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Max For de-gremlined read almost de-gremlined Enjoyed this Max took me back to those exciting 'film shows' Chaplin always seemed to be played at too fast speed? They shot about -we had no cinema near us so extra thrills and of course no TV Cheers Patrick -----Original Message----- From: Poetryetc: poetry and poetics [mailto:[log in to unmask]] On Behalf Of Max Richards Sent: 07 October 2008 23:55 To: [log in to unmask] Subject: de-gremlined memory snap: The Projectionist The Projectionist The primary school shares the same sky as the railway workshops; has concrete air raid shelters, useless now, since we beat Japan; a green football field, clay where boys play marbles, in season, girls skip; six bare classrooms, lavatories
nasty - better to hold on; kids who are roughs or waifs, all of us in cheap clothing, some with runny noses and bare feet, and my father as head-teacher. It's 1946, this is Randwick near Wellington; out of bounds, beyond the stop-bank, the river's forcing its way past fast. Here nothing happens, slowly, till Father does some fundraising - a projector comes, rare and fragile. He learns how to make it work. No one else is allowed near. None of us young ones have ever seen anything on any screen; we're agog for Charlie Chaplin. Children and parents come one night to father's classroom. From home Mum's lent him a white sheet; he fixes it up straight, I switch off the light, whirring begins, the sheet brightens. Flickering black and white humans stalk the sheet. Something is happening. A man climbs on a diving board, trots out, dives, splashes, vanishes. Father flicks a switch, time freezes; flicks again, feet first the diver rises, curves back up onto the board. All of us squeal with pleasure. The evening's films, all short, are never better than when Father, powerful and popular, flicks that switch, the image freezes, time halts, reverses, pauses, moves forward again, taking us all with it along, along. Going home in Dad's Austin Seven, dreaming new powers, camera projector and screen, a rapt crowd, the river pulsing under the night sky. A log like a floating man sweeps past fast, vanishes. My camera eye strains and fails. 8 October 2008 Max Richards Doncaster, Victoria ------------------------------------------------------------ This email was sent from Netspace Webmail: http://www.netspace.net.au ----- End forwarded message ----- ------------------------------------------------------------ This email was sent from Netspace Webmail: http://www.netspace.net.au