Gayelene Carbis 5 Poems

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March 31

Family

We were so sad, we left our houses to live in a tree.
Of course we were together, our limbs tangled,
our breaths breathing in each other's bodies.
The tree told us we could only be temporary.
At night, we heard the tree talking to other trees,
though we couldn't make out the words.
They seeped into our sleep and became
malignant in our dreams. In the mornings
we woke and saw we'd made something
monstrous out of fear our sanctuary wouldn't
save us. We swept our tears into the streets,
hid in the bark of our brooms as if wood
had become new skin. I stood underneath
the tree sometimes, and waited.

'Family' was first published in Red Room Poetry, online, 2021. It also appeared in I Have Decided to Remain Vertical (Puncher and Wattmann) in 2022.

Ribbons

How nervously now a cold comes. I fear chaos. I know the wind carries more
than pollen. I know how felled a body can be by something that once seemed

so small. And yet we forget too, forget sweating in our beds, our heads heavy,
our legs shooting with pain. We have been here before. But twenty, thirty, forty

are nowhere near fifty. We stand on the other side looking back, saying –
Oh my God! I never knew I had such a tiny waist! Once I ran round an oval

in a picture-hat and my ribbons ran after me. They could never catch me,
nobody could. Now I have caught up with myself and I never wear ribbons.

There is a writer friend about my age who wears a red hibiscus in her hair,
on one side, as if she's in Hawaii. Another woman, from choir, wears red

ribbons and a red dress after Kate and Kathy calling out to Heathcliff. Ribbons
are still possible. And so is red. I am not dead after all, just half-alive after

asthma, the flu. Meanwhile I see those other women in my mind with their
flowers and their ribbons, and remember.

'Ribbons' won the My Brother Jack Poetry Prize 2020. It also appeared in I Have Decided to Remain Vertical (Puncher and Wattmann) in 2022.

Red Horse by the River

After a painting by Anselm van Rood

When you were a child, you drew
a red horse by a river.
Your teacher told you horses weren't red,
but black or brown or grey or white.
Your father thought your red was
|too bold, too bright; a bit over-the-top
for a horse. His eyes turned cold,
I think he feared for your future.
He called you a cissy under his breath.
He blamed me for the red.
Your father never denied their existence,
though none of us had ever seen them.
We'd heard of them, out there
on the range. Someone said they'd seen
one once down there by the river, but
no one believed him. I did though,
he went into so much detail and his eyes
went all dreamy. I almost believed
I'd seen it too. Your father said
your version of red was ridiculous:
you should show only what's
real and true. I know, you said. I know.

'Red Horse by the River' was first published in Westerly, 2022. It was also shortlisted for the Adrien Abbott Poetry Prize in 2017 and appeared in I Have Decided to Remain Vertical (Puncher and Wattmann) in 2022.

Embodiment in Quill

For Gay Lynch

I have been rearranging my ankles.

They no longer sit at the end of my legs,
.........................they are only a suggestion.
...................................I feel loose, and lighter.

I have been chanting too, my voice is fine ..................................................
.........................but I no longer want words,
...................................just sounds.

My hair has grown long but I'm
.........................keeping it high on my head.
...................................I seem taller.

Meanwhile, my clothes grow small and smell.
.........................I ignore them. And housekeeping is
...................................not for women who write.

Neither is maintenance. I've thrown out all my stilettos,
.........................I don't know how to wear stockings.
...................................Once I lay on my bed,

contorted, for a pair of nylons. I never forgot
.........................how painful it was. It wasn't physical.
...................................That I could bear.

A living being is making his way through the house.
.........................I shut out dishes in the kitchen,
...................................and keep my door open.

'Embodiment in Quill' was first published in Australian Poetry Journal, 2021. It also appeared in I Have Decided to Remain Vertical (Puncher and Wattmann) in 2022.

St Kilda Morning

After a painting by Anselm van Rood

As soon as I see your St Kilda Morning – straightaway – I'm in Luxor:

the perfect blue of the sky,
.......................................the palm trees;
..............................................................the shape of the sea, the curve of the road,

even the tram tracks are soft and pink and yellow like sand,
.......................................like the desert:

there's something tropical – hot and humid;
..............................................................that heat; that summer;

that time I met Tarek,
..........................which means Prince:

.......................................the Egyptian who took me to Egypt:

the whirlwind romance:..... him here in Melbourne, and meeting me,
..............and taking me home to meet his parents in Cairo:

and then that trip down the Nile to the Valley of the Kings:
..........................and me on a boat watching the Nubian rowing us –
.................................................the sweat pouring off his skin,

and Tarek telling me not to worry about him, he's used to it;
..........................the heat, the rowing, the sun on his skin:

as if Tarek thought I thought the Nubian was being treated like
..........................some kind of servant:

I have been in thrall to all of my stories –
..........................I made Tarek and Egypt into a story;
................................................I turned Luxor into material for my life:

and when I saw your St Kilda Morning I stepped right into it,
...........as if I could make it into something else, be somewhere else:
................................................and now I discover,

you too have travelled to Egypt, looking for that same light:
...........but your eyes were always open and alive to the light,
................................................to your art:

as my eyes have now opened, and are alive to the light;
........................................................................to my art.

