Can I share this poem with you? I'm not sure whether it's legally okay to put someone else's published work on a webpage without getting written permission first - in fact the longer this sentence goes on the surer I am that it's not. However, I hope I'm forgiven, for here it is.
Written by Polish poet Czeslaw Milosz and titled Gift.
Gift
A day so happy.
Fog lifted early, I worked in the garden.
Hummingbirds were stopping over honeysuckle flowers.
There was no thing on earth I wanted to possess.
I knew no one worth my envying him.
Whatever evil I had suffered, I forgot.
To think that once I was the same man did not embarrass me.
In my body I felt no pain.
When straightening up, I saw the blue sea and sails.
I came upon it in a poetry book a few years ago and used a letter my Dad wrote when I was overseas to mark the page.. The letter was one of the briefest Dad had sent .. 5 lines on airmail paper. He wanted me home again. Neither the poem by Milosz nor the letter from my father had any connection to the other beyond the fact that they both felt so male to me. It was as though only a man could think and write the way they did.
Throughout his life Dad was a gardener.. Fruit trees next to the chookspen, a spinning gum behind the boys' room and a tall liquid amber in the front yard that filled the kitchen window with pale yellow light each autumn..
My husband's a gardener too.. even now when the ground's as hard as concrete something in him won't give up on the idea of trying to get a few things to grow..
On Saturday he turned 60 and we had a party here at home.. The boys carried couches and chairs outside, we borrowed a small marquee and strung lights through the apricot tree. Dan ran PC's favourite music out through an open bedroom window via speakers attached to his ipod.. Nearly 60 people came. I never expected the party to happen. Two weeks ago there were fires burning all over the state. A week prior to that Jack had died. Up until Friday I couldn’t believe the night would really go ahead..
But this post is to tell you that it did.. A great party.
I read the poem too.
Friday, February 27, 2009
Thursday, February 19, 2009
a February in Berwick...
I read a short story by Alex Miller the novelist some years ago -or was it an article in the paper? yes I think it was.. anyway, he wrote about his 9 year old daughter asking him how he knew where to start each time he sat down at his desk.
write the truest thing he told her.. write the truest thing..
with that in mind i'm here to say that there are two true things in my head and they've been there all week... my father in law's death and the Victorian bushfires..
Jack was due to have open-heart surgery later this month but died in hospital on Weds 4th February. He'd been admitted the day before suffering from a severe nose bleed. Peter stayed most of that night with him and though Jack was confused when he left to come home he thought that his dad would be okay. Once the bleeding had stopped, his condition was expected to stabilise and then he'd be discharged. The bigger worry Peter thought he'd have to face was in telling him he couldn't go back to his unit and would need to move into a place where he could receive nursing care. Jack was stubborn. How would he take the news? Instead as it happened there was no such conversation. His Dad's last words in the hospital that night were 'This place is a shambles" The following evening Jack died. A doctor raced into the waiting room and told Peter they'd lost his pulse. Earlier the doctor had let P know that if Jack was to have a heart attack in the hospital neither she nor the nurses would try to resuscitate him. The chances of his survival and recovery were not good. Peter called me in tears. His Dad had just gone. I took in what I could. An ending and a beginning. Dan was in his room and I told him. He was shocked but calm. Pip screamed when I rang ..really screamed and I felt as if I'd speared her. Why wasn't I crying? I was glad Chris was with her. In the background I could hear him calling out what's up? what's up? and then his voice was close and I knew he must have been holding her..After a while they hung up. Then I tried the boys. Two had their phones turned off so I left messages to ring me..urgently. I didn't want anyone to hear the news second-hand. Their responses when I did tell them were somehow the same. Shock followed by a sad kind of realism. He'd made it to 91. Dan and I drove to the hospital together. Miles Davis played in the background. By the time we arrived in casualty it was after 9. Jack had passed away at 7. We met Peter in the chapel on the ground floor- "you won't want to see Dad, he looks terrible.." But I did want to see him.. I needed to say goodbye..
Noone about in the corridors -cold glass, plaster-grey walls and dry rustred paint-drops on the vinyl floor leading into the ward.
A young nurse with love in her eyes showed me to where he was.
