The Time Being | Steve Kilbey

the author

out there

somewhere out there

in unknown places and rooms

in gardens and mirrors

is saturday night

full of drink and drugs

saturday night when things drift

when sprawling warm night

wild and lawless tho ever gentle

down by the shore and white hotel

in a hundred rooms

the sea breeze on naked flesh

a woman in a shower

a man waiting in a bed

a man jumps out of a cab

a woman in a bath drinking champagne

the parties throb and roar around the shore

people already plastered

dogs howl in black back yards

some repetitious deep thump in the earth miles off

laughter in the air caught up in strange echoes

laughter on the wind laughter in the pubs

laughter in the rooms at the hotel

laughter as someone watches a comedy on tv

i go for a swim in the tepid green sea

i swim lazy a stoned martyr

i drift or rise over small waves

i see the sandy seabed and grey silver fish swimming inside the nets

my mind says swim harder but my body rebels

some other mind is second guessing me i guess

but who guesses …me or the other….and how would you know….?

saturday night is a glittery valley full of blurry stars

the salty air is corroding everything …metal and spiritual

resolutions dissolved in the sea light

memory of unending summer rolled out each year

donkey rides and ghost stories

saturday night was a wild card a loose canon

saturday night in minuscule microcosm

pizza beer drive crash arrest

pot tv toast pot tv toast

sex sleep sex sleep

food wine taxi club hotel internet bed

i wander in the periphery of night

a marginal twilight where us poets stumble

saturday night is a beast we relish in spades

and we spear it with our words of spleen

but it always comes back bigger and dumber

the police get called to a scene

some trouble in the domestics

some harsh words are thrown

some blows are spoken

everyone must blame each other

the night doesnt care one way or another

the night is warm and still young

its all out there waiting if ye can but find it

all the brothels all the casinos

all the night clubs embroiled with strife

all the numbing noise of a million songs

competing in the ether for life

i touch reality i move thru time

soon too soon it all comes to a head

saturday night in the vale of tears

saturday night in the early century

we rush towards a midnight

i can feel them willing it

midnight appears to each in a new guise

to the lovers midnight is gentle

to the widow midnight is hard

to the child midnight is full of horrors

to the weary man midnight is a sweet release

saturday night bursts at it seems

it seems important it seems somehow permanent

the seaside is full of toughs from the exterior

and they flock to the ocean and the pop up bars

but that was our yesterdays full of saturday

saturdays full colour in glorious glow

tonight makes me suddenly tired

i must abjure

into this deep night

now

conceit

i search in the sun for the final axiom

that one liner that can make sense of everything

my whole life the universe the lot

stumbling and fumbling

fuming and frauding

i grope the darkness

am i inside my own mind

there is no answer

intuition is a behind the scenes peek

premonition a sneak preview

gotta hunch gotta hunch

never ever a free lunch

your owner gender with its own agenda

now being a boy is something else again

i remember streaming through trees

i climbed up a trunk and removed a pale blue egg

the weather was sultry and angry that day

a storm had turned the afternoon to black

a warm premature night had fallen on us

soft bells tinkled far away

magic climes of childhood on my skin

before i traded my naivete in

before i started hankering

anyway coherency seems to elude me

you know i mean well

well i mean i mean what i meant to say

take it as given

understand it as said

me n my head

what will we do when full of dread

and keep the children fed

we sped towards the end

whirlpool

i am some writer living in some paris

typewriter days

nights of opium and women

yeah i know some famous people

my name should be on the door

inside my house is red and black

and white empty paper strewn carelessly

i write stuff like this

In the bar with some German Girls that Pierre met at the station

Ingrid and Somebody Else as usual Pierre never introduced any one

(properly) but I was talking to Ingrid and we were discussing the aristocracy

(I thought!) when some great German fellow rudely interrupted us and he and

Ingrid began arguing in German. I took this to be her fiance Rudy Neuman…….

a colossal blonde brute all muscle and swagger  …..he glared at me as he interrogated

poor Ingrid ….he was about forty and in excellent shape a real street bully type…

after a while i grew tired of his boorish manner and spoke to him in french

but this Rudy paid it no attention

so i told him in English to leave off and be the hell more quiet.

Ingrid turned to me

No Jean…. She said.

Too late I’m afraid.

The brute was at me and i took a hit to my eye at once

I clumsily stumbled and bumped my head on a chair

ten minutes later i was i a taxi

with Ingrid nursing my throbbing head,

she was drinking brandy from a silver flask

and singing something soft and hoarse in german

there there my little boy …she said when she saw me open my eyes

you were wounded for me in battle ….she pronounced it vounded

no no …not at all ….I protested

but  she smothered me in her lap all warmth and perfume and alcohol

soon she was stroking me all over …her strong hands under my suit …

Now see here …! i said muffled against her summer dress in that warm taxi.

