Australia, (1915-1979)
Circe’s Home for Sailors
- And Circe took the roots of herb and tree
- And common moulds that grew
- Disfiguring old parchments and old books,
- Champignons pink and shy
- As breasts of girls with sideways-seeking eyes
- That hide in lashes as their nipples rise,
- And spotted toadstools, yellow, grey and blue,
- She gathered under pines, as bright as moons
- Among pine-needles, glowing late at night,
- The sticky milk of nettles and chickweed
- From sheep-camps where ewes feed.
- She gave us these.
- The world was made anew, like the first day,
- Or when a painting or a town is cleaned
- Of stain and grime, and though the tall clocks chime,
- There is no hurry, not a thought of time.
- And a strange sight it must have been to see
- Haggard and bearded men walk hand in hand
- And play like children on the yellow sand –
- And someone laughed, though we had drunk no wine,
- And we looked at one another
- As children do who smother up their laughter.
- So walking backwards, stumbling among weeds,
- We stumbled into nurseries and unlocked
- Rooms where the shells of monsters and of gods
- Are stored, the tears and smiles of our lost dead,
- And rooms in which we sometimes wake in dreams
- To attitudes of those in Bosch’s Hell.
- Then Heracles
- Led me aside and pointed under trees
- Where men were fighting, changing into swine.
- With grunts of lust they dined off one another
- And few were left when to the bell of hounds
- They ran down cliffs into the sea and drowned.
- The scene changed. There were just we two.
- I took Medea’s hands, both firm and dry,
- And said, “Let the future come: palace and drum
- Or a gardener’s cottage and an open sky.”
- And we made love and she smiled up at me
- And said, “Well, we shall see.”
- Women and cats retain a mystery.
- I noticed that she did not eat.
Invocation to Circe
- Then there is Mrs Stage,
- What shall we wish for her?
- She is a poison-pen,
- At her lukewarm teas
- A marriage counsellor:
- Her husband being half her age
- She takes her precautions.
- Shall we strip her naked
- And put her in a sty
- And feed her, as she feeds now,
- On the filth of two cities?
- Let her go on all fours
- And think she is a sow
- And even the most boring boars
- Pass her by.
- Let her grunt and grow fatter
- Looking sideways with her little eyes
- As the butcher-boys prod her:
- “God, George, here’s a pink one;
- What an old stinker!”
- May she squeal as she feels the knife
- And her husband dish up his wife
- On his girlfriend’s platter.
The Magic Branch
- The bough of Dodona
- That the grey goddess
- Of wisdom and of owls
- Had fixed to the prow
- Spoke, or so it seemed,
- And we bowed our heads.
- “You have sinned,” it said;
- “By that I mean
- That you are ashamed,
- The good light of dawn has gone
- With the colours of the sun.
- In the cave of your skull
- You will be confined
- And the breast that you stroke
- And the fair young head
- Will not be there
- But shadows on a wall
- In the flickering firelight;
- And the good singing,
- A ringing of crickets
- In the naked ear.
- Alone, you will know fear.
- Each joy will be a task,
- You will doubt your skill
- And your will to endure
- Behind your mask;
- You will practise deceptions
- On yourself and others,
- Despise your brothers
- And your need of brothers,
- And envy the dead
- As you reach the conclusion
- That dying is easier said than done.
- This will go on
- Until you come to Aeaea
- The island in the sea
- Of Circe the enchantress
- Where changed into swine
- Some will know they are mad;
- But should she choose to bless,
- You may go free.”
- And the ship sailed on.
6 Ulinda
- There was a duck egg as green as the evening sky.
- Trout hovered in the horse-trough. The road was white
- And vanished like a headache in sheets of light
- And pale blue mountains. The homestead creek was dry
- And warm with pebbles. Grandfather said that Why?
- Was a crooked letter. His beard got in his plate.
- ‘Milk grandfather. Sugar grandfather.’ ‘Now that
- Is just what I can’t have.’ And he winked the bluest eye.
- It was like the duck egg. We were only playing a game,
- But mother left the table; so we ran along.
- One sundown they butchered a pig and I saw it scream.
- I held my ears and it went on screaming. ‘What’s wrong?’
- They said. ‘It’s only a dream.’ But I sang in my dream:
- ‘Grandfather’s dying. He’s going to die,’ I sang.
About the Poet:
David Watt Ian Campbell (1915-1979), was an Australian poet. He attended The King’s School in Sydney where he devoted much of his time to playing football and went on to Jesus College, Cambridge, where he represented England in the Rugby Union
Campbell returned to Australia in 1938 and at the outbreak of the Second World War joined the Royal Australian Air Force, serving as a flying boat pilot throughout the War and was awarded the Distinguished Flying Cross in 1943. Throughout this time he was writing and contributing poems to magazines.
After the war, Campbell took up farming on a family property near Canberra. He would go on to publish over fifteen volumes of poetry and prose. He also edited several anthologies, including the 1966 edition of Australian Poetry and, in 1970, Modern Australian Poetry. He also wrote short stories and translated Russian poetry in a collaborative project with Rosemary Dobson and others. [DES-01/17]