\par and bottle brushes, sandsoap
\par and }{\i\f20 Brasso}{\f20  for hard domestic
\par usage. }{\i\f20 Not now}{\f20 .}{\i\f20  }{\f20 These two
\par modern peddlers head out
\par to the brick bungalows of
\par the inner-city suburbs
\par selling the }{\caps\f20 l}{\f20 ight and the Way,
\par galloping round the outer
\par handicapped districts;
\par brainwashed right-wing angels
\par confident as professional
\par sportsmen on a World Tour.
\par }\pard \keep\widctlpar\adjustright {\f20 \page T O   T A L K   O F   F L A G S
\par }{\b\i\f20 
\par 
\par }{\i\f20 \lquote The flags fall like large, hollow,}{\f20 
\par }{\i\f20 monochrome leaves,\rquote }{\f20  said Ritsos, but
\par this isn\rquote t Greece. How can you talk of
\par changing flags as blithely as you
\par would a marriage? When we fly the flag
\par it is as label to proclaim attitude,
\par and rightly so, too: the Remembrance
\par Day Parades, Expansionism, other
\par people\rquote s wars; the main street of every
\par country town at the dying of day lights
\par up the \lquote Unknown Soldier\rquote  - the long 
\par lists of the Dead written in lead. No,
\par these things will always hold, rung up
\par once yearly regular as a poker-machine.
\par Change flags, to acknowledge }{\i\f20 what?}{\f20  Whose
\par domestic honour, what custodial deaths?
\par \page W O R D S   T O   L U R E   A   G H O S T}{\b\i\f20 
\par }{\f20 
\par }{\i\f20\fs20 \tab an exile\rquote s soliloquy}{\f20 
\par 
\par Henley Pub? I am one year from
\par your death, and a mad mile from your
\par achievement
\par \tab \tab twenty or so years
\par down the track. I think you may have
\par killed a few of us off, brother,
\par who rejoiced
\par in your thicket of sorrows.
\par \tab \tab \tab \tab Jim Baxter,
\par if a cabbage tree marks your spot by
\par the river,
\par \tab \tab I am glad of it.
\par After you went, we were too eager
\par for another Apollo, and the laurel
\par was tossed from
\par hand to poetic hand like a hot kumara.
\par Most dropped it. A number were swept
\par by the winter river with the eels
\par into the underworld.
\par \tab \tab \tab The God Love
\par and the God Vengeance sat down
\par in a burnt out warehouse to share out the
\par small morsels
\par \tab \tab \tab of pain.
\par The poets
\par \tab \tab are playing hide-and-seek
\par with each other in and out of marriage.
\par The sharing 
\par \tab \tab is done.
\par \page \tab \tab \tab A southerly
\par whistles up over the gun emplacements on 
\par Brooklyn Hills,
\par \tab \tab Jim, scattering
\par the unposted autumn leaves.
\par \page S H E E T   M U S I C
\par 
\par 
\par Like some murky storm that presages
\par pain, or engine that mauls the curb, 
\par the stereo wallows its bass notes at the top 
\par of the head, lands soft as afterbirth.
\par }{\i\f20 \lquote If you place a white sheet over America
\par 500 Indian Nations show like bloodspots,\rquote 
\par }{\f20 said Jim Harrison at Lake Superior,
\par }{\i\f20 \lquote the buffalo and the Big Tree\rquote s gone}{\f20  
\par }{\i\f20 too. Greed!\rquote }{\f20  Mostly, beauty is nostalgia.
\par The random motes of a rainbow end up
\par on the garbage heap again. These sticks
\par which encase the Great Lakes, Jim,
\par are the Happy Hunting ground for the likes
\par of you and me. Men picking on the chance
\par sounds of emptiness. The daily round
\par of campfire, man and nature, }{\i\f20 etc}{\f20 . A moon
\par patient as an escalator, maybe. It\rquote s all
\par been done before, anyhow. What was
\par that about Indians leaving a flaw in the
\par fabric for the soul to escape? Ours
\par is the gift of factory seconds, well made, 
\par well meant through to a public we detest
\par if you think about it. And the quickest way
\par to solitude is via a four wheel drive, }{\i\f20 eh?
\par }{\f20 There\rquote s comfort in that mate, getting out.
\par }\pard \qj\keep\widctlpar\adjustright {\f20 \page M Y T H  &  M A R I O L A T R Y
\par }{\b\i\f20 
\par 
\par }{\f20 At a small village not
\par far from Manila, in the house
\par of armaments & munitions,
\par in a house of grenades 
\par and ammunition, the plaster
\par statue of the Virgin Mary as
\par humble as a trademark,
\par stands splashed in carmine
\par tears like some peasant
\par shot on a quiet morning bearing
\par water from the creek.
\par The hovels strewn about
\par the hills are so many broken
\par boxes. The sun is spinning
\par clockwise for hope. One
\par cloud out of nowhere , then a }{\b\i\f20 
\par }{\f20 drape of blue that might
\par be the sky. The gathering of
\par people is more impressive
\par than a food drop. They come
\par at the appointed hour when
\par the boy who serves as
\par runner to the Beautiful Lady
\par arrives, breathless, with
\par the Word. Occasionally,
\par the statue weeps paint-fresh
\par tears. They will leave
\par once faith is gathered in
\par abundance like so many wild
\par flowers off the near mountain
\par meadow. Here, under a glass
\par blown moon, a cool wind shall
\par leave this place sacred.
\par }\pard \keep\widctlpar\adjustright {\f20 \page U N M A N N E D}{\b\i\f20 
\par }{\f20 
\par 
\par Take this day, lonely as a man in
\par an empty house, at his window, the wintry yard
\par below.
\par 
\par 
\par Sea calm. The moon scatters its
\par coinage. A rubber dinghy bucks an orectic
\par surf. Pebble beach. The conning-tower signals:
\par 
\par 
\par }{\i\f20 \lquote which came first, meaning or memory?\rquote 
\par 
\par 
\par }{\f20 One flashlight winks hungrily under sea-cliffs,
\par and then the flare. This setting becomes
\par an habitual space, chosen era for commando or
\par smuggler.
\par 
\par 
\par We make our choice, learn that grief comes
\par regular as sunset.
\par 
\par 
\par \tab \tab \tab The bow-wave
\par turned in chrome coils as the coastline dropped
\par from view.
\par 
\par 
\par Once in a metal-etched hour, people
\par ran away to America, to buildings the colour of
\par gun-metal, to a sidewalk venting steam
\par about the ankles of sable-stockinged girls.
\par 
\par 
\par How many of us cannot begin the adventure of the
\par day upon its arrival? The ablutions of the night done
\par with, the half-bad dreams wiped away, the tensions
\par of the muscles adjusted in preparation for the
\par 
\par 
\par perpendicular, the carpet rolled back, the masks
\par hung up once more upon the wall at the ready. Each
\par waking is a starting out from the old country.
\par \page \tab \tab \tab The responsibility
\par of light beckons, unclothes the familiar objects and not
\par so familiar ones.
\par 
\par 
\par Lightning leaves the expression surprised
\par and the lone tree in the paddock, startled with
\par cinematic glare, unharmed and lovely.
\par 
\par 
\par \tab \tab \tab In a homely way,
\par the headlights sweep the backyard hovering over the
\par roped-swing in the pelting rain and neighbourhood
\par of cat and dog. This tells you that the family
\par 
\par 
\par is in deep trouble to be called into account in
\par afteryears while the shutters slap wettish to little
\par effect.
\par 
\par 
\par Shaped as an emu neck, steam extends
\par over the factory stack from the industrial sector
\par in this small, southern city. A yellow band
\par of horizon suggests sunset. The steam darkens out.
\par 
\par 
\par Now runs at 4:15 the see-through veins of rain from
\par window-to-sill. A splashed up forest of drops tap out what
\par is left of this late, ruined day in July.
\par 
\par 
\par Here there is no history, if by history you mean
\par the soul fired in the kiln of time. Here there is only
\par the compilation of event in a scrap-yard of days
\par and kicked aside incident.
\par 
\par 
\par \tab \tab \tab You can still hear the
\par settlers\rquote  squeeze box and fiddle in suburban settlements 
\par and tavern, the landscape-flat accents, the }{\i\caps\f20 s}{\i\f20 ky }{\i\caps\f20 c}{\i\f20 hannel}{\f20 
\par applause and throat-clearing of smoke exhaust.
\par 
\par 
\par We remember the po-faced poets who went away never to
\par return from the Ambition Wars and Success Sorties.
\par \page As always, cars chittering in long queues in the
\par persimmon light of dusk, on freeways dreary with drizzle
\par and distance, at the encoded city-bound intersections.
\par 
\par 
\par He makes his heroine his addiction and vice versa,
\par becomes the object of obsession into which safe-zone he
\par precipitates himself, unmanned.
\par 
\par 
\par \tab \tab Away now from that well worn clich\u233\'8e,
\par the crazy party hat of Sydney\rquote s Opera House / the bat-eared
\par shells
\par 
\par 
\par and clouds that muscle reflective buildings
\par 
\par 
\par to the O so cloacal coil of green hills round the
\par rectangular cattle, prominent as so many out-of-town acts
\par in provincial centres.
\par 
\par 
\par You pass smoothly in your car the valley below 
\par and there, an intimate scene: a family gathered shock still: 
\par the overhanging forest imaged on the coffin-lid,
\par 
\par 
\par \tab \tab \tab \tab \tab momentarily;
\par then lowered into shadow. The town lies behind you.
\par 
\par 
\par The world will change to that which forgets you,
\par and your enthusiasms will be as a passing fashion. In this
\par you come to understand the nature of illusion
\par 
\par 
\par \tab \tab \tab \tab and the hoped for
\par expectations of youth, a too-well travelled dream. Here
\par where life recedes further into distance
\par 
\par 
\par you will know yourself as unmanned.