In a corner of the 4-bed room, curtains drawn and in the semi-dark Jack lay waiting. A woman in the opposite bed moaned. Wrapped tightly in the sheets, Jack looked like an old athlete. A runner who'd just finished a race. Straining forwards off the pillow, eyes closed, chin taut, bristles on his cheeks. He'd made it to the finishing line using all the energy he had. A whole life's run. In his nose the tubes and cotton wool they'd used to stop the bleeding. Uncomfortable, invasive. He'd have suffered a kind of hell in those last hours. I kissed him on the forehead and told him I loved him for that. Some awful nobility in it. I said I knew he loved us too, that he loved me although it wasn't easy for him to say those words to anyone.. For some reason he just couldn't. Then I kissed him again and said thanks for everything.. He'd done his best. His forehead was cold and dry, skin pulled tight like a leather ball. I wished him well. It felt as if his spirit had gone from his body but I thought it could not have gone far. Was he there in the room listening to me? I hoped he was. I was talking to him as if he could hear my words, read my thoughts. I kissed him again. Three kisses, three goodbyes, three regrets...
At times you were mean and grumpy and you wanted so much attention.. too much .. i couldn't give you what you expected.. It didn't seem fair
Did I think this then or is it just now, 10 days later that I'm releasing the old thoughts? The funeral over - it went so well. Not one word was spoken that could have stung the air. Not a word.
Everyone loved him.. what a great man!
I loved his wife -who loved him-and I know that's how I reached him best.
And the other part of the week-two weeks in fact- has been the bushfires.
.. On the news, in the paper and here in my head.. On Saturday 7th February we were in the lounge sifting through a suitcase of Jack's photos, looking for ones that could be used in the funeral booklet. The air con in the corner was blowing over our heads like a sea breeze whilst outside it was 47 degrees, the hottest temperature ever recorded in the state. Less than a 30 minute drive away a bushfire was racing through the Bunyip forest and towards towns nearby. Labertouche, Drouin west, Neerim south. All towns of my childhood . These were the places where dad so often went, visiting farmers and drumming up support for the National Civic Council. Last Saturday those places were going up in smoke. Not only there but elsewhere in Gippsland the bush was burning.. near my brother Paul's home in Churchill -he was standing at his back door, watching the sky when I spoke to him early in the morning and sounded so edgy, a tremor in his voice. "I have friends in Boolarra"..he said "it's seriously worrying..
And on it went.. we kept the radio with us.. 774 had become a lifeline to people everywhere.. The fires were blazing all over the state..I carried the tranny from room to room with me.. Somehow I had to share some of their fear..
Saturday evening Feb 14th was the first time they stopped the bushfire info line and went back for a little while to something remotely like normal programmes.. In this case a soccer semi-final followed by an old BBC comedy show from the 50s or 60s..Just a minute.. Was this to take everyone's minds away from the terror of the fires..the constancy of fear?..
It's relentless.. the smoke smell overnight and in through the doors early this morning, the pierce of the sirens as fire engines from the depot by the railway station a couple of streets away go out again and again..
Where are they going?
will they be safe?
When will it end?
I should be doing something.. not just the money or the clothes..and not just writing.. something actual and practical.. a very real kindness for very real people..
what?
write the truest thing he told her.. write the truest thing..
with that in mind i'm here to say that there are two true things in my head and they've been there all week... my father in law's death and the Victorian bushfires..
Jack was due to have open-heart surgery later this month but died in hospital on Weds 4th February. He'd been admitted the day before suffering from a severe nose bleed. Peter stayed most of that night with him and though Jack was confused when he left to come home he thought that his dad would be okay. Once the bleeding had stopped, his condition was expected to stabilise and then he'd be discharged. The bigger worry Peter thought he'd have to face was in telling him he couldn't go back to his unit and would need to move into a place where he could receive nursing care. Jack was stubborn. How would he take the news? Instead as it happened there was no such conversation. His Dad's last words in the hospital that night were 'This place is a shambles" The following evening Jack died. A doctor raced into the waiting room and told Peter they'd lost his pulse. Earlier the doctor had let P know that if Jack was to have a heart attack in the hospital neither she nor the nurses would try to resuscitate him. The chances of his survival and recovery were not good. Peter called me in tears. His Dad had just gone. I took in what I could. An ending and a beginning. Dan was in his room and I told him. He was shocked but calm. Pip screamed when I rang ..really screamed and I felt as if I'd speared her. Why wasn't I crying? I was glad Chris was with her. In the background I could hear him calling out what's up? what's up? and then his voice was close and I knew he must have been holding her..After a while they hung up. Then I tried the boys. Two had their phones turned off so I left messages to ring me..urgently. I didn't want anyone to hear the news second-hand. Their responses when I did tell them were somehow the same. Shock followed by a sad kind of realism. He'd made it to 91. Dan and I drove to the hospital together. Miles Davis played in the background. By the time we arrived in casualty it was after 9. Jack had passed away at 7. We met Peter in the chapel on the ground floor- "you won't want to see Dad, he looks terrible.." But I did want to see him.. I needed to say goodbye..
