The Winter Of The Heart
*
A process in the weather of the heart
Turns damp to dry; the golden shot
Storms in the freezing tomb.
A weather in the quarter of the veins
Turns night to day; blood in their suns
Lights up the living worm.
A process in the eye forwarns
The bones of blindness; and the womb
Drives in a death as life leaks out.
A darkness in the weather of the eye
Is half its light; the fathomed sea
Breaks on unangled land.
The seed that makes a forest of the loin
Forks half its fruit; and half drops down,
Slow in a sleeping wind.
A weather in the flesh and bone
Is damp and dry; the quick and dead
Move like two ghosts before the eye.
A process in the weather of the world
Turns ghost to ghost; each mothered child
Sits in their double shade.
A process blows the moon into the sun,
Pulls down the shabby curtains of the skin;
And the heart gives up its dead.
Dylan Thomas
Why, why, he would ask, didn't he turn around and vacate this physical presence, return to the fold and embark on the journey in a vessel less damaged, more pleasing? Why persist with this one? There were so many problems! A lack of empathy, continuity, and the brain damage from sustained drug use, these were only parts of the difficulties. The emotional chaos, making the grafting of the spirit so much more complex, was yet another issue. They clustered together, these damaged forms, and he could see across what once were bar rooms and now were old town halls, all the damage that had been done. His heart stirred with longing, sick of being alone. It was an unnatural state and now he wished to make up for lost time. "I had an affair with a Frenchman once," he said. "l flew from London to Paris a couple of times to see him, it was very intense, but I already had a boyfriend, so I wasn't too fussed. He was very passionate." They laughed, they were always laughing now, and the laughter clashed with their own suppressed feelings.
"Will I ever?" the boy man had asked in his broken French; and the gaggle of queens, always so willing to help, joined in a chorus of "of course", "of course". "You too can walk through someone elses fart clouds and after 19 years of living together not care. Love? I suppose you could call it that. We've certainly been together a long time." He listened to Patrick, ginger haired Patrick who had been sober for the past 20 years, since they had known each other in the late 1980s when they were both hanging around meetings in Sydney; watching the wolrd go by, everything so fresh, the skin ripped off; and Patrick, mooning silly Patrick, fell hopelessly in love. "This is not fair," Patrick remembered thinking, when Patrick come up to his bedroom and looked at this astonishing situation, the bedroom that floated above Sydney with some of the best views anyone had ever seen, the perfect view from the Victoria Street apartments across Woolloomoolloo to the backyard of the city, the suite of skyscrapers, the bridge off to the right.
Everything was so fabulous, the beautiful car, his old irridescent green EJ deluxe special which had people shouting out in the street, "nice car", and which he had loved with a greaet passion, "it's mine, it's mine, it suits me". Living nextdoor to Phillip Knightly's Sydney residence, A Hack's Progress, just one of the benefits. That had been one of his old sayings, "a humble hack on the highways of print", and now everything was different, he was editing a page, not staking out suspects and drumming up stories from where there were no stories. He had realised with what disdain the difficulties of general reporting were held; and perhaps it was true, what Murdoch was reported to have said, "if you're still on general news after you turn 30, there's something wrong with you". There had never been any doubt there was something wrong with him. His aching heart. His oblivion seeking. His sad dysfunction as addiction sweat soaked his clothes; distorted his thoughts.
As he sat watching passers by flick by in their new whizzy, stylish, expensive black cars, looking young, fabulous, expensive. He stared in awe at ordinary people, at handsome men behind the wheels of Mercedes, at the deep level of accomplishment and self imiposed discipline they wore so easily. They weren't mad. They weren't addicted. They were just normal, fun loving, healthy. They created a great passing by, they walked as they talked, he shrivelled on the pavement and took his rightful place as the crooked observer, damaged goods who would never be sane. No good in the woods, so deeply flawed. If only God had blessed him but it was not to be. The crippled alcoholic dwarf that was his true self would not go away; would not call it quits. He could walk into a bar so easily. He could declare this recovery over, a mistake, a brief moment in the sun; and return to his destiny, to die a street alcoholic in the parks where he once used to work as a journalist.
