Humanity’s Crime
Mubarak Hameed
Preston, VIC
I am trapped in between
time, in love with humanity,
Saddened by our crimes
Powerless and helpless
I cannot condemn the unkind
We stole oil,
We stole bread,
We stole peace,
We stole keys to chains and left anger unleashed,
We stole lives of
children, brothers and sisters, mothers and fathers,
grandmothers and grandfathers, friends and lovers
We stole humanity’s gift
Bodies declared war on neighbours,
While parents breathe ashes of their children,
We made them homeless
While we live comfortably through their sufferings,
How can I be a pacifist,
when I remain idle to our crimes?
Ed: The last two lines of this poem caused discourse in the narrator office. Poetry like this challenges your thinking and makes you reflect on your beliefs and choices in life and the way you view yourself in the world. Art is at its noblest form when it inspires this sort of reflection, for without it, we will never aspire to be better human beings.
Saturday 5 October 2013
The Busker
Subroto Pant
Sinnamon Park, QLD
Tucked inside yesterday’s Courier Mail was a little news item about an old busker who was hit by a vehicle at the intersection of Adelaide and Edward Streets. The police are looking for the driver of a vehicle that fatally struck a 66 year old man in Brisbane early Sunday. The incident happened around 6 am and the responding officers found the man, identified as Frank Wallis, unconscious and unresponsive with trauma about the body, lying on the road.
On any given day as you wander down the Brisbane CBD you can find a smorgasbord of street performers sharing their talents with tourists, visitors and shoppers. The buskers thrive in this city, especially on the weekends, with roadside performances drawing a fair number of spectators. The city offers diverse fare from musicians, mime artists, balloon artists and street artists sharing their wares. Some are quite well known, like the blind saxophonist Graham Pampling, the Aboriginal didgeridoo player Adrian Burragubba and the guitarist Tim Brennan. There are others who perform in anonymity but you can sense that they enjoy themselves tremendously while busking.
The first time I heard Frank Wallis play was on the corner of Adelaide and Edward Streets, the place where Queens Plaza now stands. He was belting out an al fresco version of To Love Somebody. I smiled as he was taking a certain amount of artistic liberty with the lyrics that Robin and Barry Gibb wrote, interspersing little words of his own in the lyrics. Words that only a true fan would know, that were deviating from the original. I can still remember him belting them out.
You don't know Baby what it's like, you don't even know what it's like, To love somebody ... like the way I love you
There's ... a certain kind of spotlight that never shone on me bright ... You ain'tever got to be so blind, I'm a kinda man, can't you see what I am?, I live and breathe for youse, But what good does that do, If I ain't got you babe?
There was something about him in the way he performed, an infectious enthusiasm that sucked you in. In appearance he was a tall, tanned man, narrow framed and supple. At that time he had a frayed t-shirt on and you could glimpse his tattooed arms. He moved in perfect rhythm as he kept tapping, singing and dancing away. He knew how to work the guitar and the voice was something you could listen to. Well, at least I could, so I stayed listening. When he finished, as it happens with buskers, some people walk away, the others look awkwardly inside their wallets and purses and hesitantly bring out random coins with sheepish grins. I too took out some money and dropped it in his collection box. There were some CDs for sale and a few newspaper clippings that I barely glanced at then. I left soon after, catching the train from Central Station, humming To Love Somebody on the Ipswich line.
In the course of the following few months, I came across him performing at the same spot. I always stopped and listened to the sounds of the Bee Gees from this street musician. Somehow he always pulled it off, whether it was the distinctly R&B influenced Jive Talkin’ or Nights on Broadway which used Barry Gibb's falsetto extensively and marked the group’s movement in the direction of early disco. He knew me as a regular and I always put some money in his collection box, figuring out the peppy mood it put me into made it worthwhile.
It was one of those nights when I heard the familiar beats of Stayin’ Alive pulsing in the city streets. I am a fan of the Gibb brothers. I have more than a passing familiarity with the lyrics of their songs as compared to other groups I don’t know at all. I know that Stayin’ Alive was among the first set of songs that the Bee Gees wrote for the hit movie Saturday Night Fever. The song’s use in the opening sequence of the movie helped make the song a signature hit for the Bee Gees and forever identify it with the emergence of disco into the mainstream.
Whether you’re a brother or whether you’re a mother,
You’re stayin’ alive, stayin’ alive.
Feel the city breakin’ and everybody shakin’,
And were stayin’ alive, stayin’ alive.
