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Nigel Roberts
A selection of poems
This electronic edition of a selection of poems from three books by Nigel Roberts: In Casablanca for the Waters (1977), Steps for Astaire (1983) and Déjà vu tours (1995). The poems are copyright © Nigel Roberts 1977, 1983, 1995, 2005. This edition was prepared by John Tranter in November 2005.
Click on the entries in the Contents list: they act as links to the relevant pages.
From In Casablanca for the Waters, Wild & Woolley, Sydney, 1977:
- Poem for Davnet / concluding with a line from Bogart
- Dialogue with John Forbes
- Aberrant poetics 4 ― for Mark O’Connor
From Steps for Astaire, Hale & Iremonger Pty Ltd, Sydney, 1983:
- Beauty / Truth / Genius & Taste etc.
- Letter to Jamie Grant
- The gulls’ flight
- The Kiwi riposte
- Japan
- The Los Angeles Affirmation
- Marketing 1
- Marketing 2
- The House Special
- Happy Hour in the Noe Valley Bar & Grill
From Déjà vu tours, Hale and Iremonger Ltd, Sydney, 1995:
Nigel Roberts, mid-1982, photo by John Tranter
Poem for Davnet / concluding
with a line from Bogart
She / has left the
party
addressed
with the flat /
gentle
statement
I go ―
Her
purpose
air /
bed
night
music?
No
need of us -
Loves Mafia in lineup /
she
identifies
no one
in her hallway exit / to
the street.
Asleep.
& even in her
dreams
throat
/
no
seed
of
me.
She
awaits
a courier from
Lawrence
Shall
i tell him /
that
his hour
has come ―
That her beauty
& being
are effective
— like a handgrenade
dropped
in a barrel of fish.
John Forbes, Sydney University Tin Sheds, 1975 or later, and not before July 1978, photo Angela Korvisianos
Dialogue with John Forbes
Nige —
why / at your age
do you still
play football?
a test of self
physical fitness / &
a matter
of / duende
jesus —
then wait
until / you discover
the private
& existential / terror
of golf.
Aberrant poetics 4 ― for Mark O’Connor
so what
that it looks
like
cut up
prose
go
find fault
with thistle
because it is not
rose.
Beauty / Truth / Genius & Taste etc.
These
are a pair of
Brett Whitely’s
socks.
How I came by them, is
another poem
but you may be aware
of the expression
“great artists steal & the poor
borrow”
Well I borrowed
the socks from Brett
as he borrowed
a cup of sugar
from Francis Bacon.
I would
like you to think
that Brett wore them
when he painted Patrick White;
as this lends
a painterly quality
to the socks
& a literary seriousness
to the poem.
The socks, sadly
are unsigned ―
this may worry a hole
on their investment, or
your comfort be attributed
to the Master of Laminex
Pro Hart.
Beauty
Truth
Genius & Taste etc.
go for a walk
if I wear Brett’s socks
or find
that painting & sculpture
is the furniture
of the beautiful & the rich.
The Beauty
Truth
Genius
& Taste etc
of the unique object
is confirmed
by its price ―
this gives a gloss to inequality
& makes hierarchies
thrilling.
The first printmakers
were right
the unique market sucks
& promotes ―
but not for poets
where the best
are pensioners
of their craft
or support it
marking the cribs of Milton.
This
unique object
is for sale.
This poem
is for sale
“Brett’s sox
grey with elastic
tops & Australian content.”
It will harmonise
& be at home
with the leather
& the chrome.
Letter to Jamie Grant
The Sunday morning
dogshit patrol
is over
it took place
twenty minutes ago, when
Sid’s dogshit tolerance
snapped
as I see him out there
grim, with watercannon
aiming at dispersal
& displacement
the pavement & gutter
to my mortgage
by contrast & increment, now
appears especially rank
so, I volunteer
with a broom
together
Sid & I
sluice & sweep down
Clare St
to Howard’s
Howard commends
our enterprise ―
his three cats & his wife
who gathers dogshit
into envelopes, which
she delivers to the letterboxes
of those who own
dogs
this dogshit
direct action
is controversial, but
on a 2/ 1 split
approved
Finally
I have more civil
things to do
so I take my leave
pointing to the civic street
& affirming our bond, say
Gentlemen, the Sunday
morning dogshit patrol
is over
or so I thought
until I read your survey
of the New Poetry
in the Monthly Review.