Who was he to defy history, destiny, God? Who was he to say no, no, that is not what I want? I know I can take a differnet course. I don't have to walk into that bar. I don't have to become the damaged cripple struggling to present himself as an ordinary person, struggling to keep up with the demands of work, passionately hopeless, angry, always, at the injuustices mounting in upon him. He knew nothing woiuld ever be the same again. He stood at the turning point. He could go one way or the other. He could walk into the bar or walk on down to the meeting. Oh how he wanted to join them, the internationala travellers, the interstate visitors, sitting there in the bar of that hotel lobby, swapping stories with strangers, being oh so fabulous as the alcohol gripped him. Or he could walk down the hill to the meeting in that obscure, hidden, uncomfortable church hall, and listen to antoher set of almsot total strangers talk about their lives. And so he walked down the road. And there sat Patrick, and they gave that cute little wave at each other and Patrick simpered in that little rabbit like way of his. Patrick had been so embarrassing, so in love, now it was his turn to play the humble fool, to be embarrassed at his own lack of progress, here on the fringers where life and death, love and despair, were entirely interchangeable, a step to the side or a step ahead, the opening of one door or the opeing of another. So far he had defied fate. how much longer could it last?
THE BIGGER STORY:
http://www.abc.net.au/news/stories/2009/08/01/2643098.htm?section=justin
Former prime minister Bob Hawke has been honoured for his contribution to politics with lifetime membership to the Australian Labor Party.
Mr Hawke is only the third person to receive lifetime membership after Gough and Margaret Whitlam.
Prime Minister Kevin Rudd presented Mr Hawke with the honour at the party's national conference today, before hundreds of delegates, his wife Blanche and his assistant of 26 years.
Mr Hawke entered the conference to cheers and applause before taking to the stage where he hugged Mr Rudd, Trade Minister Simon Crean and Deputy Prime Minister Julia Gillard.
Mr Rudd described Mr Hawke as the heart and soul of the Labor movement and of the party.
"Bob you are loved by our party, you are loved by our movement and I believe you are loved by the nation," he said.
Mr Rudd praised Mr Hawke's achievements during four terms in government such as the introduction of Medicareand wideranging economic reform .
He also made note of Mr Hawke's involvement in Labor's 2007 election campaign, making jokes about his charisma among voters.
"If you're standing with R J Hawke, your experience is as follows - to be totally ignored."
Mr Crean said the election of Mr Hawke in 1983 changed Australia and put it on the path of modernisation and reform.
Mr Hawke addressed delegates for over 30 minutes, saying Labor was the love of his life.
"You know, I can be a bit emotional and I must say you're testing the floodgates," he said.
Mr Hawke reflected on the huge change he has witnessed in the world since he joined the Labor Party in 1947 and said Labor's post-war actions in Government were what excited him about being in the party.
http://www.google.com/hostednews/afp/article/ALeqM5hhsVu67WVbRspyahHbWUHzG-8Rjg
KABUL — Three US troops and a French soldier were killed in insurgent attacks in Afghanistan on Saturday, the military said.
The latest bloodshed comes after a month in which 75 soldiers were killed -- the highest number in a single month since the operation began in 2001.
More than 100,000 international troops are deployed in Afghanistan to help the young army fight a brutal Taliban-led insurgency which is mounting ahead of key presidential elections on August 20.
Around 230 French, US and Afghan troops came under fire in the Kapisa province, northeast of Kabul, while on an operation with Afghan troops, the French military in Afghanistan said in a statement.
"One French soldier was hit and died of the injury. Immediately the troops returned fire and counter-attacked the insurgents," it said.
"The fighting lasted one and a half hours and two other French soldiers were wounded. The insurgents eventually retreated."
France has lost 29 soldiers in Afghanistan since 2001, it said. It has around 2,900 French troops in NATO's International Security Assistance Force in Afghanistan under a UN mandate.
Three other ISAF soldiers were killed in bomb blasts, the alliance force said separately.
"Three International Security Assistance Force (ISAF) service members were killed today after their patrol was struck by two improvised explosive devices in southern Afghanistan," it said.
http://www.smh.com.au/national/swine-flu-shuts-hospital-as-pigs-get-virus-20090801-e53z.html
SWINE flu forced a NSW hospital to close its doors to new patients yesterday as Premier Nathan Rees moved to reassure the public after an outbreak of the flu at a piggery.
An outbreak of H1N1 at Bellingen Hospital on the mid-north coast forced it to refuse new patients this weekend. Margaret Bennett, from the Health Department’s Coffs-Clarence Network, said seven staff had fallen ill with flu symptoms since a patient tested positive on July 24.
‘‘The hospital is operating normally in terms of people reporting to the emergency department and our care for current in-patients,’’ she said.
‘‘This weekend we’re diverting new patients to either Coffs Harbour or Macksville.’’
Mr Rees said there was no danger of catching swine flu from eating pork products despite a Dunedoo piggery being quarantined. The outbreak is the first human-to-pig transmission of flu in Australia.
Tests confirmed the pigs had influenza A H1, which is different to the human swine flu virus.
By Friday 21,668 people were known to have contracted swine flu, of whom 61 had died. On Friday, a 70-year-old woman, who had other health problems, became the 22nd person in NSW to die from it.
At the Kinkumber Spiritual Retreat, NSW, Australia.