Ah, ha, ha, ha, stayin’ alive, stayin’ alive.
Ah, ha, ha, ha, stayin’ alive.
It was pretty cool watching an older busker belt it out without any inhibitions. I stuck around listening and later hung around to chat. All the spectators had moved away, only I was left behind. He had few copies of a CD up for sale, Frank Wallis Performs A Tribute to the Bee Gees. I noticed he always had a few old laminated newspaper clippings but this time I started to read them. And there it was. An old laminated clipping from The Redcliffe Dispatch from the scrapbook of his life.
A 13 year old Brisbane boy, his 10 year old twin brothers and their 12 year old friend are being applauded on all three TV channels in Brisbane in top-line talent shows. ‘My boys and their friend Frank have really got the show business bug,’ said their mother, Mrs. Hugh Gibb, in a soft Lancashire accent, as she poured a cup of tea in their Cribb Island home. ‘The boys practise for an hour each night, after homework, in a make-believe television studio, which they’ve built under the house.’
I couldn’t believe my eyes at what I was reading – a fourth Bee Gee?
Was this busker here a real Brisbane music pioneer? He was packing his equipment away as I looked at him.
‘You knew them.’ It was a statement and not a question.
‘It was a while back,’ he replied, ‘we were neighbours. I was with them when they bought their first guitars at Nundah Music, you probably know it as Toombul Music now, yeah a fair while back.’
‘I never knew that there was a fourth member of the band.’
‘Inquisitive bugger aren’t you? Give us a hand first,’ he said, picking up his equipment as he started packing up. As I helped him put his portable amplifier system away I thought how we walk past buskers never realising how much work they do just to give a performance on a street corner.
‘Let’s walk down to the Victory to grab a beer first mate,’ he said.
I would have gone anywhere with him then; I needed to know more about Frank Wallis, though the Victory in those days was the place to be for younger blokes like me. You waited just for Sunday so you could hit the Session at the Victory. That was the time when the LRB band played with Dave Marsden and Brendan Jagger. Gorging on steak and chips, the jugs of Powers beer and evenings that went on forever. When it was over it was mandatory to hit City Rowers. Weekdays could never compete.
I ordered beers for both of us, with Frank getting friendly waves from some of the patrons as we sat down. ‘So when did you meet them?’ I could hardly contain myself now. In response he took a long swig from his glass, put it down and then wiped his face with the back of his hand.
‘I grew up on Cribby,’ he said. ‘My folks had a home next to t
he ice works there. 394 Oxley Avenue was the house next door. I was already going to the Scarborough State School so the Gibb brothers and their sister Lesley started walking with me to school. It just felt as if the new neighbours were growing up surrounded by love and music in a very ¬happy household. When Barry said that they were going to be musicians, I just asked if I could join them and they agreed to let me be a part of their group.’
He had a wistful smile on his face then, as if he was reliving those days of his childhood. Would he have ever imagined then that this band of boys from a tiny Moreton Bay island would go on to sell more than 220 million records?
‘The first time we went busking on the back of a truck at the Brisbane Speedway. It was Barry’s bright idea. You know Barry and his pal Griggsy used to be off every Saturday night selling soft drinks at Redcliffe Speedway Circus. Redcliffe Speedway, now that was a place. The stock cars roared in that dusty oval and the smell of motor oil permeated the place. Sometimes they roped us in to help them – we would grab a case, strap it around our shoulders and sell them. Barry’s mind used to tick with all these ideas on what to do next. He was the one who noticed that there were gaps between races and ever the entrepreneur came up with a master plan. At the interval we would set up a quick little stall under the grandstand. The Gibb brothers and I would sing while Griggsy would carry on selling. The idea being to collect a crowd so that we could sell more soda.’
‘Did that work?’ I asked, even though I knew the answer.
‘Even better than expected,’ he grinned in reply, ‘the organiser was Bill Goode. He loved us so much that he said we had to be on the radio. Bill Goode then introduced us to a Brisbane disk jockey, Bill Gates. Bill Gates wanted a name for our group. Here’s some trivia for you. Barry had originally named us as The Rattlesnakes. Robin, Maurice and I used to joke afterwards that Gates almost christened us as The Little Bastards, but fortunately he chose to rename the band, which started out as the Bee Gees after his and Mr Goode's initials.’
‘You were there at the start then. Why did you leave?’
