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...
Valerie
Maynes walks through her house like a stranger.
Straightening
pictures of places
and people that she
doesn't know. Staring in mirrors at faces,
and feeling so low,
she's in danger
Of losing
herself in the shagpile,
And the
corridor's moving so slow.
Valerie
Maynes, switches on the kettle
In the
flickering
fluorescent lighted kitchen
where the Christmas beetles
crack against the glass...
and it was O.K. being lonely
when her husband was still home,
but it gets even harder
when you do it on your own
and everything happened so fast.
So, just a
quick cup of coffee
and another sleeping pill,
I don't do it very often
I'm not feeling very well.
(and a nail in the coffin
and a little drink as well,
while the children are away,
I mean, goodness, what the hell.)
Sammie's
staying a friend's house.
The carpet
by his door is worn down threads
with football boots
and dragging feet
and tantrum stomping time for beds
She puts
her face against it
And can
almost feel his feet.
Pittering
and pattering their way across her cheek.
And from
way down here
She can
almost see his tears,
Welling in
her eyes.
Almost hear
his cries,
Even better
than her
Own of all
those bloody years
That his father
would come home.
All those
bloody nights that their kitchen was a war zone,
A
flickering, fluorescent lighted
Battle
field of beer bottles,
chicken wings
and broken bone.
All the
bloody tears that were wasted in this kitchen,
Could never
contend with a case of V.B.
And then
Sunday mornings in surgeries stitchin'
what a brave boy was Sammy,
what a good little soldier,
what a brave little soldier was he.
And from
way down here,
She can
almost see...
Can almost
see his tears,
Welling in
her eyes,
Can almost
hear his sighs,
Even better
than her own,
Can almost
see him choking,
Can almost
hear him groan.
Can almost
feel him tickling
that small stick of sick
in the back of his throat,
stuck in there sideways,
don't want to come out,
and then empty his insides
on memorial steps.
Valerie
Maynes gets up
And makes
her way down the minefield corridor.
boys go off and fight
themselves,
but it's women who fight a
war.
That's what
her mother told her.
we fight the same battles,
we just make less noise
than men.
She'd like
to ring her mother,
But it's
much too late again,
So, another
cup of coffee
and a quick sleeping pill,
I don't do this very often,
I'm not feeling very well.
(and a nail in the coffin
and a little drink as well,
while the children are away,
...I mean, goodness...
what the hell.
Fools and
Heroes III
And Sam?
Sam is a
soldier now,
He's pale.
He's ashen,
He's
blotched with lichen
Saying I
can get through this.
I can get through.
I'm just a bit pissed
and I'm havin' a spew.
But the
night closes its eyes above him.
And a
bullet hole moon shoots
Through his
skull,
And he
falls over backwards.
And there was
a remarkable lull in the trenches that night.
And you
could've heard a tear drop.
And the
stars went and hid behind Turkish clouds
And
shepherds and kings stumbled about aimlessly.
Lost as
drunkards in a schoolteacher's house.
And nothing
was stirring.
Not even a
mouse.
And in a
school room history class,
With fans
clicking slowly
And girls
in blue stockings,
It;s hard
to imagine the rats.
and hunger,
and trench rotted toes.
And it
probably sounds half crazy
and he's
never told nobody,
But every
face in each school textbook
Looks like
someone that Sam knows.
And the
faces flash before him and
Sing
strains inside his head.
And he
feels himself still falling
And the
full moon is a headlight.
And there's
corpses in the clouds
And there's
concrete in his bed
And as he
falls he hears them singing
And he
hears his head colliding
And he's
sure he hears them singing
Like the
way they sung that night.
The way
they sung that silent smashing,
frozen fucking night.
And in
seventeen years
He'd never
seen a sound as sad as that,
Nor heard a
night as black,
Nor smelt
such distant, burning baking rain,
Nor cried
more like an orphan,
Or ever
would again.
In
seventeen years
He's never
wanted more to hold a hand,
And he's
never been so far from her,
Yet somehow
feels so near.
And the
things he wouldn't do
For a
Glenferrie Rd tram
To take him
back to his sweetheart's
And the
hell out of here.
'cause he
never saw the reason
In the
first bloody place.
And he
never even got to see
His
eighteenth Christmas day.
As the
first two bullet holes of rain
Exploded
against his face,
And the
night closed in around him
And it took
his head away.
Wake. Wet.
Up. Dead.
And Sammy's
asleep
With his
hands 'round a bottle
And face in
a puddle
And his
best friend Max
Doing
chin-ups down memorial steps.
Crawling
toward him,
as pools of vomit
Explode
like land mines.
In crumpled
carnage
Of wet
cigarettes.
Wake. Wet.
Up. Dead.
Wake. Wet.
Up. Dead.
And she
switches on the kettle
In the
flickering fluorescent lighted kitchen
As the
Christmas beetles
Kamikaze
crash
Against the
window pain,
Like
pelting rain.