A process in the weather of the heart
Turns damp to dry; the golden shot
Storms in the freezing tomb.
A weather in the quarter of the veins
Turns night to day; blood in their suns
Lights up the living worm.
A process in the eye forwarns
The bones of blindness; and the womb
Drives in a death as life leaks out.
A darkness in the weather of the eye
Is half its light; the fathomed sea
Breaks on unangled land.
The seed that makes a forest of the loin
Forks half its fruit; and half drops down,
Slow in a sleeping wind.
A weather in the flesh and bone
Is damp and dry; the quick and dead
Move like two ghosts before the eye.
A process in the weather of the world
Turns ghost to ghost; each mothered child
Sits in their double shade.
A process blows the moon into the sun,
Pulls down the shabby curtains of the skin;
And the heart gives up its dead.
Dylan Thomas
Why, why, he would ask, didn't he turn around and vacate this physical presence, return to the fold and embark on the journey in a vessel less damaged, more pleasing? Why persist with this one? There were so many problems! A lack of empathy, continuity, and the brain damage from sustained drug use, these were only parts of the difficulties. The emotional chaos, making the grafting of the spirit so much more complex, was yet another issue. They clustered together, these damaged forms, and he could see across what once were bar rooms and now were old town halls, all the damage that had been done. His heart stirred with longing, sick of being alone. It was an unnatural state and now he wished to make up for lost time. "I had an affair with a Frenchman once," he said. "l flew from London to Paris a couple of times to see him, it was very intense, but I already had a boyfriend, so I wasn't too fussed. He was very passionate." They laughed, they were always laughing now, and the laughter clashed with their own suppressed feelings.
"Will I ever?" the boy man had asked in his broken French; and the gaggle of queens, always so willing to help, joined in a chorus of "of course", "of course". "You too can walk through someone elses fart clouds and after 19 years of living together not care. Love? I suppose you could call it that. We've certainly been together a long time." He listened to Patrick, ginger haired Patrick who had been sober for the past 20 years, since they had known each other in the late 1980s when they were both hanging around meetings in Sydney; watching the wolrd go by, everything so fresh, the skin ripped off; and Patrick, mooning silly Patrick, fell hopelessly in love. "This is not fair," Patrick remembered thinking, when Patrick come up to his bedroom and looked at this astonishing situation, the bedroom that floated above Sydney with some of the best views anyone had ever seen, the perfect view from the Victoria Street apartments across Woolloomoolloo to the backyard of the city, the suite of skyscrapers, the bridge off to the right.
Everything was so fabulous, the beautiful car, his old irridescent green EJ deluxe special which had people shouting out in the street, "nice car", and which he had loved with a greaet passion, "it's mine, it's mine, it suits me". Living nextdoor to Phillip Knightly's Sydney residence, A Hack's Progress, just one of the benefits. That had been one of his old sayings, "a humble hack on the highways of print", and now everything was different, he was editing a page, not staking out suspects and drumming up stories from where there were no stories. He had realised with what disdain the difficulties of general reporting were held; and perhaps it was true, what Murdoch was reported to have said, "if you're still on general news after you turn 30, there's something wrong with you". There had never been any doubt there was something wrong with him. His aching heart. His oblivion seeking. His sad dysfunction as addiction sweat soaked his clothes; distorted his thoughts.
As he sat watching passers by flick by in their new whizzy, stylish, expensive black cars, looking young, fabulous, expensive. He stared in awe at ordinary people, at handsome men behind the wheels of Mercedes, at the deep level of accomplishment and self imiposed discipline they wore so easily. They weren't mad. They weren't addicted. They were just normal, fun loving, healthy. They created a great passing by, they walked as they talked, he shrivelled on the pavement and took his rightful place as the crooked observer, damaged goods who would never be sane. No good in the woods, so deeply flawed. If only God had blessed him but it was not to be. The crippled alcoholic dwarf that was his true self would not go away; would not call it quits. He could walk into a bar so easily. He could declare this recovery over, a mistake, a brief moment in the sun; and return to his destiny, to die a street alcoholic in the parks where he once used to work as a journalist.
Who was he to defy history, destiny, God? Who was he to say no, no, that is not what I want? I know I can take a differnet course. I don't have to walk into that bar. I don't have to become the damaged cripple struggling to present himself as an ordinary person, struggling to keep up with the demands of work, passionately hopeless, angry, always, at the injuustices mounting in upon him. He knew nothing woiuld ever be the same again. He stood at the turning point. He could go one way or the other. He could walk into the bar or walk on down to the meeting. Oh how he wanted to join them, the internationala travellers, the interstate visitors, sitting there in the bar of that hotel lobby, swapping stories with strangers, being oh so fabulous as the alcohol gripped him. Or he could walk down the hill to the meeting in that obscure, hidden, uncomfortable church hall, and listen to antoher set of almsot total strangers talk about their lives. And so he walked down the road. And there sat Patrick, and they gave that cute little wave at each other and Patrick simpered in that little rabbit like way of his. Patrick had been so embarrassing, so in love, now it was his turn to play the humble fool, to be embarrassed at his own lack of progress, here on the fringers where life and death, love and despair, were entirely interchangeable, a step to the side or a step ahead, the opening of one door or the opeing of another. So far he had defied fate. how much longer could it last?
