So, it's like a book of photos, Bill. And so I like the lack of active verbing (& would cut the 2 that occur). To me, this posits the held-fast past, all of it in amber, unmoving now, there....
Doug
On Dec 17, 2013, at 9:25 PM, Bill Wootton <[log in to unmask]> wrote:
> Bakewell Street
>
> Corner of Thunder Street, North Bendigo,
> twisted wire front fence, groany gate,
> springy Buffalo-grassed front lawn.
>
> Echo-less sound of tin-lid postbox
> squeaking open, dropping flat shut.
> The slight give of worn veranda boards
>
> on first footfall from top brick step
> to weatherboard number 11.
> Idle afternoons jumping
>
> from one pillar to the other.
> Fumes of Uncle Rex's Abbots Lager
> 'soldier' cheekily opened in kitchen.
>
> Thin water-stained plywood walls bulging.
> High wall plate shelf. Framed photos,
> Young Mum’s crimson colourised smile.
>
> Her sister Hazel in monochrome WAAF uniform.
> Hovering inside in heat. Gal roof stretching,
> popping in sun. Unused lounge room.
>
> Mum's three volume blue-spined
> Readers Digest Encyclopaedia gift
> to Grandma. Unused formal knowledge.
>
> In this room Dad proposed to Mum.
> Grandma Beat’s winter woodstove position.
> Walk-in pantry scullery, cutlery dead-clanking
>
> on sink muted by flour tins, cardboard containers.
> Long rusted tin shed, once stables, powdery
> dirt floor, spidery cardboard suitcases. Finding
>
> Black Sobranies. Striking a match, puffing.
> Disused chookshed with dry, ignitable overhanging
> vine. Long clothesline prop. Sheets blowing
>
> on high over Mr Kinsmore's backyard caravan.
> Bait yabbies corralled in laundry trough overnight,
> crawling about in wet hessian bags filled with pungent
>
> gum leaves. Dam-dragged carp stored in petrol tin.
> Fishing nets, lines, spread out on back lawn.
> Spring-loaded back door announcing - ping - entry.
>
> Full length dark brown leather coat hanging behind
> laundry door. Framed, faded portrait of flowing-cloaked
> de Valera, a gift from Mrs Hennerberry next door.
>
> Running the bee gauntlet up the lavender side path
> under high white painted wooden lattice. Corner
> post of trellis gate wonky in old mine shaft.
>
> One such shaft took Sonny, Grandma's brother, at 3.
> Rich, warm bass tones from shimmying curtained speaker
> of freestanding walnut veneer AWA valve radio.
>
> Kickable gravel path, offering sepia stroll to milkbar,
> discordantly bristling with twentieth century product
> - vivid ice cream wrappers, football cards, sherbert.
>
> Turning the page of new colour comic:
> the smell, the crispness of unturned paper.
> The Monkees. Phantom. Huckleberry Hound.
>
> Tysons Reef Hotel next to the Gasometer.
> Sand-blasted front windows, no views in, broad
> nasal radio drone of slow odds on fast horses.
>
> Serious hat-wearing men in flannel pants, rolled-up
> sleeves, alighting at tram terminus on Bridge Street.
> Popping into Ruffs' corner store, Beischer's bakery.
>
> Bendigo Show. Bugger the Dragon. Outside lurid tents:
> Vanessa the Undresser and The Girl with the Twin 44s.
> Small men parking big cars nose to kerb.
>
> Birds of Bakewell Street. Sparrows. Magpies. Sparkling
> morning light. Groping in darkness for hiding place
> in the back of sleep-out wardrobe. Grandpa's rifle.
>
>
Douglas Barbour
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http://www.ualberta.ca/~dbarbour/
http://eclecticruckus.wordpress.com/
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Swept snow, Li Po,
by dawn’s 40-watt moon
to the road that hies to office
away from home.
Lorine Niedecker
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