[Details of present situation] | I’ve reached the age, or shall do very soon, When Conrad trimly stepped from deck to dock And Proust withdrew into a cork-lined room, Lord Byron failed in love and died of shock; When Shakespeare bought a nice place out of town, John Donne in orders hit the sermon scene, When Virgil jotted the Aeneid down And Rimbaud went and got himself gangrene: The very latest starters had begun And brighter youngsters all been dead for years, Successes long enjoyed their wealth and fun And failures found alternative careers By their mid-thirties. I’ve been left behind To wrestle this intractable c.v., Receive the dole and struggle to remind You why I couldn’t’ve done differently. |
[Wide experience] | Frozen in Finland, rotting in Brazil, Depressed by England, fatuous in France, Bitter in Australia and in Naples ill: I’ve never had a shadow of a chance While younger every year, relative to me, The new arrivals fluently advance, Selling film rights for enormous fees And thanking Councils for their generous grants. |
[Early years] | Yet life once glowed and quivered for me too Till clouds rolled up from nowhere, made me wet. No figure in my carpet’s yet on view: I shiver wondering how the pattern set. Was it choice of job or of location That buggered up one’s chance of early fame? James did seem gaga at the Finland Station, Wordsworth in Campania strangely lame. |
[Studies in Europe] | I warmed to Trotsky in a post-Mai Paris, Called on late-phase Leavis up in York ... Already The Career starts to embarrass: Part-time nightclub bouncing was my work. Then France got bureaucratic, made me leave – Subversion, anyway, begins at home. London offered brief drab grey reprieve Until it seemed that Sydney’s time had come. |
[Extensive journalistic experience] | ‘Miss Teen Universe’ in Murdoch’s Melbourne, ‘Man’s Severed Hand Sewn On’ on the front page Were grisly writer’s debuts, not well borne: I gave up at the ‘Bush Fires Threaten’ stage. The press was more rewarding in its way In New South Wales: I nearly finished dead For a muffed police corruption exposé In a not-quite weekly paper no one read. |
[Civil liberties] | Eluding killers, I did not escape a Little lesson in being really null: They said I smuggled words on bits of paper And wouldn’t let me into Long Bay Jail. |
[Further experience overseas] | Again I slammed the door shut on Australia – Ciao! Worker cop crook wog wasp black gay Jew! In Naples with a seeping sense of failure Taught broken English to a wealthy few. |
[Years of university teaching] | [No tenured, well-paid academic work’ll Ever turn up now, that I can see: When things turned nasty on the Arctic Circle I’d spurned The University, it me.] |
[Multicultural studies] | It took years of trying to arrive at Galeõ three times, yet I must say Brazil, like Italy, is far too private For this Professional Life Resumé. An earthquake and a rise in violent crime Made Naples quite unfit for staying in, Ruined a pleasant unproductive time, So I said goodbye to the Mediterranean. |
[Return to Australia] | Once more across the skies the big jet burns To Antipodes and long black sleepless nights – Whatever it may mean, though, my return’s Not fraught with overtones like Patrick White’s. Forced landing, rather, waiting on repairs: We have no lift-off with this real dud rocket – O shield me, Ray-Ban, from their profane stares – Can’t stick it – fuck it! – Fig Tree Pocket! |
[Current interests] | Furtively I skulk round gaudy bookstalls That flaunt a callow creativity. A quick thumb-through and flinch at passing footfalls – All born since 1950, long since me! |
[Desire to contribute to development of Qld] | Huge concrete bunker complexes are built For conferences, talkfests, jamborees Where every word’s a goad to silent guilt And talkers get expenses plus fat fees. They must develop this urge to create From the yellow XXXX the beer cans hurled About the opulent Skin Cancer State That’s not unlike Brazil, though less Third World. |
[Career perspective] | The place breeds talent, there is ample proof; Where I fit in, as yet, is far from clear: The much-promoted native son Malouf V. child-sex vigilantes everywhere. |
[Medical] | I’m roused by this young green and thrusting force| Despite a new paralysis – my back – Am stirred, perhaps, to mine the new resource, Put down my worn suitcases and unpack. |
[Publications] | Reader, should I turn another page? Fly off to somewhere, maybe even worse? Or limp serenely into middle age And try to flog this flimsy book of verse? |
| [c/o Fig Tree Pocket Qld Australia photopies of relevant documentation & passport-sized photographs furnished on request] |