Noone about in the corridors -cold glass, plaster-grey walls and dry rustred paint-drops on the vinyl floor leading into the ward.
A young nurse with love in her eyes showed me to where he was.
In a corner of the 4-bed room, curtains drawn and in the semi-dark Jack lay waiting. A woman in the opposite bed moaned. Wrapped tightly in the sheets, Jack looked like an old athlete. A runner who'd just finished a race. Straining forwards off the pillow, eyes closed, chin taut, bristles on his cheeks. He'd made it to the finishing line using all the energy he had. A whole life's run. In his nose the tubes and cotton wool they'd used to stop the bleeding. Uncomfortable, invasive. He'd have suffered a kind of hell in those last hours. I kissed him on the forehead and told him I loved him for that. Some awful nobility in it. I said I knew he loved us too, that he loved me although it wasn't easy for him to say those words to anyone.. For some reason he just couldn't. Then I kissed him again and said thanks for everything.. He'd done his best. His forehead was cold and dry, skin pulled tight like a leather ball. I wished him well. It felt as if his spirit had gone from his body but I thought it could not have gone far. Was he there in the room listening to me? I hoped he was. I was talking to him as if he could hear my words, read my thoughts. I kissed him again. Three kisses, three goodbyes, three regrets...
At times you were mean and grumpy and you wanted so much attention.. too much .. i couldn't give you what you expected.. It didn't seem fair
Did I think this then or is it just now, 10 days later that I'm releasing the old thoughts? The funeral over - it went so well. Not one word was spoken that could have stung the air. Not a word.
Everyone loved him.. what a great man!
I loved his wife -who loved him-and I know that's how I reached him best.
And the other part of the week-two weeks in fact- has been the bushfires.
.. On the news, in the paper and here in my head.. On Saturday 7th February we were in the lounge sifting through a suitcase of Jack's photos, looking for ones that could be used in the funeral booklet. The air con in the corner was blowing over our heads like a sea breeze whilst outside it was 47 degrees, the hottest temperature ever recorded in the state. Less than a 30 minute drive away a bushfire was racing through the Bunyip forest and towards towns nearby. Labertouche, Drouin west, Neerim south. All towns of my childhood . These were the places where dad so often went, visiting farmers and drumming up support for the National Civic Council. Last Saturday those places were going up in smoke. Not only there but elsewhere in Gippsland the bush was burning.. near my brother Paul's home in Churchill -he was standing at his back door, watching the sky when I spoke to him early in the morning and sounded so edgy, a tremor in his voice. "I have friends in Boolarra"..he said "it's seriously worrying..
And on it went.. we kept the radio with us.. 774 had become a lifeline to people everywhere.. The fires were blazing all over the state..I carried the tranny from room to room with me.. Somehow I had to share some of their fear..
Saturday evening Feb 14th was the first time they stopped the bushfire info line and went back for a little while to something remotely like normal programmes.. In this case a soccer semi-final followed by an old BBC comedy show from the 50s or 60s..Just a minute.. Was this to take everyone's minds away from the terror of the fires..the constancy of fear?..
It's relentless.. the smoke smell overnight and in through the doors early this morning, the pierce of the sirens as fire engines from the depot by the railway station a couple of streets away go out again and again..
Where are they going?
will they be safe?
When will it end?
I should be doing something.. not just the money or the clothes..and not just writing.. something actual and practical.. a very real kindness for very real people..
what?
Sunday, February 1, 2009
on the way once again.
An hour after posting the last piece on this screen, Anthony drops a couple of typed sheets on the kitchen table and asks me to interview him. For a job. A Mission Australa position working with African youth in Dandenong. Part-time -19 hours a week - helping refugeees to get involved in sport in the local area. He's made up a mock interview for himself using questions that I presume he's found on the internet. A dry run to help prepare him for the real experience on Tuesday afternoon.
My 29 year old son has had chronic fatigue for around 5 years. For the last 12 months he's been on health benefits, living back home, resting and taking care of himself and has gradually come good again.
I am reading an old interview between John Updike and Martin Amis on a website when Anthony gives me the list of possible questions and his answers to these then he goes off to his room to get something, which I twig is to give me a chance to read over his notes. Minutes later he's back again, smiling and ready to go.
I have not looked at the notes.
So why do you want the job I ask and as I say this I realize I have to be absolutely serious with him. I lose my smile .. My voice sounds plain but strong.
Anthony looks straight at me. I like working with people he says. I know how important sport can be -particularly for youth and I know how to organize things...I'd like to have the opportunity to help others if I can..