Bounce and
stumble
Crash
again,
Created by the
lord before he'd even thought of glass,
They never
stood a chance,
Bottles of
tears,
Pounding
against nothing,
Just like
she's done all these years.
And coming
back for more,
Just like
she's done all these years.
Wake. Up.
Dead. Wet.
Dead. Wake.
Up. Wet.
And they're
falling over backwards,
And they're
laughing at the sky,
And they're
singing Christmas carols
Which I've
heard Christmas beetle
Singing as
they die.
They were
smiling around bottles
They were
drowning in the trenches
As the rain
fell in buckets
And belted
the ground.
And she
remembers the blood
And she
remembers the bruises,
But she
misses the company
When he's
not around!
And
sandstone melting
And
backhand belting
And
crumbling words
Duty and
peace
Dissolve
into creeks
And Sam's
under water.
And Max
just freaks,
And goes;
please don't die, Sammy!
Please
don't die!
And finger
nail lightening
Pierces his
eye.
And
car-crash thunder
Explodes in
his head,
He goes;
please don't be dead,
Sammy,
please don 't be dead!
And the
night is in serious need of attention.
It's got a
bit of explaining to do.
And cats
and dogs aren't rating a mention,
It's
raining a fucking entire zoo.
Mrs
December
Through the
park,
she thought
she caught a glimpse,
as she slowly hobbled home.
Amongst the
Pollywaffle wrappers,
Amongst the
brown paper bags
being blown down Wood Street.
Oh, and
these old feet, she says
and she stops
and she stamps them on the
ground,
she says; we've been around,
haven't we?....We three.
And they
agree,
but tell her that she should be
long asleep by now.
But
sometimes sleep hides from her,
And goes
and plays with distant youth,
And to tell
you the truth, she quite likes the night.
And at
breakfast time
they'll tell her
that she ought to take more care,
Still, she
feels sometimes so close to him,
she's sure he must be out there.
And though
the park
she thought
she caught a glimpse.
before the clouds switched off
the moon,
and the war memorial loomed a
brooding shadow
across the hawthorn bowling club.
and she looked up
and she thought
she caught...
She thought
she caught a glimpse of him,
Maladroit
and giggling.
With his
lemonade smile
And his
out-back jaw,
And his
smart new uniform.
...Discarded
on the floor.
and she thought she saw...
she thought she saw...
And she
thought she caught a glimpse of him,
Standing by
the bowling green
Wearing a
smart white uniform, now.
And Panama
hat,
over bald, blotchy brow.
And shirt
over belly,
unbuttoned and out,
And waging
great battles,
'gainst
arthritis and gout....
Some things
are too late to be thinking about.
Besides,
It's a
cold, old wind that's a started up this street,
Loud enough
to wake the dead leaves around her feet.
Bounding down
the Dandenongs like devils in a bush fire,
As purple
and as bossy as a salvation army choir.
And it's
speaking with its mouth full,
And
coughing in one's eye
And rude
enough to outrage
The most
open minded sky,
And; my oh
my, she says,
we'd best get ourselves home,
But the
first two bullet holes of rain
Explode on
sidewalk
And stain
the sandstone gutter
And the war
memorial groans
And the
bowing balls mutter to each other
that you should be long in
bed by now
you should be fast asleep.
Oh, but
these two feet
are just too tired
And it's
too dark for these eyes.
And
everything has just gone quiet,
As if she's
happened upon...Some surprise party...For her?
out here?
and you?
She thought
she caught a glimpse of him
Fingers
crossed and questioning.
still, it was good
to grow up, she says.
oh, but it's
good to grow old.
god, but it's good to come to home, she
says
And she's
trembling like a schoolgirl,
But she
takes hold of his hand,
And she
feels his skin against hers,
And thinks;
well, this is it.
He strokes
her dried apricot cheek
And says;
you haven't changed one bit.
And she says;...Oh,
get away with you.
And the
night quakes and quivers
And the
full moon switches on.
And Max
says; Jesus, mate,
I really thought that you were
gone.
And Sam
splutters rivers
and is coughin' like a one-lunged dero
in a boarding house bed.
shiverin' and chokin' and he's nodding
his head.
Not by a
longshot though, he's not in his head..
Max's
dancin' 'round sayin' somethin' stupid like;
It's a
shame, really mate, I had my eye on yer bike.
As the
first stick of daylight goes off on the horizon.
And the
clouds are sent home.
Sam closes
his eyes,
And this
town's grown a few stories older this morning.
But they
won't all be told around
kitchen tables,
tonight.
Not all
stories are meant for the telling.
Sometimes,
some things just happen,
That's just
what you're gonna find,
Provided
that your sky's in the right frame of mind.
And
provided that you're open
to the kind of attention
that's gonna be paid to you
from time to time.
...Sometimes,
some things just happen.
There's a
pair of cigarette-sick 'n' soakin' wet boys,
There's a
lady in the gutter and there's nothin' on t.v.
Someone's
sleepin' in a kitchen to a flickering noise.
And
everything just kind of the way it should be.