Yes my child …? .she bent down and whispered tipsily in my ear…

her perfume and proximity were quite overpowering i can tell you…

Her hands reached into my shorts and grasped my manhood ….

Ah! she said happily as she moved her hand in the darkness.

Upfront the Taxi Cab driver i knew was a friend of Darlenes brother Roy.

He was watching all this in the backseat with interest…

He clucked his tongue as our eyes joined in his mirror.

But the german woman was getting out her large white breasts

and at the same time furiously trying to undress me!

Roy watched us intently and I do believe he was becoming aroused

He had stopped noticing the road ahead and with a superhuman

effort i leaped into the front seat while Ingrid held onto my Trousers

I took hold of the wheel in time for us to collide with Tremblay the local gendarme

He was unhurt but his motorcycle was a complete write-off!

I sat there in the front seat sans pants smelling of brandy whilst

crushing darlenes brothers friend Roy..who was not happy!

meanwhile in the back Ingrid sobbed uncontrollably

her ample bosoms heaving up and down spectacularly in rhythm

Well Jean …?.said Tremblay frowning like a dark cloud

Its ok …I said smiling …I think  i can explain…..!

Monsieur… said Tremblay …..This time it had better be good!

the australian night

wrap it around you all this darkness

wrap this darkness like a blanket

i remember shivering through some grey dawn

i huddled in a puddle of beds

day came with its tears yes you might say

day of toil night of respite

day of nightmare night of dream

days as a wall

night coming thru

day stopping you dead in your tracks

the night spits you out and leaves you behind

vulgar day subtle night

the night seems to linger then it is gone

the night is a metaphor for all the unknown

in australia the night is prehistoric and young

it bristles and moves and chatters and vibrates

the plants and the shrubs all going beserk

tangle of intoxicated plants in perpetual embrace

the moon caresses the sun enhances

they turn that light into purest food

in the earth they draw up energy

in the air they sing their song

morning night and afternoon…

reverie shattered by sirens out there in naked city

buddha on my wall smiling

gift from kitty

nirvana or nothingness that is the question

its quiet tonight the ghosts have all vanished

the fireworks maybe finally finished

the unsettling ride well i cant get used to it

its been like this all my life

but night can sometimes soothe my searching

and night can sometimes make it work

and night can sometimes mask my mask

and night can sometimes tame my hounds

illusion requires a decent night

a night in the tropics

a night faraway from the bright light of day

night moving in diagonals towards its conclusion

night in the action before its demise

night only bridal night only reins

night only fixing your saddest lost wish

night dumb ferocious wild in torrents

inexplicable unexplained pertaining to nothing but itself

the night will always have the last word

and that word is

sleep

yeah the flesh eating air apparently writhing

insulting this night a charger a flier

i’m a liar my story started the fire

river was dam king was sire

i interwove words you wanted to hear

i wrote down the things that were stones in your heart

you maybe surprised

but up in these tree tops

you hear all manner of echoes and things

some weird creatures fighting out there in the darkness

the valley drops way and into the night

a motorbike accelerates down a floodway of light

particles vibrate too fast for our eyesight

hannibal barca broke my sword and

attilla the hun stole my surfboard

you know somethings happened to me

i swear by our lady of the snows

tho her mercy and her honour come to blows

tho this memory of this evening when she rose

i stood within a chamber no one goes

i stood within a grove as silence grows

i stood within a spaceship tippy toes

i stood within the womb without my close

i stood in your place and i withstood your foes

take me back to phoenicia and casuarina sands

ive wandered several wildernesses

in several different lands

but every wilderness is different

tho every paradise  be the same

one day you’ll meet the architect

maybe he’ll tell you his real name

maybe he can tell you where to lay the blame

maybe he’ll be hidden in storm or in flame

or walking with a jaguar and leopard both tame

riding a whirlwind right out of the frame

i got a phoney letter of some new accord

and attilla the hun stole my surfboard

its saturday night here just after midnight

i think about my long long life

all these thoughts with their burdens

the beast at least last

tho last before least is your humble bard

the charlemagne of crash drop bang

the child card the jack of spades

tho not jack of all trades

(and then the music fades)