\par \page B R A I D W O O D}{\b\i\f20 
\par }{\f20 
\par }{\i\f20\fs20 \tab for Judith Wright}{\i\f20\fs18 
\par }{\i\f20 
\par 
\par }{\f20 Granite and quartz country, once
\par gold rush, now cattle tread amongst
\par 
\par 
\par the white hawthorn and yellow broom;
\par from Captain\rquote s Flat to Major\rquote s Creek
\par 
\par 
\par the creek-beds cut the empty vein.
\par 
\par 
\par Hail or heat, the hanged ghost
\par of Thomas Braidwood rolls out his
\par 
\par 
\par oaths big as boulders upon the town:
\par }{\i\f20 \lquote dust, poverty, despair, drunkenness\rquote 
\par 
\par 
\par }{\f20 before he choked his rage at the
\par end of a rope, phlegm thick as gossip.
\par 
\par 
\par 
\par }{\i\f20\fs20 Annandale, Sydney, November 4, 1996}{\i\f20\fs18 
\par \page }{\f20 B R I L L I A N T   L O S E R S}{\b\i\f20 
\par }{\f20 
\par }{\i\f20\fs20 on reading Geoff Cochrane\rquote s }{\f20\fs20 Tin Nimbus}{\f20\fs16 
\par }{\f20 
\par 
\par The gay psychologist quoting \lquote The Divine
\par Right of Kings\rquote  and the lexicographer, his life\rquote s
\par dream of the Great New Zealand Dictionary,
\par 
\par 
\par both entrenched alcoholics, both the originals
\par Dostoyevsky might have claimed, although
\par both stark losers by the world\rquote s brute standards.
\par 
\par 
\par Yes, I was there too, that late Saturday night
\par after }{\caps\f20\fs18 the Duke}{\caps\f20 , }{\f20 riding the Kelburn cable-car up
\par under the shadowy, Gothic pile of Victoria
\par 
\par 
\par University, where furtive as hedgehogs, we found 
\par a handhold to jemmy open an illegal window,
\par fossick the disused office for carton stacked upon
\par 
\par 
\par carton, each one packed with indexed filing 
\par cards, meticulous references, NZ arcana, forgotten 
\par dialects, fables rare as moose from Southland, 
\par 
\par 
\par obscure derivations, }{\i\f20 etc}{\f20 ., incalculable musings
\par of an idealist (this he showed us) and dreamer. Here
\par lay the singular industry of a reverential scholar,
\par 
\par 
\par abandoned - yet thirty years on, }{\i\f20 The Oxford
\par Dictionary of New Zealand English}{\f20  first appeared,
\par penned by an academic of that selfsame city.
\par 
\par 
\par We are the last of the witnesses Geoff, like the
\par derelicts who took the sun sitting behind the Public
\par Library, or sheltered in Pigeon Park, days long
\par 
\par 
\par gone (along with }{\caps\f20\fs20 The Duke}{\caps\f20  }{\f20 and }{\f20\fs20 THE GRAND}{\f20\fs18 
\par }{\f20\fs20 HOTEL)}{\f20  a city newly syllabled, yet the light remains,
\par much the same milky white and pale as stone.}{\f20\fs18 
\par }{\f20 \page W A R D R O B E   D R I N K E R S}{\b\i\f20 
\par }{\f20 
\par 
\par is what they are in Austinmer.
\par Yuppies from the North Shore $300,000}{\f20\fs20 
\par }{\f20 homes on the beach front sending
\par the RSL broke and the greenies
\par blocking development for a few birds
\par up an estuary. Could be worse,
\par given the Japs on the Gold Coast
\par going off like mobile phones.
\par The miners and cottages are long gone,
\par so is full employment. In 1941
\par as a telegraph Delivery Boy I made
\par 13 shillings 10 a week. Across
\par the Harbour Bridge to the North Shore
\par on a regulation red bike. Sunday
\par was the day for casualty messages,
\par the dead and wounded delivered
\par all over Sydney except Vine street,
\par Darlington, where }{\i\f20 Darcy the Crim}{\f20  lived
\par and the most dangerous place in town.
\par I came to Austinmer 30 years ago
\par before the Wardrobe Drinkers
\par in the days of the miners and cottages.
\par Take those grain and coal carriers
\par upwards of 250,000 tonnes with a 12
\par man crew, anchored stern to wind,
\par off \lquote Hill 60\rquote  out of Port Kembla -
\par navigated by satellite direct to Japan.
\par You want the best view? Sublime Pt.
\par Lookout, right down the coast, the
\par Pacific ironed flat far as the eye can see, 
\par a sky expanded metal-red nightly.
\par 
\par 
\par 
\par }{\i\f20\fs20 Austinmer, NSW, 1993}{\f20 
\par \page A U N T Y   E V E
\par 
\par 
\par who always kept the Aspidistra
\par flying high up in her Georgian house on
\par the windy Terrace from marble urns
\par 
\par 
\par \tab \tab had lipstick bomber-pilot red
\par and nails the colour of flame.
\par 
\par 
\par It was often \lquote elevenses\rquote  in her lounge
\par with Gordon\rquote s served on a silver platter,}{\f20\fs18 
\par }{\f20\fs20 THE CITY HOTEL, DUNEDIN 1932}{\f20  engraved
\par 
\par 
\par on the rim. \lquote Another \ldblquote stim\rdblquote  dear? \rquote 
\par from the mahogany sideboard repository to dozens
\par of weighty 78 jazz records in brown paper
\par jackets stacked like so many ossified flap-jacks.
\par 
\par 
\par Oh, she had the most beautiful hands (in her
\par day) they said, used for \lquote commercials\rquote  in the
\par Women\rquote s Weekly & Booths the Chemists.
\par 
\par 
\par Who could forget her gravel voice and make up
\par mannequin thick
\par 
\par 
\par \tab not remember her gin-sweet
\par breath warm upon the neck? And how some Yank
\par billeted during WW2 (here) \lquote ducky!\rquote 
\par thought she was a \lquote real living doll.\rquote 
\par 
\par 
\par Oh, such beautiful hands she had and the crystal light
\par streaming forth from those great bay windows
\par 
\par 
\par \tab onto the iron railings below.
\par \page C O N R A D   &   W E L L S   &   CO
\par 
\par 
\par Great to have met Joseph Conrad
\par or for that matter, H.G. Wells, who said,
\par }{\i\f20 \lquote Let\rquote s go upstairs and do nice things}{\f20 
\par }{\i\f20 with our bodies,\rquote }{\f20  and who did just
\par that to take a tilt at the waitress.
\par I saw them once, Conrad and }{\caps\f20 w}{\f20 ells, 
\par in a photograph, standing together.
\par A courtyard setting beside a few bamboo
\par chairs. The hour was mild in a black
\par and white afternoon. Trees, too,
\par green galleons shipping oars in autumn.
\par Conrad had, perhaps, cast off the last line
\par of a novel: the indigo lump upon the
\par horizon is an island: behind it the sun
\par spilling its treasure trove: the rent
\par sail-cloth of a sea-squall. Anyway,
\par he could still smell the coast wobble from
\par the deck of the tartane, her weight
\par to the wind. Wells, maybe, was thinking on
\par socialism and science, and in some
\par melancholic way of the waitress - and she, 
\par }{\i\f20 scented.}{\f20  By what conversations did
\par they measure each other, these two voyagers
\par who possessed that sense of the bigness
\par of the world? For Wells, an electrical
\par spark that arced across the white page, 
\par and for Conrad, each word creaking on
\par the blocks, the woman pale before the moon,
\par her eyes black as tornadoes at sea.
\par 
\par 
\par 
\par }{\i\f20\fs20 Melbourne, 1994}{\f20 
\par \page \lquote  B O B   O R R \rquote 
\par 
\par 
\par }{\caps\f20 I }{\f20 called back down the unawakened
\par dawn of the Tasman sea and along the East
\par Coast from the pre-dawn light of
\par my sleep, I called out \lquote Bob Orr\rquote 
\par soft as the punch of a howitzer to the
\par Hokianga Harbour and still further over the
\par Waikato\rquote s billiard-table green paddocks.
\par I hailed \lquote Bob\rquote  to the Great Barrier
\par island and \lquote Orr\rquote  to the Little Barrier,
\par but no answer came chasing after. 
\par I sought you down the Harbour Heads,
\par Hauraki Gulf, then all about the Waitemata.
\par I found a thunderhead big as a
\par container-load of sorrows and nowhere 
\par hard by were you toiling. \lquote Bob Orr\rquote  
\par I called from Meola Reef to the outlandish
\par fishing-tackle cranes along the docks;
\par to Jellicoe wharf, Bledisloe wharf,
\par Marsden wharf, Captain Cook wharf to the
\par Admiralty Steps hoping I would find
\par you gazing out upon the glaucous slick of
\par trawlers, or catch you guiding a snub-
\par nosed tug under the Western Viaduct.
\par \lquote Bob Orr\rquote  I called down the unending
\par roadsteads to Motutapu and Rakino Islands,
\par back behind the wave screen at Okahu Bay
\par to Freeman\rquote s and St Mary\rquote s Bay. And as
\par I called into the Schooner Tavern, 
\par sought the drear interior of the Wynyard
\par Tavern and the sailor\rquote s talk told me.
\par \page Y O U  }{\caps\f20 D O N \rquote  t  r e M E M B E R  D Y I N G
\par 
\par 
\par }{\f20 Least, that\rquote s what the Old Londoner
\par told me who didn\rquote t learn to relax till well
\par past fifty, seated alongside his two
\par mates: a Norwegian: \lquote You\rquote re not the same
\par person now as you were ten years ago.\rquote 
\par And the Irishman: \lquote I like the music it\rquote s
\par the noise I can\rquote t stand.\rquote  Each one,
\par orphaned and aphoristic, deep into his sixties.
\par NZ born and much younger, I offered:
\par \lquote You\rquote re not the same person tomorrow as
\par you were today.\rquote  And then, \lquote To your
\par arrival in Melbourne,\rquote  they singly toasted. 
