leonardcohenforum.com

Is something lost..?

My old Aunty sat by her window, smiling,
drifting back to her golden days
with her two little nephews;
when Robbie was alive and she was fulfilled.

“Profound !..profound
it was so profound, dear.
Do you remember that time
at Horseshoe Bay
with Robert ?”

...We were both eight years old;
Robert and I agreed
it was a great day for fishing
but before we galloped
down to Horse-shoe Bay jetty
we quizzed our wonderful Aunty Estelle
about a knife.

“I only brought one on this holiday
it’s part of a set
it’s old
it was my Mother’s
your Grandmother’s
so it’s precious;
you can use it
boys, but please

don’t lose it !”

Robbie and I strolled down the steep hill
to visions blue,
the people-pebbled beach,
little jetty,
hand line, bait and knife
all in a bucket of summer smiles
and cousinhood;
true-blue mate-ship
full of hope and holidays'
adventurous knowing:

for hadn’t we baited hooks before
and hadn’t we won the catch
and wasn’t this a day of days
and weren’t we here, living it ?

The kalomping waves and swoosh rolled under
the jarrah timber planks,
old and tougher than storms.
Peering through gaps
we watched
maidens walk a plank as Blackbeard lunged
while the rumble and swill of grey-green water
sang in the sharks, squid and fish.

Robert took that knife
from between his pearly pirate teeth
and cracked a mussel shell;
then placing that dagger down
ever so sea-salt-ly on its hilt,
90 degrees to the narrow slot
between life and death ,
between plank and honour;
swift access guaranteed,
yet safe.
Job done.

Line-lifting
a sinker swung at easy pace
to a gentle tap and turn
of ivory handle hilting
on some unforeseen axis
that now tilted, tipped,
slipped cruelly through
slow motion air,
down an improbable gap
glimmering through planks to.... plonk!
tumbling our joy into oceanic depths
of loss and remorse;
caught on some unhappy hook of fate
sunk,
bottoming to guiltlessly guilty.

The tide was higher than our hopes
the waves were stronger than our arms
those rocks were craggier than Uncle’s scowl.

So we walked the homeward path plotting
our uphill defence;
onward into that kitchen-court
we snuck:
as a door swung
our holiday happiness hinged...

“ ha, ha, You asked me dear, profoundly,”:
‘Aunty? Is something lost if you know where it is ?’

------------------------

...We lost Uncle last Friday
( he whom even Rommel and his thousands
could not kill )
while my kind old Auntie sailed on
Seas of Dementia.

And there;
where Uncle's casket dropped
between two hardwood planks
her splash of Faith fathomed
profoundly echoing;

‘Is something lost if you know where it is ?’

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ceWKrsJX ... L&index=28

Mat James
13/08/09

I read and re-read this poem, each time discovering something I hadn't seen before.

I liked the way you contrasted the promise of the walk downhill to the jetty with the gloomy, apprehensive walk uphill, back to the 'kitchen court'; and I loved your question to Aunty Estelle!

You tell wonderful stories Mat, I don't know if they're real/personal or not, but they always seem to be. Thank you.

Thanks I.F.

I don't know if they're real/personal or not, but they always seem to be.

My poems are reflections on moments and people in my life. I am not inclined to write fiction and I don't have the discipline or the talent.
Introspection is my game.

Uncle was a soldier of the Australian 9th Division. This band of men were the most highly decorated division in the Allied forces in WW2.

Many tributes were paid to the Division, but what many would regard as the ultimate tribute was paid some considerable time later-on 6 June 1944 (D Day), when the Allies landed in Normandy.

With the freedom of the world at stake, Major-General Francis de Guingaund, Chief of Staff of Field Marshal Montgomery's Land-force Headquarters, said:

"My God, I wish we had 9th Australian Division with us this morning".

http://www.diggerhistory.info/pages-con ... iv-aif.htm

Here's a sad Aussie favourite, written by a Scottish Immigrant and sung by an Irishman.
This song is about Aussies fighting in WW1, in Turkey. My Uncle fought in coastal Egypt (El Alamein) in WW2
...and now we are back there again for some "good cause", again.
(http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VktJNNKm3B0&NR=1)

the Pogues have a good version too. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GPFjToKu ... re=related

I like your poem, a lot, Mat.
The song you refer to is also a favourite of mine. Here's the version by the writer, the 'Scottish immigrant' Eric Bogle.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WG48Ftsr3OI
He is retiring from international touring on completion of this current tour. I would urge anyone to catch one of his last concerts if at all possible. Only a couple of dates in England left, several in Scotland through August and September, then on to Canada.
http://ericbogle.net/concerts/index.htm
Also shed a tear with another of his: No-man's land (Green fields of France)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mUzQ6Am-bbc
Dave

Hi Mat,

like I.F. I have been back to read several times and have enjoyed. your poem. It is well told and I could easily imagine being there, watching these little boys as there knife slipped through the planks and could feel the worry as they walked back up to face whatever the result would be.
Your Aunt sounds like a lovely and loving woman, I'm sorry for her loss.

Cate

Hi Mat ~

I read your poem with tears in my eyes. With your mention of your Aunty telling you not to lose it, I watched for when you would... hoping for you not to... but you went and did it, anyway. Your story really captured me.

The kalomping waves and swoosh rolled under

Many lines I could point out, but I liked this for your description of being at water's edge. A fine tale and a finer telling. I'm glad I opened the door to this thread.

Poignant throughout, and the link between your question regarding her knife and then her husband, made it especially so.

Thanks for the care you took in honing your poem.


~ Lizzy