we travel back throughout time in our head

tho time is harder to pierce than solid rock

once inside it you’ll slide limitlessly effortlessly

1972 was forty years gone

some method of retrieval is approached through science

or prayer or yoga or some spirit invoked

yet 72 appears to me now

the ghosts of the players still acting on

the memory of  people  the radar of bat

both steering us on invisibly

we form impressions of hazards and warmths

as we seem to fly blindly through forest and city

i see all those obstacles now in my purview

i see the documents attached to my shadow

i see the wonderful depths of a lake

waters teeming with drowned mirages

the indigo melancholic mood has just thickened

the pulse of the joker has suddenly quickened

the taste of the crowd has suddenly sickened

i asked you the way you sullenly beckoned

nothing here i can afford

and attilla the hun stole my surfboard

old bondi

the gould street days have come to an end

i moved in there just before scarlet arrived in this world

we had some warm times

we had some terrible times

we had some ordinary non eventful times too

times when month after month seemed to drift endlessly

i guess this story is one i’d rather not tell

though many of you already know it

you already knew it anyway from your own lives

i curse a stupid world which makes sweet weed the enemy

and foists VODKA on us

ruiner of family

ruiner of life

ruiner of everything

i’ll give it one thing tho…it ruins things fast…!

so i hurl out all the bills and letters and cards

the detritus of seven years on the material plane

still when all is said and done i don’t own much

a ford falcon

a lovely fender bass guitar

ones worth drops

the others goes up n up

i own 4 other guitars counting the cigar box

i own an m audio keyboard and a nice mike

i own a laptop and a big new apple being paid off

i own loads of pastels and paints n art stuff

courtesy of my art guiding committee pres : h jordan

i own a few bits of very shabby beat up furniture

and garage full of pure rubbish

a few cds a few dvds a few books

thats it

of course my children are more precious to me than ANYTHING

my love for them is so deep it sometimes nearly wrenches me open

to let your daughters go into teenage-hood is like an art in itself

don’t be too soft or too hard…just like applying paint

my daughters are like coloured pencils

don’t press down on em till they break

but press down enough to make an impression

each colour has its time and place and its own role in the scheme of things

daughters are also like paintings :

after a certain time someone takes them off your hands….

you accept that as you watch your creation grow

from something small and quite inchoate

to something breathtakingly and achingly gorgeous

so you must not love them too much

but you must love them so much as you help them bloom

today i sat listlessly tossing out old bibs and bobs

coins cockroaches marbles broken bits of toys

aurora was with me having a day off school with a sickie

here is regular scene at our place

one kid

still lying in bed when other kids are up n at ’em

me : whats wrong with you,  kid?

kid : i dont wanna go to school today,  dad

me : what the bloody hell is wrong with ya then…?

other kid : she got you know…..uh….pain …because…..

me : alright alright….!….are you sure…..?…

all kids : DAD!!!!

anyway aurora was there

(tho to tell the truth i noticed very little “pain” …)

she didn’t help much but i always love her company

we talked about the things only she and i could talk about

she has a brilliant mind

but she falls for a brilliant minds traps

like me of course in spades

anyway we started on a long process

moving out of the past

after working we all went for a swim

after a few laps i had a “sugar drop”

anyway tonite is the last night in another place

a nice little place but its the last night here too

2morro begins a future somewhere else

all things must pass

all things must pass GO too

sk (tomorrow night bondi heights!)

another meaningless caption

you who have wandered this world and sampled its wheres

i speak only silently you may not hear me

over the pounding of the sea in its vessels

the hawkers and sideshows

the taverns by the shore full of drinkers

beautiful women……?

ah just behind the door…..yes….

i implore you to take a moment…

the sun has dazzled your eyes

these balmy climes intoxicate us

it is easy to forget and drift away

in some garden on a hill

in some cenotaph in a lonely park

in some bed in a white room the sun found sleeping

in some ceremony we act out so solemnly behind masks

in some library a living god in a dead language

in some casual conversation with a friend someone overheard

the people by the coast lead such private lives

elephant ear ferns and cool courtyards with pools

the rich merchants dreaming through life after life

the doctors and men of the law

the opulence of their appointments given

the complexity of their arrangements made

the negligence of any doubts cast are cancelled by money

masterpieces casually hung in an emptiest of rooms

instruments hum on in deserted chambers

the nurseries bursting with blooming children and crying flowers

why even the beggars disdain gold on days like these…..!

the fat of our conquests the lean of our defeats

war ravaged lands move in and out of peaces

the kingly class on remote mountainsides

in sackcloth and ashes a procession to the sea

the panels of the university depicting pagan gods

they teach heresy and mutiny and gluttony and lust

this weather is not for everybody….

perhaps some mineral water containing some refreshing salt…?

perhaps a rest in the coolness of a doorway

in the arches of morning you stand weary and small

but in the arches of evening you will loom refreshed

and gigantic….

