#1456 - the road from Christmas Eve

 

1456

4.360

27.xii.23

the road from Christmas Eve

 

for Rob Shackne

 

As I rode in to Gundagai,

I met a man and passed him by

Without a nod, without a word.

He turned, and said he’d never heard

Or seen a man so wise as I.

But I rode on to Gundagai.

              – C.J. Dennis

 

 

someone must have been there then once

on the day

back in the day

when everything got named

 

by some explorer or other

remittance men mainly

homicidal, some

 

biblical in aspiration

plague-wise, I mean

 

dig here!

 

dusty

tap furthest

 

all creatures stirring

bandicoot and antechinus

the sensible in hiding

slept it all off by Boxing Day 

 

funny name for a town

Christmas Eve

or it was once

 

we were rough in the hunches

 

not much there now

half eaten boards, some rusted tin

tumbleweed blow

 

it was on one of those old NRMA strip maps

in miles and shillings

‘watch out for the tallest silo roundabouts’

 

this that named for Trudge, the explorer

and his faithful

just like the highway

 

better than Tumbledick Whatsit

or Murdering Gorge

 

though Christmas can well be like that

with the uncles and the blow-in waifs

 

(next station along)

we took the old road from Christmas

the back way, by midden, thefted

 

that’s when the tree went up

grassfire, bit of a breeze

 

it’s how we got started

that’s how we tell it

on all the days of Christmas

 

all about true love and giving

three ships and so on

tree pear shaped

 

by now, you’ll imagine

come to the coast for relief

crowds getting away

from themselves

 

we rented a little place

between there and New Year

 

I wouldn't call it exactly a shack

 

tides perfect for wading

and riding in without a board

 

of course one had to watch out

for  the dumpers, the rips

sand in the pants de rigeur

we were lobsters

 

it was still the longest day

one kept under-hat and breeze beholden

 

but that was never enough

peel once

peel twice

 

now the turkey is a fanciful beast

lives on for days

on the hill in there (by the golden plains)

a celebrant of sorts

 

it's eat me and drink me

it’s guzzle

and golly whiskers

 

we lived out of the Christmas fridge

good thing no climate change then

 

days plentiful

nights plump

 

but once or twice climbed in

 

one silver ball fell from the tree

the solar lights kept on

 

full as a goog that Camambert moon

 

mainly though

constant companion of sun

gets gold star

for persistence

 

the cicadas too

 

ants telling

 

it was the Land of Lollabout

far far west of Nod

 

we all wished for Antarctica

made do with sprinkler

 

the garden made of afternoon

 

my great novel was underway

as brought on by beer

 

things degenerate, some might say

by rum

by chocolate

 

by then

we lived in an esky

I tell no lies

 

on leftovers

and all our spoons of the runcible kind

 

yes I was painting a picture too

and you were in it

you and you  

 

mum said

‘don’t give your Uncle Michael a heart attack’

like that was something you could get at Christmas

or from Christmas, just after

 

one did know that a war was going

over the hills and far away

 

Christmas was already ages ago

fix bayonets again

 

though we were still in the spirit

 

satyrs and maenads mainly

Diana went for a dip

 

and under the Bong Tree

jigs, gavottes

nameless twirls for feeling

not a piggy-wig to market

 

Bacchus, Dionysus

they’re the big winners

 

quick wickets when play resumes

everything tending to opera

who could tire of totem tennis

or bowls or shuttlecock or quoits?

 

mad silhouettes of branches, birds 

you could float away

but study the shipping, the spills

 

some clothing was compulsory

at certain hours and thongs

cause sand was hot

 

all effort pointless, some say

 

when the wind died down

news ceased altogether

no planes fell, they kept on flying

 

the year was already chocka

no further information could penetrate the skull

 

still music for a radio

there was ethereal immortal

as all who live the longest day

 

texts that came in then

were only party invitations

 

nor would they ever expire

because tonight is always coming

the day goes on all hours

 

work?!

don't make me laugh

slavery was long abolished!

 

or maybe in America someone making cars

more fool them, a mass shooting

 

we just sunk further in the lawn, the lounge

there was the odd arduous journey

lilo to hammock, that sort of thing

then laughter dissolved into fits

 

more ice!

 

certain howevers were hanging

(things set adrift come awash)

there was something I got my back into

a minor repair I suppose

result was a fucking Taj Mahal

(cool for the regions requiring shade)

 

a candle lit for somewhere cold

we thought the dark of them

 

a telescope for the brief bright blaze

but mainly a veranda's dreaming

of was-and-will-be

 

all sorts of things from other years

that's what you get between-times

 

a bird flew through

 

someone else buzzed in

things bit

I'll admit

but neither were they greedy either

 

words wanting surely found us there

 

they were playing our song

so we joined in

 

it was ping and pong

we chased a ball

far off in the scrub

tea time when we got back

 

there was a year to come

everyone had a flash new diary

beautifully blank

 

out windows

we caught waves of ether

but they were harmless passing

a kind of cherry liqueur waft still

or Baileys for the afterburp

 

we lost count in the days of Christmas

like a birthday after

goes on for as long as distraction lets

(further than you can count)

 

between 'Medina' and 'Dun Romin'

'Languorous' we named the shack

I mean the under-esky

as if it were something clever Scottish

 

Hobart was too far

for a little boat back then

but how heroic black and white

you had to imagine them bronzed

 

accordion up in the attic

kookaburras set off on the wire

 

and then the uncles finally came

 

Uncle John

with some fabulous counterfactual, the picture of a machine

,.. said ‘you just wait, everyone will be using a computer

and every day too’

Uncle Michael was defending some old pope

and he’d brought a long a priest, fine fellow

 

we spoke of drugs and abortion

 

a chuckle for dad

mum went moping up the stairs

but supper had been had, don’t worry

 

it was like there was time for everything

 

Bush Week

you might have called it

and a christening was daily expected

it was sixpence of chips

down at the shops

a Raz, a Sunnyboy

there were fizzy drinks too

pink champagne (kids' lemonade), or GI

gum leaves everywhere about

 

but time does slip away

 

you might well wonder where we’ve gone

but we haven’t

 

we’re still here

where else would we be?

 

Christmas comes from forever

but it takes forever too

 

it’s God wanting to be born

so what can you expect?

 

love is the leaftop treeshine

a mulberration

stars of brief night

 

just so we come to the end of days

blessed clouds survive the year