\par (}{\caps\f20 g}{\f20 reat-grandfather, McCormack, 
\par arrived here in 1851. Twenty six}{\caps\f20  }{\f20 years later
\par in 1877, set sail for Dunedin aboard the 
\par }{\i\f20 Ringarooma}{\f20 ). So our tale of the two cities 
\par unfolded: }{\i\f20 Sydney is get what you can. 
\par Melbourne, what have you got to offer, are
\par we really interested.}{\f20  The afternoon floated by
\par as did the trams with dry, asthmatic rush
\par in this mellow town of bungalows and brass.
\par \page you had fitted and trimmed your craft
\par against every dire prediction to set sail on 
\par that other sea, Bob, the one that has 
\par no name and no horizon and is drowning you.
\par \page G R A H A M   C L I F F O R D}{\i\f20 
\par 
\par 
\par }{\f20 After }{\f20\fs20 THE DUKE }{\caps\f20\fs20 Hotel\rquote }{\f20\fs20 S}{\caps\f20  }{\f20 demolition,
\par (}{\i\f20 opp}{\f20 . Perrett\rquote s Corner) one last joke: one }{\i\f20 DB
\par }{\f20 beer bottle ringed by ten green cabbages
\par 
\par 
\par as roseate or wreath for an empty lot. Close by,
\par the mad bucketing fountain of Cuba Mall
\par played on. Meanwhile, at his Manners street
\par 
\par 
\par studio above the music shop, Graham
\par Clifford, renowned for his }{\i\f20 Figaro}{\f20 , ululated
\par profoundly through the scales. A window framed
\par 
\par 
\par trolley-bus poles that, tacking, bluely flared
\par along the wire. The }{\i\f20 maestro\rquote s}{\f20  voice floated over
\par harbour and city, capital and far-flung country, 
\par 
\par 
\par far from Covent Garden. A 1930s London
\par partied on amongst black and white photographs }{\i\f20 
\par }{\f20 plastered to the wall above a battered Steinway.}{\i\f20 
\par 
\par 
\par }{\caps\f20 o}{\f20 n Brooklyn hills }{\i\f20 toi toi}{\f20  waved war plumes
\par to the southerly gusts with unceasing applause.}{\i\f20 
\par }{\caps\f20 t}{\f20 hrough a hundred, sun-blown wintry afternoons
\par 
\par 
\par he coached opera singers, actors, newsreaders,
\par plucked notes off the yellow stained keys: -
\par he guided, rolled golden vowels, before them.
\par \page B R U N O   L A W R E N C E 
\par 
\par 
\par }\pard \keep\widctlpar\tx4050\tx4230\adjustright {\f20 Bruno, do you remember the }{\i\f20 Me and Gus}{\f20  stories,
\par }\pard \keep\widctlpar\adjustright {\f20 way before Barry Crump got keen, when a cow cocky
\par was a bastard you met on gravelly roads? Recall
\par the nights playing community halls, and days making
\par a few records, only to break a few more? \lquote Ricky 
\par May\rquote s Jazz Combo\rquote , \lquote Max Merritt & The Meteors\rquote ,}{\i\f20 
\par }{\f20 
\par 
\par \lquote Quincy Conserve\rquote , plus, the all-stars-road-show}{\i\f20 
\par Blerta}{\f20 {\field{\*\fldinst SYMBOL 160 \\f "Desdemona" \\s 11}{\fldrslt\f21\fs22}}}{\f20  travelling Aotearoa, through khaki paddocks,
\par down thistle blown highways in that diesel bus -
\par seasonal rhythms you doubtless gathered, drummer
\par extraordinaire, on your final journeying off Cape
\par Reinga, the spirit freed to ride the rain - you backed
\par 
\par 
\par the loner to the last, death the bottom line to stave 
\par off cancer. }{\i\f20 Bruno, you did that thing}{\f20 . R & B, jazzman, 
\par film star (didn\rquote t Jack Nicholson say get on over 
\par to Hollywood?) but you preferred back-blocks, sought 
\par small towns, river shingle, the hollows of the land,
\par and a home around Waimarama in the Hawke\rquote s Bay.
\par 
\par 
\par A shifting romantic, hoon and hangman, a real joker
\par you played yourself-sans-bullshit in a heap of movies;
\par }{\i\f20 The Wild Man,}{\f20  }{\i\f20 Ute,}{\f20  you leapt from life to art 
\par without a hitch; }{\i\f20 A Bridge To Nowhere,}{\f20  }{\i\f20 The Quiet}{\f20 
\par }{\i\f20 Earth,}{\f20  how you loved women, warmth by the bus load, 
\par produced that classic - }{\i\f20 my 12 inch, record of the blues.
\par 
\par }{\f20 
\par }{\f20 {\field{\*\fldinst SYMBOL 160 \\f "Desdemona" \\s 11}{\fldrslt\f21\fs22}}}{\f20\fs20  }{\i\f20\fs20 Bruno Lawrence\rquote s Electric Revelation and Travelling Apparition}{\f20\fs20 .}{\f20 
\par \page S T O R }{\caps\f20 k}{\f20 
\par }\pard \qj\keep\widctlpar\adjustright {\f20 
\par }\pard \qj\keep\widctlpar\tqc\tx540\tqc\tx2160\adjustright {\f20 
\par }\pard \qj\sl480\slmult1\keep\widctlpar\tqc\tx540\adjustright {\f20 The scene is of a deep rural setting done by one unhurried
\par Impressionist, say, pre-}{\caps\f20 w}{\f20 orld }{\caps\f20 w}{\f20 ar 1}{\caps\f20 ,}{\f20  }{\i\f20 c}{\f20 .1907. }{\caps\f20 E}{\f20 very thing
\par }\pard \qj\sl480\slmult1\keep\widctlpar\tqc\tx540\tqc\tx2160\adjustright {\f20 luxuriant, soft and round, the paint is combed out by cordial
\par }\pard \qj\sl480\slmult1\keep\widctlpar\tqc\tx540\tqc\tx1800\tqc\tx1980\adjustright {\f20 summer breezes. Countryside: Poland, a rained-on morning, 
\par }\pard \qj\sl480\slmult1\keep\widctlpar\tqc\tx540\adjustright {\f20 the distant plash of milk into wooden pails sounds thinner
\par }\pard \qj\sl480\slmult1\keep\widctlpar\tqc\tx540\tqc\tx2160\adjustright {\f20 than its clotted creaminess. The cobbled yard is blue and wet
\par after the morning\rquote s sluicing; alder, elm or poplar wind-breaks,
\par but what shows through is the church spire you would observe 
\par if you lifted your gaze up from the unhitched wagon, its spars
\par tilted off skyward from the fields, past chimney, gable, farmstead. 
\par The stork is afloat here on its top - though - bottom heavy 
\par nest of thickly woven twigs which throws the scene into surreal 
\par proportion, suggesting a still hour of witches and moonlight 
\par moving stealthily through the forest\rquote s black patches. Stork,
\par calm as a weather-vane (a model) presides over maize and barley 
\par crops, that brighten through weeks of high summer, stretch tight 
\par as a canvas to the nearby farms, and further still, to centuries 
\par }\pard \qj\keep\widctlpar\tqc\tx540\tqc\tx2160\adjustright {\f20 old, grassy marshlands from which the stork feeds its nestlings. 
\par }\pard \keep\widctlpar\adjustright {\f20 \page }{\i\f20\fs24 from}{\f20    T H E   S T I L L   W A T C H E S
\par 
\par 
\par }{\caps\f20 \tab \tab III
\par 
\par }{\f20 Who can offer words unsullied
\par by the age like the sad integrity of
\par a Graham Greene? Generations
\par pass on into unchartered waters, the
\par lights out along the deck.
\par Behind, the flood-lit logging of
\par Malaysia gluts the Japanese market.
\par Ahead, seals choke in the heavy metal
\par swell of the Baltic Sea;
\par or through a destiny as choppy as a
\par Berryman sonnet, the earth
\par seemed unearthly in a hold of love lashed to
\par the bulkheads of youth one time,
\par O it was sometime ago. But now,
\par the hour hangs out centre-stage, a
\par cat whiskered moon doffs into
\par darkness and ushers in a Qantas jumbo
\par to Kingsford Airport, down the runway
\par to Eastern Standard Time, and a
\par continent the memory of elsewhere.
\par 
\par 
\par Welcome tourists to the whirl
\par of Kings Cross, a caged fan spinning
\par the night through, shredding the
\par Sydney dreamers. Out along }{\f20\fs20 THE WALL}{\f20\fs18 
\par }{\f20 you can solicit your night-long
\par visas where the bare-chested boys
\par thrust hips from the bonnets
\par of old Holdens. High up on the
\par bulging stonework and boldly sprayed:
\par \lquote It\rquote s going to rain tonight, so
\par take a bullet proof vest,\rquote  or,
\par \lquote No war on the way, only a change in}{\b\i\f20 
\par }{\f20 the weather.\rquote  Welcome the
\par eagle-eyed predators come to roost
\par \page in the coops of the cities.
\par Let us go down to the docks again to
\par the fat silos that overshadow
\par Iron Cove Bridge, toward the inner-
\par harbour, where craft coloured
\par and alive on the paintbox waterways
\par streak around and about, caught
\par up against the shark-net constructions
\par of Patrick White. Welcome the waves
\par of early morning fog that break
\par upon the sky-gardens, and the iron clad
\par poppy of Centre Point Tower.
\par 
\par 
\par \tab \tab VI
\par 
\par He will come urgent as a food 
\par riot. Beware the man who sheds tears of
\par mercury. His cough alone will thin
\par out the ozone. He grips oceans with
\par the black fingers of trawlers.
\par His voice is a slow leakage in the Third
\par World night. Beware the waste-broker.
\par He comes to paint your well-springs
\par ivory black and chrome yellow. You will
\par know him by his industrial oath:
\par }{\i\f20 \lquote $40 a drum! yes, only $40 a drum!\rquote 
\par }{\f20 Senegal, Nigeria, West Africa,
\par the sun dangerous as a forty-gallon drum.