margot smith and me

they all start with nothing

with a white nothingness

a black void

or silence

bit by bit by bit

you must build

in tiny points

grand sweeps

one piece in the puzzle

echoes and shadows

how do the clouds sound

what colour is piano

i administer the kiss of life to the paper

eventually i will bury it in paint

like i fill up the quiet darkness with sound

sound of murmuring elements

music can describe where words fall short

yet words harness music to a song

i seek a union with all 3 realms

the word the painting the song

a common principle governs everything

even creators must abide by its terms

a golden ratio to enable the measurement

of beat of colour or of idea

of course once discovered this principle would explode

i will tour the world ranting my unimpressionistic manifesto

cellists will sketch and write prose

the sculptors will sing in steel

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dear time being 

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i understand if i am not completely happy with it

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thanks a lot mister killaboy !

i am now a hit at parties and school reunions

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jack bingo

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the apostles greed

delicate thoughts

a radiance ablaze with burning honour

a grace descended from highest heaven

my stars have aligned in your skies

the palm lined ocean boulevards where i trudged as a child

they have flung themselves open in delirious transport

now i open ceremonies

now i attend great meetings

now i wander the lushest most private gardens

arriving dusty from the heat of the street

i doff my white garments in the coolest chamber

invisible hands anoint me with soothing oils

lavender and sandalwood and ones i cant name

in the echoes of her silent voice that sings in her dome

in the rippling air that  moves random fields

in the unguents used and elusive melodies

in my love of the land coaxing oaks from this earth

in waterfalls and pools where the blackest eel lies

in the moonbows above the crescent

in the sheets that dry in this beautiful breeze

today let it be a holy day for evermore

let us live this day over and over  my friends

the statues all seem to move of her

the marble is veined with her blood i see

the hewn athene like one arm broken off

a venus conjured from a slab of obsidian rock

an ishtar in moving metal showing all her attributes

mercurial wonder ! i am on fire with ether

i squeeze water from basalt

i assist the passage of inklings thru the void

i find the things i thought i lost

i imagine the things i could once only remember

or is it the other way around…..?

the day turns in

the night stands off waiting

saraswati stay longer i implore to emptiness

the light is changing within the spheres

an unlikely cloud has sundered the summer

and everyone has walked away from the sea

wholly profit

trapdoor

entrance to another continuum

i see it before me in sepia

desert star city flower blood wine iron flesh

the great pretender my crown usurper

i wove through the reeds hidden from sight

i move through the grove in golden light

my concubine number nine divine

as our minds entwine in knowledge of abandon

the trees bleed white leaves for my liege love

land lady to the sea

every man now lay down your labour

bring forth endless poems and songs

in my tower insane i conjure up music

yes music had not been extant before on this plane

i start with music dragged from the triple world

the screams of hell

the sighs of earth

the soft laughter of heaven

i beat sound into new shapes

i set it free from my battlements

oh my song go on for long time

hunting down men and women

flying through the deepest forest

where sad children hide

there flourisheth my song

it doth pierce the side of nightmare black

my song travel up your spine

my song is barbed hooked and sharp

it enters you zinging your pingi

i weave my briton ancestors will into my work

i will subjugate the conqueror

i will serve the one and true god

he who may provideth my best victory

the trees are sacred to me

yes i do know and love their spirits

i see them dancing in the magic of opium shadows

i hear their weird voices sing my song back

the druids from whose loins i sprang were attuned

attuned like the rishis

attuned like the dervish

attuned like the gnostic

attuned like the medicine man and shaman ron

attuned like some buddha levitating in crimson

attuned like vishnu whose glory is incomprehensible

attuned like jesus the reader of hearts

whoever you were sir jesus what a man

jesus went to the garden of gilgamesh

he said hey cats take it easy

he said hey come on lets help one another

he said hey cmon try to be nice

he said some other stuff too but i wasnt there

me…?

where was i that day…? someone asks

i was tailor sewing a thread

i was a norseman soon to be dead

i was a trader making good bread

i was woman with a beautiful head

i was a child crippled in bed

i was a an old hag all dressed in red

no none of its true i just dont know

i digress and digress

i can write whatever i like

i can go wherever it takes me

now you see my mind in horror scope

zoom in and out

move your cursor to my memory bank

select desired item

simply enter your code in column thirteen

and soon victory will be yours

kingdoms will unravel at your feet

you will sweep worlds before your scimitar

women will comfort you in your generous quarters

from my private stock of drowsy nepenthe

i have selected a block drop of oblivion

drink up my friends

i am here to sing you the lay of Excelon and Etiene

i am here with my computer orchestra of minions

we touch a switch we increase the poignancy quotient

unbearable brightness shine upon soul

we kneel before our saviour but she has no name

we cannot see through this great effulgence

daughter of sand mother of moon

all mortals exit this theatre too soon