‘

‘. . . with birth as condition, . . .’

(for Natasha, 1974-2005)

Before our birth we carry death within us,
from that first moment of the male which burrows
through the ovum wall, from the faint flicker

in fallopian dark, each moment lived
now moves us closer to our last, be that
before implanting or ninety years beyond.

But in a special way that hung between
those coupling gametes, your death lay hid to form
a tiny spot; that berry swelled and ripened.

Silently it lurked inside your skull
until it blistered, burst and bled — a flash,
a headache came. You slept and slipped away.

(‘Nectar and light’ Friendly Street new poets, 12. (Adelaide: Wakefield Press, 2007))

Requiem

(for Natasha, 1974–2005)

A long transparent tunnel stretches up
far, far to light that glints and glows along it;
from far away we see her climb toward
that glow; her hair wafts out behind
as in a breeze. With trembling touch our thoughts
are peopled round her as she treads the path
of purple to the awesome that she does not know,
nor we, the all-at-once sharp light that pierces
through our inmost being and leaves no shadow.

Her name means birth. And she has born two girls
and pushed them to the glare of this life. O may
this birth that she is taking better be
for her than here, and may our thoughts that float
behind and hairlike stroke her face, o may
they strengthen her ahead in her unknown.

(Eremos (Sydney) November 2006; ‘Nectar and light’ Friendly Street new poets, 12. (Adelaide: Wakefield Press, 2007))

I think, therefore . . . ?

Like grass on dunes we cling.
No, we are the dunes;
with flimsy crust,
with grass and scrub,
we hope to hold
against the dry,
the drift from shifting winds.

But there is naught
to us but change,
loose heaps
of happenings.

Reds, greens, tree-shapes,
harmonies and blares,
stench and fragrances,
tastes and touches
prod us.

These feel fair
or foul
or just so so.

The inner eye
twigs or not.

Ideas and wants
walk through or linger —
the treading crumbles
fragile dune-crust.

All registers
a while, then fades.

How is it then,
we say: We are?

Bodies age;
senses dull;
thoughts flitter;
feelings shift
like windblown sand;
and consciousness
candle like
flickers and dies.

There is no anchor;
nothing holds;
dry sands tumble.
Dying blades and haulms —
they sway, they tremble.

(Overland (Melbourne) 182, Autumn 2006; ‘Nectar and light’ Friendly Street new poets, 12. (Adelaide: Wakefield Press, 2007))

Pectoral
(variation on Paul Celan)

No mere tatoo
will do for your name
once darling.

Letter by letter
(crisp sans serif)
of brass you’re inserted
and sutured
under the skin
of my chest.

There you lie
nestled in acid
adipose.

Lifelong you’ll stay,
and beyond,
above my heart
to verdigris
the fat, the
blood, the
skin.

(Cadenza (Boston, Lincs.) 14, December 2005; ‘Nectar and light’ Friendly Street new poets, 12. (Adelaide: Wakefield Press, 2007))

Sunsets
(variations on a theme of Hölderlin)

I

A god salutes us: flinging his molten gold
   across the city sky, the Sustainer takes
      his leave. But no one lifts his eyes, nor
         heeds as that pledge to return now filters

like powdered fire silently through the noise
   and rush of Melbourne’s traffic — except some youth,
      perhaps, who slides a train-door open,
         inwardly stirred to an ancient worship.

II

The sun is set; the cloudscape once softly drawn
   in gold and rust now fades to a single grey.
      All glow has gone; the wind bites coldly.
         Bear with your sorrow: the dawn comes slowly.