\par Drums stacked on rotting pallets
\par in the back yard of tropical forests.
\par Drums swollen like the bellies
\par of starved children with toxic waste.
\par Under the red copper basin of the sun,
\par under the broken crockery of stars,
\par Senegal, Nigeria, West Africa.
\par 
\par 
\par Meanwhile, George MacDonald flees
\par the evil wood through the unreflecting
\par mirror of 19th century time, a
\par prophet of the cinema. O cine-romance!
\par \page Tony Curtis (sword glint of light
\par off teeth) and Natalie Wood, beautiful
\par in white tulle (lungs not yet water-logged)
\par in heady love. Follow their laughter
\par with an open-top Lagonda down 
\par the white-walled roads of Mt. Aetna to 
\par the Port of Catania - a blood-boiling
\par swerve to the red-chequer table, 
\par fishing boats moored in the blue dusk.
\par Woody Allen steps from the screen
\par to the dead crystal lakes of Sweden. A
\par wavering moon-disc lies reflected
\par there under an Excalibur beam of light.
\par Clouds, too. Those ancient purities
\par across my triptych window-view-of-the-sky
\par package air as light as styrofoam.
\par The lighthouse beam chills the sandhills
\par and oceans gather up whale breath 
\par to cloud. Our civilisation bartered on 
\par the whale\rquote s back. Love undrinkable as water.
\par The silent film of fantasy which is night
\par plays out through the ivory keys of stars.
\par 
\par 
\par \tab \tab VIII
\par 
\par Surgical strike of the stars at
\par the Persian Gulf. Romance of the World!
\par How deadly our longing for peace
\par on this earth round as an ideal.
\par Delicately, we remember WW2 bombers
\par romanced in archival film-footage like
\par forks tossed across a transformer dark sky.
\par David Niven steps lightly under the
\par arched stone bridge, and brushes
\par the dust of a crushed building from
\par finger-tips by the flares of a London
\par sky. \lquote Childhood is the last-chance gulch
\par for happiness,\rquote  he says. Havel
\par plays the Pied-}{\caps\f20 p}{\f20 iper astride his multi-
\par coloured cavalcade. A wave of the
\par hand old fashioned as anger, and he goes
\par \page home to the Democratic Mountain,
\par civilly. Salman Rushdie rides the magic
\par carpet quicker than Qantas. \lquote The World
\par is surreal,\rquote  he cries, \lquote tis no more
\par than a game of hide-and-seek,\rquote 
\par and whizzes past into the future.
\par Lange gleefully corks the evil jinnee of
\par Baghdad, then flies onto the green embrace
\par of Aotearoa with the freed twelve.
\par 
\par 
\par Where once the melancholy bombs
\par from heaven fell to glut a village}{\f20\fs20 , }{\f20 1000
\par grey cranes have returned to the Mekong
\par Delta in the month of pure light.
\par One herd of elephants also returned to
\par the tropical jungle where before
\par was none. A pure green is that light
\par and not the green of crouching camouflage.
\par I bend to my past, for there is
\par a corner of the sky forever my childhood:
\par Rupert Brooke frolics through the
\par soft Edwardian light with Virginia, 
\par dreams of fish-heaven. Bad William
\par thumps the shit out of poor Aunty Ethel.
\par Every poem is the last will and testament 
\par of the soul, and every lover who 
\par breaks from lover, commits a crime 
\par unto passion. Romance of the World! 
\par 
\par \tab \tab IX
\par 
\par 
\par Sun shines metallic off Footscray
\par and out across Westgate bridge. Silver &
\par green office blocks rise from a
\par dun plain. Superman, bearing a stash of
\par old money darts over the dockside
\par and the hidden sea home to Melbourne.
\par The thought of you adds weight
\par to new memory - sad as lamplight on rain
\par \page sodden guttering. Sadder still is the
\par Romantic lapsed to obscenity,
\par the swine tides that clog the spirit.
\par Again, I drive my centre to the eye
\par of your hurricane. Remember how
\par the senses wrangled, anger like a vicious
\par exorcism of betrayals not worded?
\par To run is to hide is to freely admit the
\par hidden hurt. Volscian woman, we flung our
\par fire at each other heavy as fists.
\par The old man sits in the park feeding
\par pigeons; like his memories, they are
\par grey-blue and flutter about him.
\par My memory of you from any perspective falls
\par along the flat face of this earth.
\par No lamp lit up our consciousness,
\par only the blade figured the light, Psyche.
\par 
\par 
\par \lquote The funeral of the sea\rquote  
\par sings the Italian documentary. The
\par world\rquote s rotting oil-fleet blanks
\par out the Mediterranean from the French
\par coast to the Bay of Naples. Six
\par hundred burning black candles turn crude
\par the Arab night and Red Adair pots
\par another well. Oil Magnates!
\par Corporate Cowboys! Have you built your
\par little ship of death, O have you?
\par And there in the deep the Great Underwater
\par Colonialist, Jacques Cousteau, laments
\par the dark night of the sea, his
\par eyes are the colour of basalt.
\par Today we have part-time cloud & the
\par hours work at it cruel as barbed wire drawn
\par across the face of the moon.
\par What then is this other? It is
\par the shadow personality, \lquote evil comes from
\par the power of evil.\rquote  It is the third
\par presence. O Romance of the World.
\par \page \tab \tab X
\par 
\par 
\par Crack of whips in sub-stations
\par and the horizon lights up like a
\par Lucas/Spielberg movie. Tonight toward
\par Blacktown helicopters make astrological
\par moves sideways. Earlier, a trail-blazer
\par made one caesarean cut along the western
\par sky. The 6 O\rquote clock news brought with
\par it race riots & rapes, an eclipse
\par of weather which threatened the following
\par day, the unsteady peace of tomorrow.
\par 60 million hectares of saliferous
\par planet, and a new desert creeps toward
\par Central Europe. There is salt in
\par the wound of the earth. Closer now comes
\par the yearly pilgrimage with candleflame
\par of lava to light up Mt. Fuji in ninety-
\par nine turns of the track. Refuse
\par of light and all that glitters. As the
\par Stealth Bomber slides East night advances
\par swift-footed over the Empire, over
\par the roll-call of the New World Order.
\par 
\par 
\par Watch the southern sky shuffle
\par the South China sea & galaxies thick as
\par krill. Japanese fishing boats stack
\par the decks with amputated fins by the tonne.
\par Sharks loll dumb as torpedoes on waters
\par flenched in blood. The Yugoslav
\par Republics grow tired and another 25
\par frames of tankfire roll off the screens
\par from Croatia. \lquote Pain is the visible
\par urge to memory,\rquote  says the Anchorperson.
\par Radio KGB hits the airwaves with
\par a global countdown from Tass and Reuter
\par & AAP. Back in Ontario, escalators whisper
\par to the underground shopping plazas
\par and the Gallic snows fall loudest on Quebec.
\par Frost at mid-night lies as silent as
\par \page 
\par The American Dream, and all along
\par the border night moves. \lquote This train
\par don\rquote t run no more this train. Yo! this
\par train don\rquote t run no more and Canada\rquote s
\par cut in half,\rquote  calls David Suzuki. Hush now,
\par the cyber-freaks sleep. Soundlessly,
\par the Hubble telescope gears its focus.
\par 
\par 
\par \tab \tab XII
\par 
\par 
\par O to wish upon a falling space
\par shuttle! The sky tries hard to reveal
\par itself as bluestone, but temperature and
\par wrappings of cloud are against it.
\par Rain falls hard as luck. Here you will
\par see them lift up, a squadron of
\par pigeons swinging to gun the light, wings
\par ablaze, the bulky horizon thunderous
\par where thunder lies cognisant.
\par The Great Dividing Range runs this way
\par and I am on the lee-side toward the
\par sea. The setting sun awakens our
\par ancestral demand for bonfires
\par big as cities, and a leisurely parade
\par of gulls passing overhead mistake
\par the darkening hours for sea-cliffs.
\par These coastal towns boast the best burgers,
\par the newest surf club - while the RSL
\par bends to the heavy metal swell which
\par runs the raft of every sea-slap
\par every weekend. The short, broad streets
\par are abandoned early to the blue
\par phosphorescence of the TV and the evening
\par rustle of newspapers. Tomorrow,
\par of course, is uninhabited and fresh as a
\par child\rquote s drawing. Further on through
\par the minutes someone is hard at a hammer as
\par if wanting to be let in. A news 
\par bulletin tells of avenues long as decades
\par in a steepled town where tanks gather,
\par \page ready to break through a hay barn
\par in Kosovo. (Remember the Revolutionary
\par Poet * who broke through a crowd?) 
\par No, this is only a rusted keel up-ended
\par in the quarter-acre backyard. Not
\par by some turbulence round Cape Horn but
\par the tedium of a bankrupt dream loose as a
\par cloud. The family seams have now sprung
\par apart and the kids school the public
\par bars. A day in the round for the father who
\par breaks through the top-shelf like a
\par picket-line. At the local cinema watch the
\par astronaut yawn, unaware the alien
\par prepares to storm the spaceport wordless as
\par a threat. It\rquote s dusk here, mist drowns
\par streetlights, the earth for a time puts aside
\par its hunger, and a delayed flight
\par fills in for the evening star of Autumn.
\par 
\par 
\par 
\par 
\par * }{\i\f20\fs20 Mayakovsky}{\f20 
\par \page 
\par }\pard \sl480\slmult1\keep\widctlpar\adjustright {\f20 
\par }\pard \qc\sl480\slmult1\keep\widctlpar\adjustright {\f20 
\par 
\par }{\f20\fs32 N E W   P O E M S
\par }{\f20\fs28 1 9 9 8 - 2 0 0 0}{\f20 
\par }\pard \keep\widctlpar\adjustright {\f20 
\par \sect }\sectd \marglsxn1980\margrsxn2819\margbsxn567\binfsxn-1841\binsxn-1841\psz9\pgnrestart\pgnstarts143\linex0\headery706\footery706\endnhere\sectdefaultcl {\footer \pard\plain \s16\qc\ri360\widctlpar\tqc\tx4153\tqr\tx8306\adjustright 
\fs20\lang3081\cgrid {
\par }}\pard\plain \keep\widctlpar\adjustright \fs22\lang3081\cgrid {\f20 O F   R O O F S 
\par 
\par 
\par We encamp ever outward on the outskirts
\par where flung cities are fringed with builder-men.