And this is how it goes.. as much as I remember what answers he gives me in the interview, -I don't actually remember much of what he says- the thing that stays with me more is the whole way he approaches each question.. the openness of his face, the clear eyed look he gives me, the way he stops talking and sits for a moment to think of what he's saying. the honesty of his replies . how direct he is when he speaks. the way when I ask so what do you find difficult when you're working? and he says that he's learned that if he puts in too much of himself it isn't good. That he understands the importance of keeping a balance between work and a private life.. How he believes this job will allow him to find that balance.. and that one day a week he'll get work washing dishes, something unskilled.. which he's sure won't be too hard to find.
I flick through the answers he's written on the sheets and tell him we've covered everything.. I say if it were me I'd give him the job ..and he smiles and pushes his chair back.
The afternoon goes on. I sit at the table with a cup of tea and listen to a bird chipping an end of day call on the lawn out the back.. The fan above me whirs away as it has for most of the weekend.. All I know is that this is the antidote to the reality of that last piece of writing..
The balance is back.
My 29 year old son has had chronic fatigue for around 5 years. For the last 12 months he's been on health benefits, living back home, resting and taking care of himself and has gradually come good again.
I am reading an old interview between John Updike and Martin Amis on a website when Anthony gives me the list of possible questions and his answers to these then he goes off to his room to get something, which I twig is to give me a chance to read over his notes. Minutes later he's back again, smiling and ready to go.
I have not looked at the notes.
So why do you want the job I ask and as I say this I realize I have to be absolutely serious with him. I lose my smile .. My voice sounds plain but strong.
Anthony looks straight at me. I like working with people he says. I know how important sport can be -particularly for youth and I know how to organize things...I'd like to have the opportunity to help others if I can..
And this is how it goes.. as much as I remember what answers he gives me in the interview, -I don't actually remember much of what he says- the thing that stays with me more is the whole way he approaches each question.. the openness of his face, the clear eyed look he gives me, the way he stops talking and sits for a moment to think of what he's saying. the honesty of his replies . how direct he is when he speaks. the way when I ask so what do you find difficult when you're working? and he says that he's learned that if he puts in too much of himself it isn't good. That he understands the importance of keeping a balance between work and a private life.. How he believes this job will allow him to find that balance.. and that one day a week he'll get work washing dishes, something unskilled.. which he's sure won't be too hard to find.
I flick through the answers he's written on the sheets and tell him we've covered everything.. I say if it were me I'd give him the job ..and he smiles and pushes his chair back.
The afternoon goes on. I sit at the table with a cup of tea and listen to a bird chipping an end of day call on the lawn out the back.. The fan above me whirs away as it has for most of the weekend.. All I know is that this is the antidote to the reality of that last piece of writing..
The balance is back.
too real..
In Victoria we've been in the middle of an extraordinary heat wave.. For more than a week the house has felt as though a thick block of material has been pushed in through the windows and doors and is now stuck there.. It reached 45 this afternoon-113 in the old scale-following a week of 43s and 44- and now there's a bit of north wind to ramp things up even more.. The past few nights I've slept in the lounge with the air con on ..Alone.. The sofabed too narrow, the mattress springs too uncomfortable for two bodies to plot a path to sleep through...My husband prefers to lie directly under the ceiling fan in our bedroom.. Last night I woke at one stage and clutched the bottle of water beside me and thought of the daphne in the pot on the front porch.. During the day it had wilted to the point that like the dead parrot sketch it was a plant no longer. I got up and dosed it with a jug of water from the kitchen..
Elsewhere there's a lot going on..The train systems's up the spout, tracks have buckled like cheap plastic rulers in the heat..Electricity supplies have been on stop-start mode in many parts of the city..and there are bushrires-deliberately lit- on farmland at the edge of my old home town
But this news is not the worst..
On Thursday morning just before 9 am while driving his kids to school across the Westgate , the bridge that links Melbourne's east and west, a man who'd apparently agreed a day earlier to shared custody arrangements for his three children, stopped his car, opened the back door, lifted his 4 year old daughter out of her seat, carried her to the edge of the roadway then dropped her over the side into the water below.. Just like that..
Elsewhere there's a lot going on..The train systems's up the spout, tracks have buckled like cheap plastic rulers in the heat..Electricity supplies have been on stop-start mode in many parts of the city..and there are bushrires-deliberately lit- on farmland at the edge of my old home town
But this news is not the worst..
On Thursday morning just before 9 am while driving his kids to school across the Westgate , the bridge that links Melbourne's east and west, a man who'd apparently agreed a day earlier to shared custody arrangements for his three children, stopped his car, opened the back door, lifted his 4 year old daughter out of her seat, carried her to the edge of the roadway then dropped her over the side into the water below.. Just like that..
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