The gulls’ flight
The gulls’flight
is low
flat
&hard
they go
to sea
to the edge / where
the day’s fire
is lit
they go
as shiftworkers
to the dawn.
The Kiwi riposte
What’s new
in Sydney, mate?
C / R groups;
Men’s
Consciousness Raising
Groups
Amazing ―
we’ve had them here
for years.
Ah well, another case
of what New Zealand does
Sydney, & then soon
California
will follow
The difference
mate ―
the only difference
comrade ―
is that here
we call them
Rugby Clubs.
Japan
1.
As
Sushi bars
opened ―
as carp
flurried
in the Imperial Palace ponds ―
as hibachis
were lit ―
as the divine winds
teased & licked
the Shinto shrine ―
as an album
of Utamoro’s Shunga
slipped
by chaste surprise, or
feigned surrender
to, the tatami ―
as oiltankers
docked ―
as the stockpiles of Mitsubishi
grew ―
as wooden sandals
clok / clok
to the public bath house ―
as the post war economic miracle
changed
shift ―
as a Buddhist
clapped
to attract the attention of his god ―
as the sun
rises ―
as the sun rises
like a flag ―
as the sun
prints
all public detail ―
as the 37 views of Fuji
are lit ―
as someone
remembers
Pearl Harbour ―
as the genetic codes of Nagasaki
indifferently
decay ―
as the Tea Ceremony
secedes
to Instant Coffee ―
as the cormorants
on Nagara River
fish ―
as agapeic lovers
cry
I’m going / I’m going ―
as the transistored stars
relay
the calls ―
as the Bunraku
are called
by the stellar circuits ―
as the Late Late Show
finishes ―
as earth’s back
is raked
in the stone gardens of Ryoanji
as the bamboo
inches ―
2.
I have never been to Japan
but my voice once did
ring a bell, in
The Shiba Park Hotel,
Tokyo;
& wake
the traveller in 309, who asked
what time is it?
Surprise;
it’s me / not sure
whether it’s the day before
or the day after.
Surprise, said 309
no ―
as she signalled, yes
to 307, that he should
go from that bed
until morning;
the Japanese morning.
3.
The poem
according to some
should finish
where the writing is begun, or
leave it out ―
but I cannot
part
cause from effect ―
reportage
from event ―
or message from its medium.
For, when she hung up, I went
immediately to notes ―
to a scrabble of means & letters ―
to an exposition, by Haiku, of those events
which had some accord
within the themes of traditional
Japanese poetry
Look!
if i used the five
seven, five syllabic
discipline of Hitomaru
I would count
& speak like a textbook.
The Iris ―
No textbook;
Bamboo ―
No instructions.
Listen!
before you discover
what poetry is about, I
will tell you
Containment;
the shape
& the shaping of things, by
a written singing
construct ―
& by that
letting them go.
So
the poem
runs out
of cause & effect ―
& contains only
by its failure
of Haiku
a metaphor
of that morning
& those events in Japan.
The Los Angeles Affirmation
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I lit a cigarette |
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& you do it, because |
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The schedule
is tight ―
unload the truck
beer, tacos
sleep
& then, the turnaround.
The Strip, the corner
of Hollywood & Vine
& the cemented steps of Astaire
outside the Chinese Theatre
forgotten like a promise
to give up smoking.
I saw none of it
I slept through ―
But;
I affirm
by Tom Wolfe & Hunter Thompson ―
by that registered in The Day of the Locust
or scored, in The City of Night ―
by Sunset Boulevard & the mean streets
of Raymond Chandler ―
by the burning of Watts
& the Helter Skelter of Topanga Canyon ―
by the women of Bukowski, &
the V8 songs of Tom Waits ―
by all that music
television, print
& cinema
I had been there
Seen this
& done that.
Magritte said
“You experience a place by
what you are looking for”
&, like that tourist, you say
Far out!
doesn’t that corner bar
with the Schlitz Neon Sign
look just like that
in the Edward Hopper painting?
Marketing 1
The Sell
for Cycle 3
a dog food
goes like this.
Cycle 3
is for the L.A.D. ―
the less
active
dog
it has 20%
less
protein & calories
in the same size tin
& at
the same price.
Marketing 2
The pitch
for a Pinto
goes like this.
I’m a science teacher
& I taught my family
that money doesn’t grow
on trees
& being mindful
of the ecology & the fuel crisis
I bought a Pinto
a four cylinder / two door
sedan
& my wife
did too
& my six kids
as well
Hell
we’ re an eight
Pinto family!