\par 
\par 
\par We pay no heed to green-softened paddocks,
\par we quoin the paced lot and the first nail driven home.
\par 
\par 
\par When all is boxed and ribbed we sniff out
\par the new roof-beams, chemical timbers, and to that
\par 
\par 
\par emptiness install our kind in shadow, 
\par shavings; we lug our histories behind within us.
\par 
\par 
\par Long surfaces, slate, tin or terra-cotta
\par are the flat tilt inhabited by the roof-genii
\par 
\par 
\par who once relished burnt offerings to
\par hard seasons. Each surface directs an angled
\par 
\par 
\par flatways that exists within the context
\par of the sun, the rain and space, and notably
\par 
\par 
\par presence is attributed wholly to the
\par resonate cries of large birds, and the stooped,
\par 
\par 
\par whispered inflexions of departed occupants;
\par elusively, they avoid tricky zones of the fabled:
\par 
\par 
\par (Golden }{\i\f20 Hesperides}{\f20  to leaden}{\i\f20  Boeotia).
\par }{\f20 They inhabit the realm of chimney and the gable;
\par 
\par 
\par here lies the true province of the roof-genii
\par and bats, not witches click about these sentinels.
\par \page T A F F Y   T H E   T U R T L E
\par 
\par }{\i\f20\fs20 \ldblquote  Poets run away to broadcasting like sailors to the sea \rdblquote }{\f20\fs20 
\par \tab \tab \tab - Dylan Thomas
\par 
\par 
\par }{\f20 \lquote ...organ pipes of the luminous...\rquote 
\par I turned then, and there on the beach lay
\par 
\par 
\par Dylan \lquote the extravagant\rquote  Thomas
\par washed up in the spume in the guise of a
\par 
\par 
\par turtle, no less! At first, I didn\rquote t 
\par recognise him until he gaped and spluttered.
\par 
\par 
\par \lquote ...glory..the sundering ultimate...\rquote 
\par peeping from beneath his carapace, round
\par 
\par 
\par and bald as a Welsh hillock.
\par After a respectful silence, I greeted him,
\par 
\par 
\par }{\i\f20 \lquote You\rquote ve - come back?\rquote 
\par }{\f20 \lquote ...cathedrals of the sea...\rquote  he intoned.
\par 
\par 
\par }{\i\f20 \lquote Those reports, retiring back
\par into childhood, many of us came to believe...\rquote 
\par }{\f20 
\par 
\par \lquote Curlews and wrens\rquote  eggs,\rquote  he resonated.
\par }{\i\f20 \lquote That messy business abroad, the hell-raising...\rquote }{\f20 
\par 
\par 
\par \lquote Troy drowned in the eye of an albatross.\rquote 
\par }{\i\f20 \lquote And the intoxicating affairs, surely?\rquote }{\f20 
\par 
\par 
\par \lquote O lovely Anna, thighs sweet as an estuary\rquote 
\par issued from the depths of the leathery chest.
\par 
\par 
\par He turned then, hung on the crest of a wave,
\par as quickly as he came, disappeared out to sea.
\par \page T R E A S U R E   I S L A N D
\par 
\par 
\par Hidden in the sand dune of his dream
\par \tab the child engages his
\par 
\par 
\par fancy for the unattainabe, the man he
\par \tab wishes to escape in
\par 
\par 
\par the coming years; when hauling to the
\par \tab cove in deepest sleep
\par 
\par 
\par of night, they arrive, bushy-bearded
\par \tab and cutlass-toothed,
\par 
\par 
\par groaning through the breakers with the
\par \tab loot, pacing out the surf,
\par 
\par 
\par they lay the chest beyond the reach of
\par \tab any map which he sketches
\par 
\par 
\par in his dream to be plundered in a later
\par \tab year when all the bets are off.
\par 
\par 
\par He \endash  no longer beguiled, but tossed upon
\par \tab his learn\u233\'8ed ambitions,
\par 
\par 
\par makes it through the adolescent scrub
\par \tab to the safe house found, his
\par 
\par 
\par task to stave off discovery and finally mark
\par \tab that spot, open as a grave.
\par \page L I T T O R A L
\par 
\par 
\par Sickle clouds cut light down at
\par dusk, bright silver from the blades thump
\par earth. Rolling over a noisy sunset
\par 
\par 
\par the rain deep green of the tropics.
\par This is dance, the celebration of rhythm
\par and physical memory upon mangroves.
\par 
\par 
\par Coastal culture, it is the light
\par which makes it seem so young, through this
\par ancient dalliance rubs away at
\par 
\par 
\par boundaries and the tanned bodies
\par of girls with thighs round as roasts \endash  how
\par that laughter thins to tease the surf.
\par 
\par 
\par As though some tired, or dying
\par hand loosened its grip on the lit paper
\par and the line of ink, flounced,
\par 
\par 
\par indented, to create this coastline
\par and its promise of islands, only later
\par came the imposed resorts, each with
\par 
\par 
\par its brighter cube of water, concrete
\par curbed, safely contained from the lush foam
\par and the off-station beat of the sea.
\par \page }{\i\f20 \ldblquote  O L D E S T   P I N E \rdblquote 
\par }{\f20 
\par }\pard \qj\ri3282\keep\widctlpar\adjustright {\i\f20\fs20 A 10,500-year-old Huon pine, believed to be the world\rquote s oldest tree, was handed back to Tasmania yesterday by mining company Pasminco. 
\par }\pard \keep\widctlpar\adjustright {\i\f20\fs20 \tab }{\f20\fs20 Sydney Morning Herald, April 24, 1998
\par }{\f20 
\par 
\par Years grew in rings,
\par but my earliest memories
\par sought bird-dialect, the 
\par hush of water and wind.
\par 
\par 
\par Men could hear then,
\par stood with forest-silence;
\par the leaf-like breathing 
\par at my base made speech.
\par 
\par 
\par The loud and glacial
\par grumbling of boulder - 
\par ice ceased in my first years,
\par ferns eventually uncoiled.
\par 
\par 
\par I thought myself }{\i\f20 ever}{\f20 
\par which is now at a closing;
\par yet I did not regard
\par this end without mystery.
\par 
\par 
\par Other pine-tree that
\par built memory in fire onto
\par their bark\rquote s surface,
\par recorded an earlier time;
\par 
\par 
\par they hide mostly in the
\par moist gullies and deep rift
\par valleys (branches radial):
\par an ancient pine tree.
\par 
\par 
\par }{\caps\f20 u}{\f20 nchanged - whose
\par photo is found locked in 
\par the earth\rquote s element, an old
\par family and they are few.
\par \page The wide-branched
\par rivers that angled mirrors 
\par under the sun, are gone
\par underground, they
\par 
\par 
\par emerged from within 
\par the ice-tides, mountains fell
\par when the sky opened, the
\par seas had retreated.
\par 
\par }{\i\f20 
\par }{\f20 They are shadow leaves.
\par They flow many-branched.
\par They house every myth.
\par They rise in me to air.
\par \page T H I S   W A Y
\par 
\par 
\par That nightly sound is something
\par else, hardly a series of chords, though
\par through waves slur into a particular
\par noise as through a lop-sided mouth;
\par 
\par 
\par motor-bike, bus, laughter or scream.
\par Yet underpinning this, that same uniform
\par growl going nowhere intentionally
\par but into itself, back into the city.
\par 
\par 
\par If you could see them, you\rquote d know
\par that those boot-scuffed clouds are the
\par dirty bits left over from the day;
\par a star holds to the sky\rquote s rounded toe,
\par 
\par 
\par more stars and it\rquote s steel-capped.
\par It took centuries for the cities to get to
\par this, from easy camp-fire cluster,
\par shield and spear clatter or wood-crackle.
\par 
\par 
\par Once the guttural rasps of}{\i\f20  yes
\par }{\f20 and }{\i\f20 no}{\f20  had coagulated into walled-images,
\par the blaze of blood and light gave over
\par to these arteries, to the vessels of glass.
\par 
\par 
\par The old migratory paths are soon
\par rediscovered by armies in triumphal
\par procession through the broad thoroughfares,
\par and under arches as though into caves.
\par 
\par 
\par \lquote This way;\rquote  it says, \lquote this way,\rquote 
\par a call that is at once all utterance or
\par none, a deep cave-sound, the primal rumour,
\par conspiracy, beginnings, heat and cold.
\par \page E R G O   P O E M
\par 
\par 
\par To grizzle away at truth,
\par just me and my shadow in some
\par private alchemy; these
\par 
\par 
\par days, poets my be heard
\par not whispered at. From my
\par balconied-box, traffic slides
\par 
\par 
\par its abacus of constants.
\par If the clouds look fair, the
\par sun pulls its gleety light onto
\par 
\par 
\par Glebe dwellings. Hurrah!
\par the neighbourhood. Think only
\par this of me and a place I call
\par 
\par 
\par home and away flits the mind
\par from this southern realm though
\par nowhere doth it fly radial.
\par 
\par 
\par Evasive? Let me run that
\par by again; commitment is forever
\par saying}{\i\f20  in truth}{\f20  I told you
\par 
\par 
\par so and though your eyes
\par be grey as glass, I say, give it
\par a rest here in my brushwood
\par 
\par 
\par heart that you may fossick
\par to a regular beat and your heart\rquote s
\par simple content: therefore,
\par 
\par 
\par if }{\i\f20 alas \lquote t is true}{\f20 , I have
\par gone here and there, did march to
\par a different drum, so be it.
