Selected poems
My father's signature As I sort unwanted books, 'Arthur C. Richards — Awakino, 1933' — his elegant penmanship on the fly-leaves of old texts, renews an old pang. Newly-wed and years before my birth he taught in the bush, enrolled extramurally for a B.A ... Shakespeare, Milton, Pope, Spenser: here they are with glosses in his hand: 'chiasmus', 'extended metaphor' ... He threw it in. Poetry he never mentioned to me. That same year he became Awakino tennis champ, jumped the fence to the bowling green and also won that competition. This was much mentioned. Meanwhile his father, Arthur S., opposition backbencher, read Left Book Club books on Fascism and the other isms, angers, hatreds, armies. Labour waited its turn. When it came they made New Zealanders 'secure from the cradle to the grave' without isms. Helped fight 'the Axis'. (In Christchurch, unbeknownst to all, young Karl Popper quietly laboured over his 'Open Society'.) Just for the signature I'll keep the books, and go on looking for his 'Tale of a Tub' and 'Battle of the Books' (Swift). They'd made no impact on him, but he kept them as if they deserved his signature on their fly-leaves.
The idea of order at Kew West, Vic. He sang the genius of the suburb.The traffic never ceased but nights it dimmedlike the far hubbub from an ocean beach. The sea in the mind was like disorder,dark, limitless, postponed destination.The drains of all the suburbs combining to a cloacal subterraneanbroad expressway to fragrant Werribeeand its bayside ponds, debouched all in good fulfilling time into the wide Bay andwider Strait and widest Ocean. Beyond,beyond, it called and mostly was ignored. For we preferred the hygiene of Kew West,where homicide was rare or not revealed.The dogs of Kew were kept confined indoors or kennelled in safe back gardens, silent.Even the cats were kept from Kew West's birdswhich warbled genteel melodies all day. The young attended costly private schools,whose uniforms bespoke good discipline,bound by tradition, examinations, team sports, discreetly-clothed swimming lessons.Young men did Engineering, young womenwent into Medicine at appropriate levels, coupled in orderly fashionand reproduced themselves. Kew Cemeteryand Columbarium awaited them. The wild ocean could not be more remote,yet summering down at Portsea, some pausedat times from fun to gaze far out to sea.
Lindens In the park this winter morningtall saplings are waiting in pots.Two gardeners digging holes. I congratulate