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for
Martin
Not
content with his own voice, the lyre bird soon launches into
mimicry.
I
am a derivative poet. - Robert Duncan
1.
"The
fall of a sparrow, the flight of a mango, each takes place
beneath
the angel wings of our providence - "
"I
prefer the formal approach:
first
write your title and your epigraph, then add the poem - "
"Look,
there he goes, down Darlinghurst Road, like
Cupid
and Psyche in one, gulping precautions as he goes - "
"I
prefer to watch the Liar Byrd, whose many mounds are one. "
2.
He
claims his cry -
"My, my cry, my, my cry!"
- seems not
what
it is -
Men you are, men you are, beautiful,
men
you are here, menhir, many menhir -
His tears -
torn
from eyes in a dream of stones
on
that Cornish coast, true, oh, illustrious
man
you are superb, a god, yet
damned,
as only
a dancing byrd can be
3.
Down
by the river he chooses a stone,
down
by the river he chooses a stone,
drives
down south by the light of the moon
- tail-shimmering, secret and wary,
inquisitive
-
Carries
that stone under his tongue,
carries
it there, memento of home,
won’t
ever leave go till he’s under the ground
- by night he retires to the top of a tall tree -
4.
He
seems ti fictionalise himself.
Mere
ferality does not impress me.
Look
at the way he makes his way.
The
climb from Pearl Beach to the bathing pools.
How
through him the present is represented.
His
life makes each place he lives
come
alive as if for the first time.
As
if.
5.
Isn’t
that Black Wattle Bay?
How
do you mean?
6.
In
the Palace of Death
the invisible hands that serve
here
the bed of love
the invisible hands that serve
the
monster boy god pours oil
waters the face of Death
7.
What
do you require to renovate such a consummate liar?
A
light foot, a stolen line, a competent singer,
and some place to sing withal
What’s
that he says?
Kiss
and ride, kiss and ride.
Where
to?
Man, can that man go!
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