\par \page S U M M E R   C U P *
\par 
\par }{\i\f20\fs20 \ldblquote Champions don\rquote t win by lengths anymore\rdblquote  -}{\f20\fs20  Jack Ingham}{\f20\fs18 
\par }{\f20 
\par 
\par From tourney to cavalier, from huntsman
\par }\pard \keep\widctlpar\tx180\tx360\adjustright {\f20     to troubadour, the jockey, caparisoned in
\par }\pard \keep\widctlpar\adjustright {\f20 
\par 
\par }\pard \keep\widctlpar\tx270\adjustright {\f20 the silk of carnival for a spring race
\par }\pard \keep\widctlpar\tx180\adjustright {\f20     and a bet, with the best he was, Beadman.
\par 
\par 
\par He tapped his luck and often as not
\par     eased quick to the finishing, to fall fast
\par 
\par 
\par through to the line on a colt, chestnut or
\par     roan, to earn the applause and more, laurel
\par 
\par 
\par you might say, the leaf or lictor\rquote s rod
\par     to hold chalice-high several times he did the 
\par 
\par 
\par Melbourne, Caulfield and Gala Day Randwick
\par     ride; the glass or silver winner\rquote s cup.
\par 
\par 
\par }\pard \fi990\li-990\keep\widctlpar\tx-1080\adjustright {\f20 Beadman rode with }{\i\f20 kind hand and long rein,
\par }\pard \keep\widctlpar\tx180\adjustright {\f20     exampled himself with the Greats of The Game:
\par 
\par 
\par Breasley, Moore, Pike, Higgins, Munro -
\par     names gold-runged for the racing records.
\par 
\par 
\par Beadman then, at 32 retired, become apostled
\par     by choice to clergy and God
\par 
\par 
\par who made his undoing willingly, in this
\par     downunder, sometime O so underhanded country,
\par 
\par 
\par he freshly apprenticed to his calling;
\par     a humble stable-boy, Lord, in a worldly manger.
\par 
\par 
\par }{\i\f20\fs20 * The acclaimed jockey, Darren Beadman, ran his final race at 
\par Randwick on Boxing Day, 1997. He came out of retirement in 1999.}{\f20\fs20  
\par }\pard \ri475\sb60\sa20\keep\widctlpar\adjustright {\f20\fs18 \page }{\f20 E M B L E M   F O R   D E A D   Y O U T H}{\b\i\f20 
\par }\pard \ri475\sb60\sa20\keep\widctlpar\tqc\tx2160\tqc\tx2340\adjustright {\f20 
\par }\pard \ri475\keep\widctlpar\tqc\tx2160\tqc\tx2340\adjustright {\caps\f20\fs18 there are no experts}{\i\caps\f20\fs18  }{\caps\f20\fs18 only survivors
\par }\pard \keep\widctlpar\tqc\tx2160\tqc\tx2340\adjustright {\caps\f20 
\par 
\par }\pard \ri475\keep\widctlpar\tqc\tx2160\tqc\tx2340\adjustright {\f20 Over the past five years in the }{\i\f20 Great South Land,
\par }{\f20 a primary dissipation of energies; 2,500 youth}{\i\f20  }{\f20 suicides,}{\i\f20 
\par }\pard \ri475\keep\widctlpar\adjustright {\f20 in fact. }{\caps\f20 w}{\f20 e pause to consider this phenomenon:
\par 
\par 
\par }\pard \keep\widctlpar\adjustright {\f20 2,500 small white crosses neat as napkins laid 
\par out in geometric patterns upon the parliamentary turf 
\par sweeping up to the }{\i\f20 Big House}{\f20 . Small white crosses,
\par abstract as wing-nuts or butterflies, each one pinned
\par 
\par 
\par to the yellow grass lapel though, hauntingly, branded
\par }\pard \ri475\keep\widctlpar\tqc\tx2160\tqc\tx2340\adjustright {\f20 onto the mind\rquote s dumb hide. }{\caps\f20 W}{\f20 ith}{\caps\f20  }{\f20 each grief-prone parent, 
\par pain inflates safe as an air-bag. Small towns outback 
\par spin to emptiness. }{\caps\f20 m}{\f20 oonrise is a chalk outline after the
\par }\pard \keep\widctlpar\tqc\tx2160\tqc\tx2340\adjustright {\f20 
\par 
\par }\pard \ri475\keep\widctlpar\tqc\tx2160\tqc\tx2340\adjustright {\f20 going down of the sun. Stars swing bright herds into the
\par dark corrals. There\rquote s movement at the station; a murmuring
\par engine through woodland, sky velocity blue as gun-metal.
\par }\pard \qj\keep\widctlpar\tqc\tx540\tqc\tx2160\adjustright {\i\f20 \page }{\f20 T U N D R A   F L I G H T 
\par 
\par 
\par The black blizzard has been at work for a week
\par now, and even the huts (if there are huts) seem to
\par sag under the snow. }{\caps\f20 s}{\f20 oon the airport will open
\par 
\par 
\par again, but the road to it will remain closed, such is
\par the tundra landscape of Russia on a provincial
\par airline in winter. The pilot is close to retirement,
\par 
\par 
\par but his patience will never give up on the romance
\par that is his life - whose skills remain memorable
\par though the aircraft is missing the odd nut and bolt; 
\par 
\par 
\par only serves Turkish crackers for its one main meal.
\par \lquote If pilots drink,\rquote  they say, \lquote the last toast is a silent
\par }\pard \qj\keep\widctlpar\adjustright {\f20 one between friends\rquote  before departure. So it is.
\par 
\par 
\par }\pard \qj\keep\widctlpar\tqc\tx540\tqc\tx2160\adjustright {\i\f20 \ldblquote Clear skies,\rdblquote }{\f20  they raise their vodka glasses,}{\i\f20  \ldblquote Soft
\par landings,\rdblquote }{\f20  the muted clink, muted as the snows
\par which fold out over the tundra. The runway can be
\par 
\par 
\par found here safe as a clothes-brush, sad as the
\par heavy uniform and brocaded cap hangared at home
\par }\pard \qj\keep\widctlpar\adjustright {\f20 for the last time: }{\i\f20 before we depart, a final toast!
\par }\pard \keep\widctlpar\adjustright {\i\f20 \page }{\f20 S A L L E  D \rquote   A T T E N T E}{\f20\fs28 
\par }{\f20 
\par }{\i\f20\fs20 a portrait}{\i\f20 
\par }{\f20 
\par 
\par And what if they didn\rquote t meet up,
\par coupled by the twin lines that seemed
\par to lead her thoughts endlessly out,
\par coiling through the Rockies, through
\par 
\par 
\par the mountain reaches and conifer;
\par her lover on the oil-rumoured plateau
\par snowed in, maybe, snowed under
\par beyond the pass, working his claim?
\par 
\par 
\par Luggage stacked on the platform,
\par hat-boxes, portmanteau, steamer trunk
\par as miniature of her country estate;
\par she waited the engine\rquote s plumed arrival.
\par 
\par 
\par Fennel scent stung the nostrils
\par in the late autumn air, and somewhere,
\par vaguely distant, a storm detonated
\par at the peaks, powdered a piece of sky.
\par 
\par 
\par No voice reached her through the
\par October afternoon in that waiting-room,
\par and no one either came or went, only
\par the signal-box mutely shuffled its gears.
\par }\pard \keep\widctlpar\tqc\tx540\tqc\tx2160\adjustright {\f20 \page }{\caps\f20 c o p e s t o n e   f o r   a   n a t I o n}{\b\i\caps\f20 
\par }{\i\caps\f20 
\par }\pard \qj\keep\widctlpar\tqc\tx540\tqc\tx2160\adjustright {\f20 
\par }{\caps\f20 H}{\f20 ere is the place which flourished once in rampant
\par dishonesties, and there stands the sheered monument 
\par erected to important absences, boldly the canker creeps 
\par and, like the last of the sun\rquote s rays, heat fabricates
\par a welcoming where none existed before, no traveller 
\par 
\par 
\par passed by these ruins, no winding silk road or camel
\par track, no ancient canal, only an endless sheep-spill 
\par over river shingle, dogs heard working the memory with
\par river boulder, that turns deeply, cold and hollowing;
\par }{\i\f20 cloch -}{\f20  the same sound found in every river valley. 
\par 
\par 
\par While the hill terraces make some sort of corbelled
\par framework for this scene, though slightly faded
\par below, aslant upon the wall of recollection, behind glass
\par (the car window) winding down toward what appears
\par a solitary copse, to an indecipherable, ox-bow signature.
\par }{\caps\f20 
\par }{\f20 
\par While autumn sets up its garage sale with the season\rquote s
\par odds and ends, gravity leans into distortion; first orange,
\par then pale yellow, a row of poplars shuffling close
\par over the lake road, vying for another golden moment in 
\par the aging process, the putty-coloured cliffs behind you.
\par 
\par 
\par Autumnal orange, yellow, black, as the first primitive
\par frescoes from the ochre quarries, dank as rust or the
\par smell of dead oxygen, these poplars lead this valley out
\par onto the flood plains, birthplace of the city, upon whose
\par heights the first rituals of praise were offered up as
\par 
\par 
\par }{\i\f20 thanks}{\f20  against the flooding to each and every localised, 
\par individual God or climate, and in whose seasonal favours
\par the inhabitants trusted, the city and the temple as one, 
\par the temple both defence and memory, commemoration of
\par the river\rquote s flow and speech, each flood mythically retold.
\par \page Further still though \lquote }{\i\f20 dull days of clouds\rquote }{\f20  announce your
\par arrival: wayfarer, a windblown highway, the lantern
\par on the hook; as now the neon panelled comfort-stop fuzzes
\par with insects, a smell of oil and rubber, no attendant, the
\par rolled back whites of numerals clicking up the dollars. 