'St Kilda Morning' was first published in I Have Decided to Remain Vertical (Puncher and Wattmann) in 2022.

The Baker's Daughter

After Ophelia's soliloquy from Hamlet

I flow downstream, north-mad, beneath
the netherworld of dreams: not air,..but sea
and stream and creek:..a kind of death wrought
from the kin of love:..in theatres world over,
your iambic flourishes cast me strew:..impresario
and scholar, you make literal the shadows:
too mindful, we die to our truer selves, calling father!
But the fathers, all air, walk as ghosts over the grave ground.

'The Baker's Daughter' was first published in Australian Poetry Anthology, 2019. It also appeared in I Have Decided to Remain Vertical (Puncher and Wattmann) in 2022.

Any Day Now

You say you long to be untethered but no one believes you're telling the truth. The depression you tend to, your mashed mind, your slow feet. Out in the street, footsteps. Others going about their lives. Being alive. While you keep your tethers fresh, watering them daily, saying I have never really left him. Meanwhile, he has someone else somewhere else, far from here. You interrogate Is she kind? Can she look after you when you are not well? She lives at Beauty Point. That sounds nice but how long does it take her to reach him? Can she save him? The poor woman doesn't know you are doing this handover from here. Doesn't know the hold he has on you. You call, you are careful. Bequeathing him to her, you have no option. You will try to befriend her, say Oh yes, he's wonderful, please look after him! Though you tried that with another woman he was with and she told you smartly, I'm sure he's capable of looking after himself. You play Bob, one of his many legacies, sing loud and strong, almost as if you believe it Any day now / Any day now / I shall be – released.

'Any Day Now' was shortlisted for the Poetica Christi Prize 2023 and was published in Journeys: An Anthology of Poems from the Poetica Christi Poetry Prize, Poetica Christi Press, 2023.

Really Something

A group of women sitting in a huge backyard as it grows darker. Suddenly
my friend spots one, calls out to us – Look! A tawny frogmouth.
She'd been talking about them and now one's appeared, as if summoned.
Her voice is low, and gentle. The women gather in. I see a dark shape
on the clothesline. The outline of a bird that reminds me of an owl.
And then another tawny that flies into the tree we're all under.
I'm surrounded by women, all writers – poets – they peer through the dark
with sharp eyes and soft hearts. Oh, look! The darlings – the sweethearts,
says one woman, who is holding the hand of my friend, for the first time
in my presence. I look over at them in wonder; a little loss at what I lack
in my own life. A slight twinge of envy. Not of them, but of love.
One woman asks if it's ok to move closer to the clothesline. My friend
says yes, they're fine, they know me. The woman crouches on the ground,
creeps forward slowly, holding her camera. Dian Fossey in the grass, I say
but no one notices. I am probably spoiling the moment with my references,
always more Hollywood than reality. I'm seeing Sigourney Weaver.
The women watch. My friend says, It really is something special to see,
isn't it? The woman she's with keeps saying over and over – Oh –
the sweethearts! The darlings! That may sound, out of context, kitsch or cute,
but it's far from it. In fact, how she says it is for me even more beautiful
than the birds, which I can hardly see. For these women though, the blurred
sight of them is enough. The women leaning forward and hushed to see
and watch for tawny frogmouths are really something. The excitement is
almost contagious, I can feel it but can't quite catch it. For the others,
the moment is marvellous because of the bird on the clothesline; the other one
that flies into a tree branch high above our heads. For me, I'm stunned by
women who have this sense of wonder, the hushed voices, the close attention
to the world. I am in a state of enchantment. I can still see the shape of
the tawny frogmouth flying above us, hear the hushed voices, and
the length of arms telling me a hand is being held, just out of my view.
And how lovely that all was; how extraordinary it all is.

'Really Something' was shortlisted for the ACU Poetry Prize 2023 and was published in Love: An Anthology of Poems from the ACU Poetry Prize (Sydney, 2003).

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Gayelene Carbis is an Australian-Irish-Cornish-Chinese writer of poetry, prose, short film, and plays. Gayelene's second book of poetry, I Have Decided to Remain Vertical (Puncher and Wattmann) was recently Finalist, International Best Book Awards 2023 (U.S.) and Finalist, Poetry Book Awards 2023 (U.K.). Her debut collection, Anecdotal Evidence (Five Islands Press), was awarded Finalist, International Book Award 2019 (U.S.). Gayelene won First Prize in the My Brother Jack Poetry Award and the Ros Spencer Poetry Award. Her work has been published widely and won/been shortlisted for numerous awards in Australia and overseas. Gayelene teaches Creative Writing.