The House Special
Bellino, of Dynek International
has ordered a Whisky Sour
so, I punt on a Banana Daiquiri,
The House Special.
That’s a fag’s drink, declares
Bellino, as he moves
to check out a chick, with whom
he’s established some eye contact
A Gin & Tonic, Chuck
& I follow.
This is Nigel, from Australia;
Hello / Hi
but I don’t catch her name, as Bellino
is hustling the conversation on
from the who are you
to the who she wants to be.
&, she is telling him of
her spotlight ambition
to be a singer, a variant of Roberta Flack
& in time, a piano bar, or
a small club, somewhere.
The sometime & somewhere schedule
sets Bellino’s index pecking
at her left tit ―
as he believes in Target Setting
Assertiveness & Self Maximization
to which, he puts his wallet on the bar
and asks her price on
ten Carnegie Hall tickets in a year’s time
because, if she wants to
that’s where she could be.
Well, the singer demurs, as
I fetch new drinks, & obviously
I miss something, for when I return
Bellino is stabbing at that breast again
I told you, I don’t eat
garbage, & you
are feeding me garbage,
crap & garbage.
The way it goes
she says
Thanks, for the advice & drinks, but
I’ve got a vocal coach in the morning
Crap & garbage, says Bellino
who then pays his tab
& goes.
So.
I’m cut loose
in the Valley Bar & Grill, just
on closing.
One on the house? asks Chuck
what will it be?
& without hesitation, I say
a Banana Daiquiri.
One Banana Daiquiri
coming up, says
Chuck.
Happy Hour in the Noe Valley Bar & Grill
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Never married |
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How can I help |
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not even if |
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Everyone |
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Where I come from |
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I found myself |
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Lennie Bruce? |
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You drink here |
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Talent
You’re not up
here
to film
our
coons
are you?
Yep
said Lyndsay
to film
your coons ―
But
if it’s a problem
tell me ―
we’ve
brought up
a few
coons
of our own.
From Fredericks of Hollywood
Why don’t we
stay home
tonight
get stoned
or a little drunk
you could
wear something
to our advantage
that something
I bought you
from Fredricks
of Hollywood?
― Yes
that something ―
we could
shoot
a little spunk
A winter’s tale
She came late
& I mean late,
Doug.
The anti-pasto in the fridge
the bottles out
the guests gone
— late;
We talked —
we talked all night
— all night, yes
all night, we talked —
We talked
one-thirty
two
three-thirty & four
off the clock
& on ―
until
we noticed in the perspex dome
a soft luminescence
and we talked of that
as, the blue-black curtain of night
being raised
by its machinery
at five ―
when we
laid down
the world got up
&, we watched this
dog in/ cat out
the early bird
& the worm
etc. ―
then, making
a small warm nut of herself
she wrapped around
the husk of me.
So we lay ―
till, she drowsily turned
to hush
the tick tick tick
of myself
with a kiss
― it was six ―
with a kiss
with that
which did not!
So I
showered
and at seven
left
a please stay
help yourself to anything
&, an I’ll be back at four
note ―
― & was
but she had gone ―
gone express
as per the stage direction
of A Winter’s Tale
exit/ pursued
by a bear
I must need a drink,
said Doug,
for a moment there
I thought you said
pursued by
a beer
― if you’ve got
a VB or a Tooheys Blue
I could use one.
The white sulphur-crested cockatoo
for Alan Wearne
I won’t bore you
with why
but I went to this
hooker ―
& because
I had to start somewhere
I asked, with a fake detachment
to see, her tits
― some money changed hands,
her tits were interesting.
The white sulphur-crested cockatoo
tethered
to a freestanding perch
at the foot of her bed
lent an ambience
that was also
interesting
Neverthless
I had paid for her work
& my play
so this & that
we did
beneath, the Desiderata on the wall
& the white sulphur-crested cockatoo
― me on top
& then her, on top of me
till such, escalated
& then, properly ceased ―
with, the hooker saying
‘Damn ―
there’s more spunk in you
than a football team.’
I paid to play
in the precinct
of the cockatoo
again
for though
I thought the hooker good at her work
there were elements of style
― of film, or a Poetry Noir
in the sulphur-crested cockatoo
&: I tried to identify
which
as the cockatoo did the left to rights
& the rights to left
of its perch
from where it with one ―
the right or left angry eye
kept watch ―
perhaps it found us
interesting
― who knows or cares,
as the cooing & sucking
of the hooker’s coaxing work
puts its question
& then damns me as before
― for more spunk
than a football team.