\par 
\par 
\par }{\caps\f20 w}{\f20 hatever passed this way, has past, passed away in the
\par direction you\rquote re headed, finally - to the cities of the plain;
\par somewhere, the country breathes largely in the dark 
\par behind the comfort-stop. }{\caps\f20 o}{\f20 verhead, the tilting crater lake
\par of the night sky, stars caught up on its black surface.
\par }\pard \keep\widctlpar\adjustright {\f20 \page T H E   M A N G A W E K A S
\par 
\par 
\par After the viaduct was dismantled the}{\b\i\f20 
\par }{\f20 Mangawekas and river valleys stayed on.
\par 
\par 
\par The moon maintained its guardianship
\par under sliding shadow and within the 
\par 
\par 
\par silent and abandoned hour of night.
\par }{\caps\f20 t}{\f20 hat massive boulder set in a creek-bed
\par 
\par 
\par stands immemorial yet the bevelled
\par morning light discovers bridge remnants -
\par 
\par 
\par an arch truss, a foundation block. You 
\par passed this way before, are not likely to 
\par 
\par 
\par again. Your footprint on mud-dunes
\par will soften by the next flax-woven eddy.
\par 
\par 
\par I know of a river-bend, and the spread
\par river-shingle slowly flung upon the
\par 
\par 
\par slanted afternoon light, handfuls of young
\par poplars scattered over the valley floor.
\par 
\par 
\par On a downward drive through these ranges, 
\par soap grey slate could landslip you off a
\par 
\par 
\par hair-pin, into this view that the rear-vision
\par mirror spans beneath, or angles before you.
\par }\pard \qj\keep\widctlpar\tqc\tx540\tqc\tx2160\adjustright {\f20 \page }{\caps\f20 t H E   g o o d   O L D}{\f20    D A Y S
\par 
\par 
\par }\pard \keep\widctlpar\tqc\tx540\tqc\tx2160\adjustright {\f20 The old radiators heat elliptically, green painted 
\par pipes run up the walls with an elbow-sleeve right 
\par hand turn (optional) following off where the 
\par 
\par 
\par ceiling heads, that is, to venetian blinds, eternally 
\par slanting a dirty look at the day and down periscope 
\par through the thick, wide grained floor timbers 
\par 
\par 
\par but not before (alongside a wire-mesh In/Out tray) 
\par the cardiganed public servant languidly taps his pipe 
\par and pats the tea-urn, sips regulation }{\i\f20 Dept of: }{\f20 - cups,
\par 
\par 
\par while the overhead fan blade stirs and stirs the air: 
\par }{\i\f20 Oh,}{\f20  }{\i\f20 Jane stayed on (marvellous with the Christmas 
\par balloons!) while Dorothy left, a promise of 
\par 
\par 
\par silk-stocking and musk. No forwarding, of course, 
\par (except, maybe, the \lquote 60s) a leather-strapped suitcase 
\par and a railway platform on the }{\caps\f20 o}{\f20 vernighter}{\i\f20  headed 
\par 
\par 
\par God knows where into the interior I shouldn\rquote t 
\par wonder (or the suburbs which amounts to the same
\par thing) to what - tent city? No thoughts on that
\par 
\par 
\par one Bunty! And no damned prospects most likely, 
\par still she\rquote s got her own life to lead...}{\f20 those boards now }{\i\f20 
\par }{\f20 varnished, the pipes detailed a ruffled and light 
\par 
\par 
\par grey; \lquote superb apartments\rquote  at the upper executive end of 
\par the scale, and no earthly sign of Dorothy, though 
\par the pipes continue to knock in that odd - annoying way.
\par }\pard \keep\widctlpar\tx-1440\tx180\adjustright {\f20 \page T R A N S M I S S I O N
\par 
\par 
\par }\pard \keep\widctlpar\tqc\tx540\tqc\tx2160\adjustright {\f20 Clouds continue to unroll
\par as blue-prints about the globe;
\par ocean eddies newly discovered
\par swirl off continental shelves.
\par 
\par 
\par Old geological pressures
\par continue to build and to slide,
\par compacting profit and pollution
\par along malleable fault lines.
\par 
\par 
\par Prophecy\rquote s fully indexed -
\par one half a percentage point on
\par the share and equities market,
\par one step ahead of the curve.
\par 
\par 
\par }{\caps\f20 g}{\f20 rey medieval seaports
\par open wide as clam shells to
\par the invading tide, a lighthouse
\par beacon flashes its pearl.
\par 
\par 
\par }\pard \keep\widctlpar\adjustright {\caps\f20 a}{\f20 fter two millennia, one
\par }\pard \keep\widctlpar\tx7200\adjustright {\f20 Acanthus leaf drops from a 
\par }\pard \keep\widctlpar\adjustright {\f20 Corinthian capital, off the cliff
\par into the Mediterranean sea.  
\par }\pard \keep\widctlpar\tqc\tx540\tqc\tx2160\adjustright {\f20 
\par 
\par }{\caps\f20 e}{\f20 astward, the horizon lies
\par in ruins, troubling storms gather
\par to divide nations, tankers with
\par empty decks ride at anchor.
\par 
\par 
\par The Nigeria delta smokily
\par wafts flambeaux, in Lagos under
\par strung light bulbs, oil workers
\par dully drink away their pay.
\par 
\par }\pard \keep\widctlpar\adjustright {\f20 
\par A house sparrow pecks out
\par rival sperm from its mate, repeats
\par this performance in every port
\par from Singapore to Dunedin.
\par \page }{\caps\f20 A }{\f20 brighter blue between 
\par warehouses, birdsong secretion,
\par odours off dockyards suffuse 
\par sour alleys with chemicals.
\par 
\par 
\par The sunset\rquote s steel factory
\par mills flat orange strips, the stars
\par hang out broken signs, night
\par slams shut like a factory gate.
\par \page O B S E R V A T O R Y   H I L L
\par 
\par 
\par }\pard\plain \s4\keep\keepn\widctlpar\outlinelevel3\adjustright \i\fs22\lang3081\cgrid {\f20 The perfect rose is only
\par }\pard\plain \keep\widctlpar\adjustright \fs22\lang3081\cgrid {\i\f20 \tab \tab a running flare.
\par }{\f20 
\par 
\par \tab \tab That night,
\par the cosmic rose garden
\par under the Hubble glass-house
\par played God\rquote s footlights.
\par 
\par 
\par \tab \tab The question
\par becomes the hottest form of
\par arrogance, unfolding unto
\par itself
\par 
\par 
\par \tab the numbered petals
\par of doubt.
\par 
\par 
\par In my allocated time
\par I track back across the grid
\par but don\rquote t link up with you.
\par 
\par 
\par \tab \tab Later,
\par a message came in late
\par and unclear via the micro-wave:
\par one non-digital discovery
\par without your name on it.
\par 
\par 
\par \tab \tab Dawn
\par suggested something fresh off
\par the mountain
\par \tab \tab /
\par \tab \tab a perfect, solar roseate.
\par \page D I R E C T O R \rquote  S   C U T
\par 
\par 
\par The director doesn\rquote t give a fig for the flat terrain
\par that pans the horizon, high heels make little impression
\par out here, her steps lightsome in this blazing void, 
\par elegant calf-muscles, sitting legs akimbo, a gangster\rquote s
\par mole abandoned to the }{\i\f20 Badlands,}{\f20  out of tune within
\par this harshness - high cheek bones aglow, radiant 
\par and sweatless, the landscape set back from her Vegas}{\b\f20 
\par }{\f20 
\par 
\par body, a hip thrust defiantly at the brighter than neon
\par sun. \ldblquote Cut!\rdblquote  he shouts through cupped hands that sound
\par hollow as a tin can out here. Her arm drops languid 
\par }\pard \keep\widctlpar\tx4820\adjustright {\f20 at her side, too heavy for boredom, she waits to be made
\par }\pard \keep\widctlpar\adjustright {\f20 over and makes for the caravan. The film guys give
\par way to the riggers and construction crew, a dreary day\rquote s
\par schedule, the pneumatic drill rears up and resumes
\par 
\par 
\par its place in the pecking order, mechanical and yellow.
\par Bright orange jackets under bright white helmets -
\par a wound, tricky as salt, appears alongside the new light
\par rail works. Did the first assistant producer make off
\par with the second? ask Red, but he walked out yesterday.
\par Melanie fudged her lines the third day straight while
\par the back up generator got the stutters. No way out
\par 
\par 
\par of here for three weeks, he walked off into the desert,
\par but who knows? Nights passed cool though, bugs rushed
\par the lanterns and the beer stayed cold, stars piled up
\par in a low budget sky. Sometime after, with the railway
\par platform finished, out came the Winchesters, we hollered
\par and hooted like old time pioneers, like celebrities at
\par }{\i\f20 The Charlton Heston Golden Gun Anniversary Awards.
\par }\pard \keep\widctlpar\tx-1440\tx180\adjustright {\f20 
\par \page 
\par 
\par T H E   W O O L S H E D
\par }\pard \keep\widctlpar\tx-1440\tx180\tx1440\adjustright {\f20 
\par }\pard \keep\widctlpar\tx-1440\tx180\adjustright {\f20 
\par I came upon it by a clough in the
\par hill, an involuntary turn upland, wheels
\par }\pard \keep\widctlpar\tx0\tx180\adjustright {\f20 holding to the rub of an old bullock
\par }\pard \keep\widctlpar\tx-1440\tx180\adjustright {\f20 track, by backblock and tableland, 
\par 
\par 
\par to unminded paddocks. A kennel whiff
\par of the grease-curled fleece, flumped
\par on long benches in a low-slung woolshed,
\par the fangled wool press fallen into
\par 
\par 
\par wrack and ruin, the dust, grease coated
\par floor planks. A sense of something slowly
\par tossed aside. And wind, the sound
\par rusty and hollow, breathed down the chute to
\par an empty holding pen, thickened with
\par dockweed, purpled in }{\i\f20 Paterson's curse.
