Sydney,
1999
(Newtown, March)
. . . and then they sallied forth;
their passionate journey travelled through
gritty streets amazed with studded girls
black lips stretched up dazzling smiles,
thinness squirmed alongside pierced, bald
boys decked out in leathery black;
swept passed a crush of perfumed women
and paunched men outside the Peasants Feast,
a cosy spot and aromatically surprising;
came at the supermarket, forged down aisles
to the fridge, the dairy cold under neon bars
at the far back wall; swung, full tilt, grasped
milk — one plastic two litre bottle — and lurched
towards the check-out, hip against the counter,
paused, a berthing moment spent —
palm flat, coins fingered. The fist
shoved down his jeans pocket dug up more.
Launched again, soft lipped life riding high
on a bent man's shoulders, the Dad a cruise ship
splicing waves massed humanity makes of itself,
red fist closed over pink, bare feet curled
under his hirsute chin, neck braced
by kimbies — plastic taped at infant hips
tucked up thick hair strung at the nape
of the double-headed craft commedia dell'arte
underplayed. This vessel's quest is both noble
and banal. The baby masthead swayed
with the rhythmic stride — eyelids dropped,
lashes flickered, fingers, flittering, stirred
air and, surely safe, love's best love
clasped wonderment,
and then
and then . . .
(Glebe, June)
where streets criss
cross
sun's
light
a man a woman swung their dancing glances at
the skirling shriek of Gypsy violins and
the roar of bus and truck and struck a pose
parallel to the post that holds up traffic lights
and warning signs high above her soft skin, grey curls
and dumpy fat and fluttering hands.
His skin lined, his hair grey, his neck scrawny,
he bent his face, her face scooped his
beyond the edge of summer days
their love benign, beloved their love
when leaves flit
shadows on the path …
(Forest Lodge, September)
early morning close to the city crossed silence
a call white
jade belled
woke a nestling stunned to hear stillness
evaporating,
surprise a note scrawled above its jerking head.
Dew green escaped rapid dawn advancing blue
striated
bluesome,
egg white clouds whisked this is a minor movement for
chirruping and warbling and someone's snoring
to-whit!
to-whit!
scuppered dreams afloat inspiration dreamt
above
a blue pot
tea purled into a perfect cup cupped
steam ablaze
suzie
blackeyed
unambiguous gold at
the window shimmering
on a builder's rusted skip stacked with smashed chairs
garden waste roofing iron bent pipes
sat the big mac supreme
icon
not what you might expect by dawnlight . . .
(Annandale, December)
under buffeted trees, triangled notes of magpies
called throughout an orange landscape, and then on Booth
a solemn boy marched beside his mother's thigh —
her long fingers spooned a willess head, her face mirrored adoration,
her baby's hand swayed with the rhythm of her walking —
and the stern boy grasped the little fist.
His obligation big, he said: She's mine!
Faith and trust her course, his mother reeled
a simple skiff accommodating two serene
madonna in blue jeans wisely tacking round the corner
and into the next century . . .
Coda
spread with hands the breadth of yearning
singing light rippling down my neck
self-absorption and dried roses use my heart
bright alive with skin breathing poems
thumbed brittle edges fractured blue dismay
I dropped on pages simplest things
directly out of love.
Copyright © Carolyn van Langenberg,
2006.
Carolyn
van Langenberg's latest novel, blue moon, is
the final novel in the fish lips trilogy.
In 2000, fish
lips was short-listed for the
David T K Wong Fellowship, University of East Anglia, and sections
from blue moon when it was a work-in-progress
were highly commended for the Marion Eldridge Award. Set in
the hinterland of Byron Bay in Australia and Penang in Malaysia
from 1941 until the 21st century, fish lips, the
teetotaller's wake and blue
moon (Indra
Publishing) embrace
Australia's negotiation with the word 'colonialism'.
Carolyn lives with her husband and son in Australia's
Blue Mountains.