THE BIGGER STORY:
http://www.abc.net.au/news/stories/2009/08/01/2643098.htm?section=justin
Former prime minister Bob Hawke has been honoured for his contribution to politics with lifetime membership to the Australian Labor Party.
Mr Hawke is only the third person to receive lifetime membership after Gough and Margaret Whitlam.
Prime Minister Kevin Rudd presented Mr Hawke with the honour at the party's national conference today, before hundreds of delegates, his wife Blanche and his assistant of 26 years.
Mr Hawke entered the conference to cheers and applause before taking to the stage where he hugged Mr Rudd, Trade Minister Simon Crean and Deputy Prime Minister Julia Gillard.
Mr Rudd described Mr Hawke as the heart and soul of the Labor movement and of the party.
"Bob you are loved by our party, you are loved by our movement and I believe you are loved by the nation," he said.
Mr Rudd praised Mr Hawke's achievements during four terms in government such as the introduction of Medicareand wideranging economic reform .
He also made note of Mr Hawke's involvement in Labor's 2007 election campaign, making jokes about his charisma among voters.
"If you're standing with R J Hawke, your experience is as follows - to be totally ignored."
Mr Crean said the election of Mr Hawke in 1983 changed Australia and put it on the path of modernisation and reform.
Mr Hawke addressed delegates for over 30 minutes, saying Labor was the love of his life.
"You know, I can be a bit emotional and I must say you're testing the floodgates," he said.
Mr Hawke reflected on the huge change he has witnessed in the world since he joined the Labor Party in 1947 and said Labor's post-war actions in Government were what excited him about being in the party.
http://www.google.com/hostednews/afp/article/ALeqM5hhsVu67WVbRspyahHbWUHzG-8Rjg
KABUL — Three US troops and a French soldier were killed in insurgent attacks in Afghanistan on Saturday, the military said.
The latest bloodshed comes after a month in which 75 soldiers were killed -- the highest number in a single month since the operation began in 2001.
More than 100,000 international troops are deployed in Afghanistan to help the young army fight a brutal Taliban-led insurgency which is mounting ahead of key presidential elections on August 20.
Around 230 French, US and Afghan troops came under fire in the Kapisa province, northeast of Kabul, while on an operation with Afghan troops, the French military in Afghanistan said in a statement.
"One French soldier was hit and died of the injury. Immediately the troops returned fire and counter-attacked the insurgents," it said.
"The fighting lasted one and a half hours and two other French soldiers were wounded. The insurgents eventually retreated."
France has lost 29 soldiers in Afghanistan since 2001, it said. It has around 2,900 French troops in NATO's International Security Assistance Force in Afghanistan under a UN mandate.
Three other ISAF soldiers were killed in bomb blasts, the alliance force said separately.
"Three International Security Assistance Force (ISAF) service members were killed today after their patrol was struck by two improvised explosive devices in southern Afghanistan," it said.
http://www.smh.com.au/national/swine-flu-shuts-hospital-as-pigs-get-virus-20090801-e53z.html
SWINE flu forced a NSW hospital to close its doors to new patients yesterday as Premier Nathan Rees moved to reassure the public after an outbreak of the flu at a piggery.
An outbreak of H1N1 at Bellingen Hospital on the mid-north coast forced it to refuse new patients this weekend. Margaret Bennett, from the Health Department’s Coffs-Clarence Network, said seven staff had fallen ill with flu symptoms since a patient tested positive on July 24.
‘‘The hospital is operating normally in terms of people reporting to the emergency department and our care for current in-patients,’’ she said.
‘‘This weekend we’re diverting new patients to either Coffs Harbour or Macksville.’’
Mr Rees said there was no danger of catching swine flu from eating pork products despite a Dunedoo piggery being quarantined. The outbreak is the first human-to-pig transmission of flu in Australia.
Tests confirmed the pigs had influenza A H1, which is different to the human swine flu virus.
By Friday 21,668 people were known to have contracted swine flu, of whom 61 had died. On Friday, a 70-year-old woman, who had other health problems, became the 22nd person in NSW to die from it.
At the Kinkumber Spiritual Retreat, NSW, Australia.
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