The new title would fit, Bill, as what struck me most was the use of the present participle, which I'd like to ee at the beginning of every couplet if possible...
On Oct 30, 2013, at 3:18 AM, Bill Wootton <[log in to unmask]> wrote:
> Thanks, Pat. Thinking of changing title to Slipping into Belonging. What think you? Final line might escape meaning in your hemisphere. I schooled in Balwyn on the other side of the river from Ivanhoe where I lived.
>> On 30 Oct 2013, at 6:48 pm, Patrick McManus <[log in to unmask]> wrote:
>> Bill thanks lovely picture -memories P
>> -----Original Message-----
>> From: Poetryetc: poetry and poetics [mailto:[log in to unmask]] On Behalf Of Bill Wootton
>> Sent: 29 October 2013 20:21
>> To: [log in to unmask]
>> Subject: Slipping in (title tentative)
>> Slipping in
>> Aware of being on the edge of change;
>> The Moon landing being slipped into British
>> History as an example of modern colonisation.
>> Doing Geography projects in small groups,
>> presenting finished product on coloured A3 paper;
>> negotiating up from being responsible for The Heading.
>> Ribbed long socks and pale yellow cotton girls' sports tunics;
>> Annette's wiry red hair and freckled arms clashing with all that
>> paleness. We boys trimming the bottom isosceles of our tan ties.
>> Rock Lunch Club: voluntarily opting to sit at desks after The Bell,
>> egg sangos and fruitcake splayed from brown bags; Cocker Happy
>> jaunting on the school's stereo, wall-mounted Wharfedale speakers.
>> Double desking with Felicity in Pure,
>> while chalked formulae accumulated on the smooth blackboard.
>> Waiting for her thigh to shift; the times she allowed nestle.
>> Frosty mornings, slinging my Malvern Star up, front wheel
>> latching between spokes on the high hook in the Bike Shelter.
>> Mouse's inert red 500cc Suzuki gleaming below its pedal cousins.
>> Room 32, the dour Test Room, in its own isolated block, sometimes
>> doubling as a drama room; pretending to not care when my part
>> in a play was rotated to Jovan, who later died in a car accident.
>> Noticing my hand being the only one up, responding
>> to a question about The Merchant of Venice, the penny
>> dropping: the maths/science elites really didn�t know.
>> Mrs Sikh who wrote maths solutions with both hands on the board
>> at the same time, not to show off but because she found it efficient;
>> Mr Bodley, insisting post-PE shower doors remain propped open.
>> Muffled laughter in the Breezeway, from behind cupped hands:
>> catching the word 'period', clearly not denoting subject session,
>> knowing there was stuff I didn't know and couldn't ask about.
>> Tough Macca dropping dead after an inter-school footy game.
>> Guest speaker Danny Spooner singing 'The Famous Flower of Serving Men'
>> a cappella; the hush in the hall at the tale of portents and transformations.
>> Collecting signatures on a petition for which I wrote the preamble,
>> proposing a Form Six student smoking room in the Physics lab; posting
>> it in the mail in a stamped envelope to squeaky-voiced Principal Perry.
>> Summoned to 'Head' office as number one signatory,
>> being treated warily, respectfully, by someone in power
>> for the first time. Permission denied; a watch put on me.
>> Ned Wilson Beatling his straight hair vertically over his forehead,
>> running the black comb teeth the full width of his head just above eye
>> level, never taking eyes off his image in the long mirror in the boys' toilet.
>> Hearing instructions in French over the PA for a senior class;
>> ignoring other bulletins over the PA, not even knowing that
>> The Pirates of Penzance was a musical, for the whole of 1968.
>> Failing woodwork in form two and my father a carpenter;
>> Pop Quizzes in Science trotted out by a rotund American;
>> matching terms with precise definitions his brainwave.
>> Reversed polarities in steeply tiered Room 15, desks perched
>> on scaffolding-supported floorboards, designed for cooking
>> demonstrations, enabling looking down on vulnerable teacher.
>> The rumbling of pulled down continuous cloth �blackboards�
>> to expose virgin dark green - or remnants of an unscrubbed lesson.
>> Yardstick rulers resting on the wall, outsized wooden protractors.
>> Feeling woozy in metalwork room; each boy at lesson's end, standing
>> to attention by his vice, silent, stared down by grey dust-coated
>> Mr Mir's chocolate eyes above wiry black-grey moustache.
>> The wooden seat of my chair coming adrift, thwacking to the floor
>> as we inverted them in unison at day's end in Art, laughter;
>> accepted for the first time on the other side of the Yarra.
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Continuations & Continuations 2 (with Sheila E Murphy)
Art is always the replacing of indifference by attention.