‘Oh I was there for a while. A week after Bill Gates met us we were up in the 4BH studio recording our songs. We did four then Bill wanted more so Barry wrote two more then and there, while the twins and I kicked around a wastepaper basket. Not only did Bill Gates play our songs he also sent music down to 2UE in Sydney. Mate, after that we even played at the Ekka where people just lined up to hear us perform. We were just little nippers, mate, so getting called up to play at the Geebung primary school fete was a major gig for us.’
He refilled his glass and seemed lost in contemplation. Was it sadness and regret of a life that might have been?
‘My parents divorced in the Christmas of 1962. Mum got custody of the children and decided to move to Warwick where my grandparents had a farm. At the age of fifteen I had no choice but to go with her. Then the Gibb family moved from Brisbane to Sydney in January 1963. From then onwards the Bee Gees became a group that comprised three brothers of a family. I followed their careers. I knew that until April 1966, the Bee Gees issued 10 singles and one LP on the Leedon label. Not one song had been a hit. Even with managerial assistance from Australian rock star Col Joye, the Bee Gees’ recording career was fading out. I was busy with the working of the farm, even though Barry had sent me a letter asking me to join them again, as he felt that they had really taken off when I was with them. But farming is a tough profession and it left me no time to play the rock star.
‘Before I knew it, in late 1966 the brothers returned to England to further their careers. We hardly kept in touch, though there were occasional letters. Robin wrote to me in mid-1969 stating that he was leaving the group as did Maurice the next year.
‘My mother died in July 1970 and I was sad, lonely and depressed. My father had rarely kept in touch since the divorce; he had remarried immediately and except for the obligatory Christmas card he had no time for us. So it was a strange feeling when I saw a car coming up the drive to my grandparents’ house. It was the Gibb brothers, who had all come back for me. They stayed for a fortnight and we bounced ideas for a song that they wrote specially for me. To the world, How Can You Mend a Broken Heart was the song written in August 1970, when the Gibb brothers had reconvened following a period of break-up and alienation. But I knew it was a song that they wrote for their friend after his mother’s death.
‘I can think of younger days when living for my life
Was everything a man could want to do
I could never see tomorrow
But I was never told about the sorrow
And how can you mend a broken heart?
How can you stop the rain from falling down?
How can you stop the sun from shining?
What makes the world go round?
‘The brothers went back but they left me a stronger man. After my grandparents died, I sold off the farm and moved to Brisbane. The sale had left enough money for me to live my life free of financial worries. I tried forming a musical group of my own but somehow it would never be the same with others. So I started performing my tribute to the songs of Bee Gees. I was the fourth Bee Gee. It was amazing. I loved every bit of it. And now I get to relive it each day when I perform on the streets of Brisbane.’
After that Frank Wallis got up, shook my hand and walked out of the bar. I never got to meet him again as I got a job in Sydney the next month. When I came back this year it took me a while to settle down to a routine. Having a family now meant I did not have the time to watch buskers so I never saw him again.
Sunday 6 October 2013
Idle
Evelyn MD
Newbridge, NSW
Idle, doing nothing, being no-one,
nowhere, ageing, slipping, disappearing,
will not finish when all is said and done.
How can you say she is persevering?
Nowhere, ageing, slipping, disappearing,
existing in a space smaller than yours.
How can you say she is persevering?
Because she keeps on trying and endures.
Existing in a space smaller than yours.
Will not finish when all is said and done.
Because she keeps on trying and endures,
idle, doing nothing, being no-one.
Monday 7 October 2013
The Embrace
Peter Goodwin
Warilla, NSW
For we are like two bodies recently drowned, not yet bloated, but submerged, already condemned, entangled in each other’s arms by a hidden current that will never release us, even if there is still the desire to withdraw from such embrace, simply caught forever in the hold of something that has claimed us, patiently, silently drawn in an everlasting rhythm away from everything, until we are lost and there is no return from what we have done.
Tuesday 8 October 2013
One Good Turn …
Shirley Burgess
Rosebud, VIC
‘Ah, got him in my sights.’ BANG! ‘Missed him.’ And another rabbit escaped Matt’s gun. As he lowered the rifle he saw a bundle of fur nearby and thought: What did I do – shoot a fox instead?
He sauntered over to the dark golden bundle and stopped suddenly, exclaiming, ‘Holy Almighty, it’s not a fox, I’ve shot a dog.’
Patting the dog’s head, he looked for the bullet wound but couldn’t find anything, and, as he looked he talked to the dog, saying, ‘I don’t think I’ve shot you after all. We’re nearly a kilometre from the road. How did you get this far into the bush, anyway?’
