The Time Being | Steve Kilbey

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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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

obstacle rays

who do i write for anymore…. i’ve lost track….?

its hot its cold

its raining

i feel a great despondency come down

big things little things obvious things subtle things

when youre outta whack youre outta whack

i cant get in alignment

i am cursed i am blessed

but the 2 things keep racing apart

pulling me apart

is this what they refer to as catharsis…?

the only problem in my life is people

remove the people and ive got a clean run

but everything becomes an obstacle

like when you run up a seesaw

and suddenly you start running down instead

i say the universe is a joker and the jokes on us

again i am reminded of jonah and the whale

i am running running running away from something

and something else (god?) doesnt want me to run away…

but then i dont know where i am running away from…..

you will recall jonah the prophet was sent to nineveh

to rail against its wickedness

jehovah was none too impressed with the general carry-on there

he sends his man jonah in to read the king of niv the riot act

but jonah just wants a quiet life

fuck i dont wanna go to nineveh…

he groans in aramaic (or whatever it was)

so the disobedient fellow jumps on board a ship bound for joppa

tho he already knew in his heart of hearts escape was not possible

you cannot escape fate destiny god or things of this elusive but powerful nature

somewhere inside me i am aware of what it is

but i cant put my finger on it

however nothing will be smooth until i get it right

so we imagine our jonah on that boat to joppa

his head and heart arguing

just like mine which argue constantly

you see somehow out of this i pull a lotta stuff

but its tiring and there must be other ways

jonah however was in union with jehovah

he was yoked up as they might say in yoga

he knew what he had to do

but it was a rotten job

imagine some wild lawless godless city in the desert

what kind of reception would a guy like him get there….?

“listen you lot …no more sinning……..ok….?!”

who wants that gig…..?

in some foreign town , a kinda forerunner to babylon

he was sposed to tell the king off…imagine that….!

anyway for a few miles maybe the voyage was pleasant

but there were some nasty dark clouds gathering on the horizon

i wonder if he twigged straight away…

did he think …nah…….its just a storm….its nothin’ to do with me…

and when the first raindrop hit his face did he then realise….?

as the storm got worse n worse

he began to tell the sailors it was all his fault

they should throw him overboard

well the sailors werent all bad in those days

at first they didnt want to chuck him off their boat

they musta thought jonah had some real delusions of grandeur

eventually tho when it got really rough

when the next wave might sink the boat

they hurled the hapless prophet into the brine

oh such release

drowning in cold clear water

they say after you have accepted it it is quite a rapture

(but how can you believe what anybody says about things like that…?)

anyway i guess jonah hoped he’d drown and enter some blissful nonexistence

somewhere where no one was looking for him

expecting him to do this n that…..

jesus nineveh must have been quite the place

this cat jonah would really rather not go there

and just when he’s ready to inhale that water and let go

well you all know as well as i do

a great fish swallowed him whole

a severely unpleasant experience one would imagine

deep in some stinking aquatic belly

avoiding the digestive juices etc

you see how much easier it would have been to just have gone?

anyway nevermind all that

the lesson is you cant go against the grain

like a huge edifice with one brick in the wrong place could easily topple

but i am human and more so than most (whatever that means)

the angers that inflame me glow and crackle awaiting reignition

i swell up in pointless burning heat

i cool down in a pile of ash

then chuck me off the boat i dont know where i’m going

which god wants me to do what

or am i confused ….no divine errand i must run…..?

did anybody command me to write songs n make people happy?

i dunno …i waver between wild atheistic doubt and moments of theistic glory

or plonked down in the middle heeding every voice but not getting anywhere

well thats the price you pay i guess for tuning in

some times you get every station and you cant tell them apart

are any of those voices more substantial

than some bruised little ego or id whimpering and fuming

in the safe blackness of my mind…?

this my friends is called existential angst

sartre wrote about it in nausea

have any of ya read that book…..?

slightly underwater

the drums oh the drums

the heat

everywhere around you

surrounding you admiring you

i am a dreamer a drifter

here today gone tomorrow

i work in a sideshow

i am a clown in a tragedy

i sell sea shells by the sea shore

this hot night of all nights

catches me out i am oppressed and burnt

the darkness offers no cool

my feet heat up

my heart drowses in its stolid chambers

my brain sluggish in its stew of memories

my dream of sanctuary…..

