Just

July 6, 2010 at 4:21 pm | Posted in australian poetry, contemporary poetry, memoirs, poetry, writing | 9 Comments
Tags: , ,

walking to West End from Stafford
in a cycle of recrimination and
justification a church sign plastic
letters clipped
neatly
‘to avoid criticism
say nothing
do nothing
be no-one’

hours later a strange misplaced nostalgia
at the sound of a Scottish Marching Band
as it escaped the shadow of the Big Wheel
with a bass drum ponder call to attention
and the rattle of steel carefully orchestrated

On the Art Gallery wall –
‘It’s between representation and the other thing,
whatever that is,
and it’s difficult to keep one’s balance.’
Ian Fairweather, 1963
the year I was born
coincidentally like the young
man’s soft nervous trilling triplets
before the march began, loosening his wrists and
thinking about the architecture of sound.

Lastly the river
a breeze not even birdsong
accompanying me
just the sun dancing
silver sparkling
from the water,
literally
a memory of stars.

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