In
the text given on the following pages I have maintained the font, punctuation
and page configuration used in the version of the poem published for the
opening of the Hawthorn Literary Festival, Hawthorn Town Hall, March 14, 1995
as much as possible. The original publication was typed onto foolscap sized
pages, not A4 sized pages as used here. For this reason some spaces between
lines or sections of the poem have been reduced.
Under An
Open Minded Sky©Felix Nobis.
Fools and
Heroes I
They were
falling over backwards,
They were
laughing at the sky.
They were
smiling around bottles,
and singing; Bye bye, Miss
American pie,
In so so
American accents.
And if his
dad was still around
He'd smack
some sense into him quick smart.
And if his
mum knew where he was
He'd never
leave the house again.
But they
had thirty bucks,
And a faked
I.D.
Twelve big
brothers
In a case
of V.B.
With a
packeta Twisties
And Holiday
50's,
A hip
flaska ouzo
And halfa
J.D.
They had
another eight hours
Stretched
out before 'em
Black as a
highway,
Right into
mornin'.
He's never
done this before, 'nd he's
Never done
this before.
The night
is like an ocean now.
so cold 'nd calm,
'nd still 'nd wide
'nd still so far to the other side.
And Sam is
a sailor.
In the
middle of the football oval,
with his bottle and his swagger
and his best friend Max
doing chin-ups on the score board.
And Sam
drinks and winces
And dances
on the grass.
And Max
loses grip and lands ten feet on his arse
But a plane
crash couldn't break drunk
young
bones
And he
stands and he groans
And he
hurdles the fence
And he
falls into step
And Sam
can't stop laughin' to light two cigarettes
And they
fall over backwards
And laugh
at the stars
And smile
around bottles
And play
air-guitars
And sing at
the night
The
headlight moon
And cry
tears of cold
And alcohol
fumes
And god,
but it's good to grow up, they say
god, but it's good to be men.
god, but it's good to be old, they say
'cause
they'll never be that young again.
and they'll never be that young again.
And, god,
they'd make great heroes,
if there'd only be a war,
if good causes weren't all taken,
there was still things 'round worth
fighting for.
Jeez, they'd
make top heroes,
as they stumble through the dark.
across the minefield football oval,
through the jungles' St James Park.
they'd make brilliant bloody heroes,
if they just had a war to go to.
But all
they get to makin'
Is a
nuisance of themselves.
And wakin'
the old women
with their yahoo, bloody yells.
And
smashin' stubby bottles
'gainst the war memorial steps.
From park
bench trenches,
By the glow
of cigarettes.
Memorial
Pale.
Ashen.
Blotched
with lichen.
Like an old
man's skin.
Receiving
visitors.
Although
nobody's been
By for
quite some time.
It gets
difficult.
The old
visit the old.
The old.
Visit the old.
On a fine
day
He'll watch
the floral print women
Read large print
books on
N fold-out
chairs.
But on some
days he broods.
Alone and
he broods.
About the
horrible burden he bears.
Valour.
Duty. Peace.
Harassed in
their sleep.
Crumble
when it rains.
And Valour.
Dut.
Is all that
now remains.
...Peace
was never gonna last long.
"Dedicated
to the memory
Of their
fellow citizens who fought."
And their
fellow citizens who thought
They would
never fight again.
"In
the Great War."
World War II
...And the
next war. Borneo
and the couple more that we snuck in.
'round the back. Korea
chiselled up.
modest as latecomers at a funeral. Malaya
Peace was
never gonna last long
Valour and
Dut. Is all that now remains.
Dut (e)
Dut as it
should be, some might say,
There
should never have been a why in duty, anyway.
Ain't no
bloody room for why's when it comes to duty, anyway.
Why?
Because
it's your duty
Yeah, but
why?
Because
it's your duty.
Why
(and it's hard to
imagine
these things so long ago,
but every face in each school text book
looks like Someone that I know.)
And only valour
remains.
And valour
always will
History
contains
Such an
excess of valour,
It
overflows, spilling the blood of millions
Down into the
drains of time.
Such an
excess of valour,
Cheap as
quaff wine,
Expendable
as wanton seamen;
Keeps you
up at night screamin'
"what
am I supposed to do with all this?
I can't
possibly use it all constructively,
There's
just too much.
It'll only
get me into trouble!
It'll end
in tears."
Yeah,
valour appears
down the pages of history,
through the ages of man,
along the annals of misery,
of civil wars
and broken hearts
revolutions,
bleeding hands
and broken windows.
jungle arcade war Nintendoes
punctured arms
and shaved heads,
Jack Daniels,
Windfield Reds
black eyes
'round the kitchen table,
petrol bombs
in backyard sheds.
Such an excess
of valour
That it
plays on every football team,
Still
haunts the Roman Colosseum,
There on
every race track
Saying;
this time she'll come through!
Been having
unsafe sex
And it's
hitch hiking round Europe
And it's
started bungy-jumping
'cause what
else is there to do?
A boat
leaving a harbour
Valour's
standing there on deck.
It's the
life of every buck's night
The corpse
in every car-wreck.
It's pissed
at every party and proposing to drive home,
And it's
coughed it's guts up smokin',
chokin' back just one more cone.
Where ever
there is ouzo
There'll be
lips to wrap around it.
You think
that you've outgrown it
But then
valour's gone and found it,
And it
wakes up in a gutter,
And it's
spluttering and pissed
And it's
smashing bloody windows
With its
bare bloody fist.
Where ever
there is danger,
There'll be
volunteer!
Where ever
there are hormones,
Where ever
there is fear!
Where ever
there is trouble
Getting
through a case of beer,
Valour gets
up from the corner
and says;
bloody, give it here!
Christ, it
left home early,
and it messed around with drugs,
it got a tattoo
and it lied about its age.
it cheated on the missus
and it beated up the kids
and it only tried it once
and it ended up with aids.
and it'd go out every Saturday
lookin' for a fight,
or throwin' V.B. stubby bottles
at a peaceful Hawthorn night!
And it
broke its mother's heart
And lay
chokin' in the rain.
but no matter what you do to it,
Valour.
Valour.
Valour
remains.
Fools and
Heroes II
For a night
turns many corners,
(as all
good sailors know.)
And it's
just below the surface,
Where the
monsters are
and memories wait
and ghosts of long ago
dance behind closed eyes,
and sing lullabies in your head.
And Sam
recognises faces,
and choruses singing,
And he's
trying to focus,
but his stomach's giving way.
And his
mind is a minefield,
And each
thought he comes up with
Takes one
wrong step
And gets
blasted away.
And the
beer is getting warmer
And not
getting any smaller
And the
ouzo tastes like rations
And it
teases his throat before making its way down.
And he
swears, each time he shivers
it gets colder with each mouthful.
And when
the war is over,
it's always quite nice to go home.
And Sam is
thinking about his mother, now.
Sleeping in
her bed
And he
wonders if she misses him,
And he
wonders what's on telli,
And most of
the good things have been said, by now.
Most of the
good things,
Have long
ago been said.
Valerie
Maynes
Tick. Tock.
Tick. Tock...
The movie's
over.
I missed
some in the middle
but I've seen it once before.
She just
went up the street
To pick up
some tea,
By the time
she'd said grace
Over her
K.F.C.
She'd
missed a little.
in the middle.
But she had
seen it once before...
Another
one's started.
Maybe just
ten minutes,
Maybe I'll
feel tired then.
She'd like to
ring her mother,
But it's
much too late again,
So maybe
just ten minutes...