fable

the voice of god is almost silent

drowned out by thunder

the chatter of women

the brute guffaw of man

the groaning beasts

pounding of the surf

life thirsty for flesh

pulls on a suit of bones

fell angel

green alligator

archer fish

little tiger

all move within existence and its ellipses

heir to these pre-existing conditions

yet somehow

every creatures mask hides a tiny unique aspect of the one

the one who can be barely glimpsed

the one who is everywhere but nowhere to be found

genius god idiot god

god of everything as everything is in god

you cannot put him in a book

he will not be contained within a myth

he will not be killed upon a cross

he doesn’t favour one crowd over another

why do i call him he?

god is not male

god is not jealous

god is not remorseful or ever angry

my god is an artist spreading himself over galaxies

he shows himself in everything

its more obvious than obvious maybe why we don’t see it

god sings up the worlds

they flow from his pores

god never toils god never rests

his language is simple like the wind in the fields

his language complex like the fragile multiverse in immanence

time beyond time folded in on itself

a layer of dreams and illusions

the dance of maya shrouds us in mystery

we struggle and thrash against unseen foes

we imagine the worst in defeat and in triumph

we’ve gone so far off the track but which track was that..?

what am i saying exactly i’d like to know…

i’d like to know who puts all these words in my head

i’d like to know who guides my hand on my axe

i’d like to know who my children used to be

before they were rolled back into this world

reincarnation i take it for granted

we have all lived before we will all live again

we die and we die but what does it mean?

i’m only a poet i really don’t know

i only know how to make the words rhyme

i ask all the same questions all of the time

love is the answer i hear someone say

so profound to be meaningless

what should one love?

love a god you never can see?

whose voice is so nearly silent in your roaring heart

who people blame for all stupid things

dont blame the bloodthirsty popes on god

the ones who cut off peoples noses for jesus christs sake

dont blame god for the crusades and jihads

he must laugh his socks off at conceits such as these….

do you think that god smiles as he looks upon earth

and sees the slaughter of the dumb beasts

dumb in that they can’t plead for their lives in spanish or english

or in japanese or hebrew or arabic or french

blood on our hands

knee deep in filth

we hammer out the brains of gentle cows and lambs

we invent new ways to electrocute chickens (oh how fucking noble?)

we clog up rivers with clotted gore and guts

we breed misery and anguish in pens and cages

just to bring people meat

i wonder if god thinks that thats kosher?

i wonder if god thinks thats mercy in action…?

i wonder if it says in some bible its ok….?

i wonder if some tosser in 400 BC

had some religious rationale for the killing of beasts…?

i really must smile at the ridiculous notion

that a god who created this unimaginable creation

so perfectly strange

as if this same god

this titan of craftsmen

this nebulous spirit that works in vivid matter

would see this or that tribe stumbling about in some land or other

and give them carte blanche to do whatever they liked….?

how convenient is that?

but what about everybody else….?

oh baby no one gotta mortgage on god

no bishop dressed up in foolish buffoonery

fresh from the wine and fine food

covering up dirty secrets that keep leaking out

you really think

that the one god is trusting his secrets to turkeys like this?

or to terrorists or klans or idiots a’knocking on yer door

trying to sell you some preposterous story about boney moroni

phoney baloney

do you really think thats how things go down?

do you really think we have the capacity to understand even the smallest bit of this

all meat is murder

all bombs are terrorist

all wars are sordid butchery of our finest young men

you really can’t trust the people in power

most are the worst the very worst you could find

we see that over and over again in history don’t we…?

its a shame history isn’t one long uneventful boring old yarn

where nothing nasty ever happened no glorious wars

no one invaded none put to the sword

no firing squads no napalm no spears

no stukas no lockheed starfighters

no missiles pointed out into space

no hannibal no napoleon no caligula no bush

no mao tse tung no kaiser bill

no richard the lion heart

and none of the rest

what do they ever do but get us killed?

i preach take it easy

i preach let it go

i preach don’t drink vodka cause it will ruin you so

i preach get SKP so i can make some more dough

i preach because who will if i don’t….?

will anybody?

NO!!!