It won’t
come as a surprise
that sometime later
I went again
a third time
one does as one does
‘specially
if one finds
a white magisterial bird
interesting ―
interesting, on a scale of 1 to 10?
― ten
an idée fixe
What was its purpose there
― minder, duenna, sentry, pimp?
― If the bird knows
the bird aint telling.
& ―
it’s while I’m lying there
with the hooker trying
to bring me up to the speed of her work
that it occurs to me
the bird
is supposed to
Alan ―
― supposed to
somehow act or speak in this scenario
to its being there
that it’s supposed to
pronounce ―
as they do
in the common
& human tales of
an Englishman
an Irishman & a Scotchman
or some other
hapless triad
with an all-knowing
& all-seeing
castigating parrot
which, as Mr Interlocutor
quips & points the finger
at the fool.
&, ―
it’s while I’m lying there
thinking of
parrots as signifiers
that I recall
the elegance, & the poetry with which
Chandler
in his last novel
Playback
used one, to screech
Quien Es Quien Es Quien Es
― who is it
to break a silence
that had fallen
like a bag of feathers
So, realising
there was little
that was elegant
or Chandleresque
in the bird
I gave myself over
to the hooker’s work
& Damned again
went home
knowing that I would not return
― for the hooker was repetitive
― parrotlike
& had a familiar
which to the contrary
did not speak at all.
That’s it Al ―
a three-act poem
folk & fuck tale
structure.
That’s it
― genre
a text of how it is.
How it should be
find elsewhere
as text of something else.
That’s it
but not the why ―
let them ask
the white sulphur-crested cockatoo
at the foot
of her bed why
as I
won’t bore you with why
I went to that hooker
― sing black lyric/ roll on narrative.
This is what happens
You fall
to the floor
you go
into spasms
you vomit;
then
later
somebody
has the carpet
Scotchguarded
where you died.
Dig 1 & 2
1.
Dig
One time I had a gig
at the Black Hawk in San Francisco ―
When? when indeed, I forget when, but
when, Sonny Stitt, who like me
played alto, was touring & in town
with Jazz at the Philharmonic.
So he makes the gig
and asks, can he blow?
Sure ― yeah ― great, I say
what do you want to play
Cherokee! Stitt says ―
Let’s play Cherokee.
Now
if a kid ―
some local uninvited kid-
came around and wanted to jam with me
I would nominate a tune
one that had all kinds of very difficult chord changes
like Cherokee
& for the kid
I would count it off
real fast.
Well, that night in the Blackhawk, I said
Beat it off Sonny ―
One-two, one-two,
and Sonny was flying;
We played the head, the melody
and then he took first solo ―
he played, I don’t know, forty choruses
for an hour maybe
did everything that could be done
on a saxophone
everything you could play ―
everything, Bird would have played
if Bird had been there
everything!
& then he stopped
and looked at me ―
gave me one of those
‘all right suckah your turn’
looks.
My turn ―
I was strung out, hooked
and it was my turn.
My gig ―
I was drunk
& having a hassle with my wife, Dianne
who, in our hotel room next to the Club
had threatened to kill herself.
My turn ―
I had marks on my arm, &
I believed there to be
narcs in the club.
My turn ―
where he. Sonny
had done all those things
and now it’s my turn
to put up or shut up
to talk or
walk.
I forgot everything
and everything
came out.
I played way over my head
different to Sonny
I searched and found
my own way
and that way, reached
the people.
I played myself
& they felt it
loved it
& knew I was right
I blew &
blew & blew & blew
until I stood there
finished
heart pounding
shaking all over
and soaked in
sweat.
& as the crowd screamed
‘More, yeah/ yeah’ etc
&/ or, whistled/ clapped & stamped
I looked over at Sonny
just, kind of
nodded ―
and Sonny said
‘All right’ ―
and that was it
dig ―
that’s what it is all about.
2.
Dig
the above
was taken from
Straight Life
The Story of Art Pepper
I pass it on
an appropriation?
yes, in part
but not in principle
all art
is made from other
art ―
now that is
an appropriation ―
Art Pepper’s story
not made, but
found & held up
orchestrated yes
but not appropriated
why
work this gritty mordant lyric
& epic text
to something else
to get it wrong?
to be long in craft
and short with Art
No way!
Dig!
I fix myself
& find my other
in serving this.
The story of Art Pepper
stands alone ―
Dig
& pass it on.
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