\par }\pard \keep\widctlpar\tx180\adjustright {\f20 \page F L A G O N   D A Y S
\par 
\par }{\i\f20 for Robert Franken
\par }{\f20 
\par 
\par But this one had stood three months,
\par brooding its yeast amongst sultanas packed
\par down in fathoms of vodka. Fermentation
\par stalked patient as a terrorist upon the
\par taste-beds; a Dutch custom, powerful as
\par an Atlantic sea squall. A late ride pillion
\par on Robert Franken\rquote s scooter at Pauatahanui
\par out along the coast road to Paekakariki.
\par The black swans of the estuary, themselves
\par a scattering of sultanas, glistening afloat
\par in the dusk. Robert, you liked things pickled
\par in bottles; homunculi, viscera, distorted
\par on the glass-plate of your surreal word-view;
\par a head on a stem like a cut-away tulip
\par 
\par \tab \tab \tab \tab \tab \tab titled:
\par 
\par \tab \tab TOO CLOSE TO NATURE
\par 
\par 
\par That tale you told about leaving your lover\rquote s
\par bed before dawn to gather dewy grass,
\par clippings that you packed roundly into your
\par body-shape left warmly indented there.
\par You sat hard by in a chair and watched her
\par slowly wake, turn to embrace where you
\par had lain. And we took another slug from that
\par primal Dutch concoction filtered through
\par vodka-soaked sultanas, back then in \rquote 72. *
\par 
\par 
\par 
\par 
\par 
\par * }{\i\f20\fs20 A tolerable variation on the traditional Dutch drink 
\par called}{\f20\fs20  Boerenjongens }{\i\f20\fs20 which translates as \lquote farmer\rquote s boys\rquote . 
\par Strictly speaking, the drink is made with brandy and sultanas,
\par but these were flexible times.
\par }{\f20 \page P O R T R A I T S
\par 
\par 
\par 1}{\i\f20 .}{\f20  }{\i\f20 \tab Old Groover}{\b\i\f20 
\par }{\f20 
\par The cool had cooled somewhat,
\par the heart suffered meltdown to a
\par 
\par 
\par blackened lump of glass. 
\par The lines fed didn\rquote t populate his bed
\par 
\par 
\par with yearning }{\i\f20 Liliths}{\f20  as they
\par once had; he came by the leather-
\par 
\par 
\par skinned, dream-damaged ones
\par whose youth had fled with the
\par 
\par 
\par children out the door marked:
\par }{\f20\fs20 ENDED}{\f20\fs18 .}{\f20  His words remained locked
\par 
\par 
\par in the hip, haplessly peppered
\par with jazz for his own and art\rquote s sake.
\par 
\par 
\par The mask hardened. The lies
\par sank further back behind the eyes
\par 
\par 
\par jaundiced as sulphur. What can
\par we make of him now stopped at the
\par 
\par 
\par limit of his talent; that he
\par hadn\rquote t far to go? Only the anger
\par 
\par 
\par eating his entrails played back the
\par one obvious truth. }{\i\f20 Pity him.
\par 
\par 
\par }{\f20 2. }{\i\f20 \tab The Lonely Men}{\b\i\f20 
\par }{\f20 
\par Strung out in one long line
\par across the falling ground, beating
\par \page the brush for the Golden Bird of
\par Youth, while behind them in the
\par 
\par 
\par }\pard \keep\widctlpar\tx-1440\adjustright {\f20 marbled light, Age gathers to cumulus,
\par }\pard \keep\widctlpar\tx-1440\tx180\adjustright {\f20 and each knows in his companion 
\par 
\par 
\par a darkening heart, coagulate of lust,
\par how sex fades or flares in the blood;
\par 
\par 
\par the sickening clutch at some
\par receding life beyond the Vale of Fantasy.
\par 
\par 
\par The game lies in casting forth
\par atmosphere\rquote s net, the troubled victim
\par 
\par }{\b\f20 
\par }{\f20 tough and vulnerable, snared unawares.
\par 
\par 
\par 3. \tab }{\i\f20  Lawman}{\b\i\f20 
\par }{\f20 
\par Sober all day he had nothing to
\par blame himself for but the following
\par 
\par }{\b\f20 
\par }{\f20 morning. Reckoning that he had
\par got off lightly, he put his guilt away
\par 
\par 
\par like a discarded video and returned
\par to his home comfortable as a holster.
\par 
\par 
\par This customary, reflexive man
\par would have lit a panatella or pulled
\par 
\par 
\par a cork if conducive to a state of
\par health which it wasn\rquote t. Settled now,
\par 
\par 
\par the hourly news chased him around
\par the clock with its usual run of
\par \page urgencies made or intended. At a
\par school nearby, laughter and shuttered
\par 
\par 
\par applause of prize-giving at the year\rquote s 
\par end; fragile beginnings and unmade
\par 
\par 
\par mistakes of lives not yet loosed upon
\par others - to become more you and less
\par 
\par 
\par of what you might have been. 
\par A few more thoughts along these lines
\par 
\par 
\par about getting it right with the Fates,
\par and plugging the day at High Noon.
\par 
\par 
\par }\pard \keep\widctlpar\adjustright {\f20 4. }{\i\f20 \tab  Tour Guide}{\b\i\f20 
\par }\pard \keep\widctlpar\tx-1440\tx180\adjustright {\f20 
\par Today your hair is freshly folded silk,
\par something to do with flats of water 
\par and how it receives tone from different days.
\par 
\par 
\par I don\rquote t see your face it is elsewhere in
\par other and distant brightness.
\par I have no wish to locate you or make
\par 
\par 
\par comprehensible your person about me;
\par can I call you }{\i\f20 Miss?
\par }{\f20 for already the intimate details are known:
\par 
\par 
\par you are something I look forward to
\par I mean, with line of sight,
\par the isolated light and how it softens
\par 
\par 
\par much in the way clouds never really
\par concentrate themselves,
\par that take their turn and assume elevations.
\par 
\par 
\par Concentration is dry in this woman\rquote s face;
\par your face is warm air from an open doorway,
\par people spilling past with indignation.
\par \page You are so expansive
\par that your lack of experience impresses me,
\par your face is a wide curve of shoreline -
\par 
\par }\pard \keep\widctlpar\tx-1440\tx180\tx7740\adjustright {\f20 
\par }\pard \keep\widctlpar\tx-1440\tx180\adjustright {\f20 the incurve of the runner against rain.
\par Your face is empty as dead tallow (hallowed)
\par and a dryness without detail.
\par 
\par 
\par This beauty is equation in
\par the geometric structure of your vision -
\par }\pard \keep\widctlpar\tx180\adjustright {\i\f20 yes}{\f20 , your calmness is past engagement.
\par \page B R A D Y\rquote  S   G R A V E
\par 
\par }{\i\f20\fs20 \ldblquote Listen to the moaning of the pine
\par at whose root they hut is fastened\rdblquote 
\par {\pntext\pard\plain\f20\fs20\lang3081 \hich\af20\dbch\af0\loch\f20 -\tab}}\pard \fi-360\li1800\keep\widctlpar\tx180\jclisttab\tx1800{\*\pn \pnlvlblt\ilvl0\ls2\pnrnot0\pnstart45\pnindent1800\pnhang{\pntxtb -}}\ls2\adjustright {\f20\fs20 Old Danish proverb}
{\f20 
\par }\pard \keep\widctlpar\tx180\adjustright {\f20 
\par 
\par In front of the old Manse,
\par Duck Creek weaves through
\par bulrushes along the hillside
\par striving with pine trees,
\par slippery with copper needles
\par 
\par 
\par home to magpie\rquote s carolling.
\par }{\i\f20 \lquote There were three homes we had.\rquote 
\par }{\f20 Farther back into the hill,
\par a tilted slab of concrete, rusty
\par iron posts and chains mark it out
\par 
\par 
\par amongst the tussock clumps \endash 
\par Brady\rquote s Grave makes a slipway
\par for the flying, full moon;
\par and the local cats gather into
\par a circle, under the yellow glare.
\par 
\par 
\par A questioning silhouette
\par of }{\i\f20 Black Swans at Pauatahanui}{\f20 
\par ride easy, buoyant, on the inlet\rquote s
\par long tides away from view,
\par behind the whistling pine grove.
\par }\pard \keep\widctlpar\adjustright {\f20 \page }{\i\f20 \lquote W O L F H O U N D   C E N T U R Y\rquote }{\f20 
\par 
\par }{\i\f20\fs20 after}{\b\i\f20\fs20  }{\i\f20\fs20 Osip Mandelstam}{\f20\fs20 
\par }{\f20 
\par 
\par So by now you know it is time 
\par to leave, they have damaged the name 
\par of the city and time itself is imperilled; 
\par clocktowers stand by snow-capped 
\par 
\par 
\par and the hands splay crucified but 
\par this is no bridge to safety. St Petersburg 
\par [Petropolis] winds down gradually, 
\par shifts the granite block of night back 
\par 
\par 
\par from the tomb so dawn may enter in; 
\par places a small saucer of daylight to bath 
\par the eye. What sleds are heaped with 
\par we cannot tell, but it is not the jubilation
\par 
\par 
\par of children\rquote s cries - at the sight of 
\par the hill our hands drop to our sides black 
\par as fence posts. God himself rubs his hands 
\par at sunset but you cannot get warm. 
\par 
\par 
\par }\pard \keep\widctlpar\tx180\adjustright {\i\f20\fs20 October 10, 2000}{\i\f20\fs18 
\par }\pard \keep\widctlpar\tx-1440\tx180\adjustright {\f20 
\par }\pard \keep\widctlpar\adjustright {\f20 \sect }\sectd \marglsxn1980\margrsxn2819\margbsxn567\binfsxn-1841\binsxn-1841\psz9\pgnrestart\pgnstarts143\linex0\headery706\footery706\endnhere\sectdefaultcl \pard\plain \keep\widctlpar\adjustright 
\fs22\lang3081\cgrid {\f20\fs28 Index of Titles or First Lines}{\f20 
\par 
\par }}