As he went to move the dog, it whimpered and opened its eyes. They seemed to implore him to take him away from there.
‘Well you’re alive old boy, but I think you’re just very sick. You’re so thin. I can’t leave you here can I? You’re all wet from last night’s rain too, you poor thing.’
He took off his jacket and wrapped it carefully around the dog and, slinging his rifle and hunting bag over his shoulder, lifted him slo
wly and set off for his 4WD.
‘It’s just as well I didn’t bag that rabbit,’ he said out loud to the dog. ‘Carrying you, my rifle, this bag with two rabbits in it already, would have been a bit tricky. Why couldn’t this have happened nearer the car for God’s sake? No rabbits around there – so I went further into the bush than I meant to. Anyway I’ve found you – so stay alive, hear me?’
Matt was talking to the dog all the time, half thinking that if he had the dog’s attention, it would somehow be helping him stay alive.
It was a long walk and the dog became heavier. ‘It’s just as well I’m pretty strong,’ he told the dog, ‘otherwise neither of us would have made it back to the car, I reckon!’ He gave a short laugh.
‘Here we are.’
At the car, the dog was placed slowly on the seat.
Matt grabbed a bottle of water. ‘I reckon you might like some of this.’ He lifted the dog’s head and tried to give him some, and immediately the dog roused a little. Water went everywhere but it was obvious the dog enjoyed what went down his throat.
‘Well, off we go to the vet in Quinnstown, and see what he thinks he can do for you old man.’ Some holiday this is turning out to be, he mused, but if this dog is to survive, he must have some attention immediately. He knew where the vet’s rooms were. Then it would be over to him, he could get home to his tea, and that would be that.
The vet examined the dog. ‘He’s badly dehydrated … hasn’t eaten for many days it seems, but there are no broken bones. Just the same, it will be touch and go whether or not he survives,’ he warned. He asked where the dog was found.
Matt described the area. ‘Do you know anyone from around here who has lost a dog?’ he asked.
‘No – and I wouldn’t return him to them anyway. It’s most likely, by the sound of where you found the dog, someone hunting rabbits or something, took him there. The dog has gone off following scent after scent getting further away from the car. He could have shown you where every rabbit around was hiding, by the way. Then, after calling him, the car has gone off without him. That’s my guess.
‘Golden retrievers like this one can’t resist a scent to follow, especially if they are city dogs. They are suddenly in seventh heaven and nothing would stop them. Just the same, I don’t think they could have looked too hard for him.’
Matt agreed. ‘I can’t imagine what sort of time he’s had, being lonely and lost for such a long time. It must have been shocking for him. Well, I’m off home, good luck with the dog.’
‘How long will you be here on holidays?’ asked the vet, ‘for this boy will be here for about a week. I think you should take him. I’ll waive any fees, just to see the dog ends up with better owners than the last lot he had.’
‘We’re leaving today week,’ said Matt, now becoming uneasy, nonplussed by what he was going to do with an injured dog he didn’t want, while on holidays, miles from home.
It was all sorted out pretty soon when he told his story to the family.
‘A dog?’ Both his sons jumped in excitement. ‘Say, we can keep him, please Dad? I’ve always wanted a dog,’ nine year old Stephen begged.
‘Me too,’ joined in six year old Damon. ‘Please Dad. Please.’
He looked helplessly to his wife, Chris, for support.
‘Well, dogs and boys are made for each other; but this one has to survive first,’ she said quite matter-of-factly. ‘How about we go up to the vet tomorrow and look at him?’ So Matt found himself out-voted unanimously.
‘What’ll we do with a dog?’ he ventured. ‘If he is not up to it by Friday, we are not taking him home,’ he added defiantly. But the two boys didn’t even hear him.
Next day they paid their first visit to see the dog. The boys tiptoed to the cage where they were surprised to see the dog lying alert on his bedding. He had been given a sedative and was on a drip while he was out to it.
The boys put their noses against the cage. So did the dog. It was love at first sight for all of them. He had been cleaned up and had a wonderful silky coat.
‘Hello Rocky,’ said Stephen.
‘Is that his name?’ asked Damon.
‘’tis now,’ said Stephen.
Each day he and the boys called in to see how the dog was progressing. ‘Rocky’ was improving massively each day, Matt noted, now resigned to the fact that a dog was about to join the family.
Of course he went home with the family, and Rocky soon became a popular addition. He had recovered quickly and wherever the boys went, along went Rocky.
Matt found himself whacking up a big dog kennel, fixing the fences and side screens so he could not escape again, and soon realised, it would have seemed odd if Rocky had not been present, bounding about with the boys.
A few months later the whole family, including Rocky, went for a day picnic. It was a lovely spot, a favourite one, surrounded by bush and adjoining a small mountain river. The weather was great and they soon had a BBQ going, with the smell of cooking meat soon filling the area pleasantly.
Both boys were soon in their togs and had enjoyed a quick dip in the river – quick because it was a lot colder than they expected, so they donned clothes to warm up – then back to see how lunch was progressing. Chris was setting up the little table that would hold their feast, and Stephen was helping his Dad. With nothing to do, Damon wandered off with Rocky.
A short distance down the river from the BBQ area, Damon knew there was a rope tethered to a huge tree on the embankment, ready for use. The boys had used it before, and young Damon went to see if it was still in working order. It looked in great order, and on a whim Damon decided to have a swing out over the river meaning to land back on the embankment.
An older boy might have noticed that the river level was down, which meant less water near the edge, and a higher embankment.
He ran back as far as he could and set off. He barely managed to clear the embankment edge, when he lost his grip and pitched down into the river at great speed landing in two thirds of a metre of water, on top of small rocks, putting his arms out to ease his fall.
In shock, he lay on his back in the water but couldn’t move his arms, and realised that he must have broken both of them.
In agony, lying back in the water half submerged, he found it hard to keep his head up, and, frightened, yelled to Rocky desperately as his head started to sink dangerously further into the water. ‘Rocky, help me.’
The dog knew what to do. He ran down the muddy embankment into the water and half swimming, half leaping, reached Damon, just as his head sank below the waterline.
Rocky dipped his head under the water, grabbed a mouthful of Damon’s shirt, tugging, then, with a mixture of tugging, leaping, swimming and sliding, gradually eased Damon to the water’s edge.
This would not do, as the bank was steeper than usual, and Damon started to slip back into the river. With difficulty, Damon managed to work Rocky’s leash round himself, and Rocky, with a better grip on Damon’s clothes, and with help from the leash, tugged and tugged him up the slippery muddy bank.
Uncannily, he seemed able to find solid footholds, until he had Damon safely on the flat top of the embankment. He had instinctively known that Damon could not help him with his arms jammed against his body, in pain.
Damon lay gasping for breath. Rocky started barking non-stop to alert the family.
At first the family thought they were happily playing some sort of game, but soon they realised, Rocky was distressed.
Matt was the first to arrive.
Damon said, ‘I can’t move my arms, Dad. Rocky pulled me out of the water and dragged me up the bank. He saved my life, Dad. I would have drowned if he hadn’t tugged me out of the water.’
Soon the ambulance arrived, and the paramedics quickly had a muddied Damon in arm splints, safely strapped on to the bed, with Mum accompanying him to the hospital.
It was left to Matt and Stephen to clean up and pack the car, patting Rocky whenever he came near them. Rocky sud
denly had a heap of sausages and chops to choose from, and in the car Stephen cuddled him the whole way home.
It was a few days before Damon was allowed to come home in a wheelchair, looking incongruous with his two arms in plaster casts. Rocky rushed to Damon, fussing busily over him, with tail going flat out.
Damon’s eyes filled with tears. ‘I can’t pat him, Dad, to say thank you.’
Matt said, ‘Here Rocky. Here are Damon’s fingers,’ showing the wiggling fingers on Damon’s left hand, and Rocky was pleased to find them.
Matt looked at this dog he had thought was such a nuisance. With a lump in his throat he thought: We owe our son’s life to him. He has a home for as long as he lives. We’ll simply be the best family a dog could have, and he stroked Rocky’s silky coat over and over.
And Rocky probably thought, too, how lucky he was to be ending up with this terrific family who loved him so much.
Wednesday 9 October 2013
Tip Top Invitation
Virginia Gow
Blackheath, NSW
Watch
Out!
Amid
Rubbish mounds
Placed neatly in rows,
Tonka Toy trucks wheel and prance like
Piebald ponies at a grand show. Whilst, hiding behind
Strong, black wire, I pinch my nose for, on the breeze,
Pungent odours dance with these machines.
Till, fleeing in a fluro vest,
I scamper into
Cabin space.
Study
Tip
Waste!