Volume VIII - Book II

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Dunedin 

Late Autumn: A Series Of Poetic Sequences

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N.K.Tointon

1994

Dunedin - Late Autumn: A Series Of Poetic Sequences

	...all intentionality, whether in thought or in practice, is poured into the metaphorical bottles of old genre. In this process a rhetorically appropriate genre, or mix of genre, is adopted and then adapted to the task to hand. With this middle path between non-originality and originality in view I see the role of the poet to merely continue, and add to, the poetic conversation already in progress. In this light we must regard any poetic endeavour as having no absolute beginning nor an absolute end. Moreover, from this transcendental, trans-historical point of view, even the very lines of the poem itself can be considered in the same fashion. With this perspective in mind, therefore, I perceive this series of poems as a `series of sequences' without fracturing the integrity of either this series as a whole or the apparent unity of each poem contained therein. Lastly, I would like to note that although these entities may not appear sonorous to the ear it is my hope that to the eye they may yet reveal some hidden depths and in the process re-produce some small degree of poetic pleasure...
    Noël Tointon, 1.5.94.

1.	...must the poet withdraw 
in order to be present... 
...is evocation
pure nostalgia in disguise..?
...an unrecognized recognition...
...self deceiving self...
...one future made contemporary 
with its past..?

...that same street...
...walked by the old house...
...where I lived for 
some twenty years...
...without going in...
...the front lawn now
a vegetable patch...
...trading roses for cabbages...

2.	...the three sided sports field
is called the Oval...
...in the distance the cars seem 
to glide above a road of grass...
...a speeding highway 
halfway between heaven... 
...or hell..?
...a burst of sunlight splits
into ten thousand beams
through the golden trees
with half fallen leaves...
...like gilded funeral notices
announcing their final moments...
...before their flight downwards...
...the damp body of the earth
patiently waiting below...

3.	...O beautiful bush...
...melodious in its every corner...
...but... alas... the early settlers
saw in thee a three dimensional monster...
...a veritable dragon to be slain...
...a desperate obstruction
in that quest for more land...
...in the only way they knew how 
to handle and manage...
...through miles of mindless pasture...
...the east coast of the South Island
devastated...
...the west coast of the North Island
ravaged...
...sadly... the reins weren't pulled in
earlier... a long time ago...
...remnant bell-birds 
in the Town-Belt remind me
of the sounds heard in my youth...
...have pity on thee...
...O sinful St. George...
...on this thy worst sin..!

4.	...under the dark, 
over hanging branches 
of the trees in the Town Belt
the damp leaves... 
...newly fallen...
...change from gold
to dazzling silver...
...in the morning sunlight... 
...ah..!

...reminds me... 
...when thought about...
...through resemblance... 
...of the removal 
of dull varnish
from the surface of 
an old oil painting...
...in the restoration of those 
brilliant masterpieces 
by that wonderful artist -
Rembrandt...
...ah..!

...a painter's palette
already on the canvass
of the ground...
...long after the dawn...
still wet with fresh dew...
...an oriental carpet
studded with miniature
multi-coloured mushrooms 
of every hue...
...like jewels clasped between 
bent blades of grass...
...ah..!

5.	...natives re-encroach
upon the reserve...
...mixing but not 
completely merging
with those trees and shrubs
from a more northern clime...
...floral beds replaced
with tussock ensembles...
...around basaltic rocks
covered in lichen
from an era before 
these `earlier,'
indiscriminate settlers...

6.	...the newspapers tell me
the trout have re-remembered 
the waters of the Leith...
...its rocky course given back 
some of its gravels 
for their spawning...
...its passage now looking 
a little fresher...
...still embraced 
in golden ponds
between rapids that turn 
a shiny silver...
...but let the fish 
drink this frothy brew...
...remember... this trace 
of a river races through
an urban village
into a shallow harbour
still far from the purity 
of a choppy sea...
...into the Pacific Ocean...
...despite all the fish...
...despite all the cities 
that likewise... therein...
still piss in thee...

7.	...all last week
it rained... off and on...
...one must now stick 
to the indicated paths...
...that wind through parks...
...that architects have drawn 
on fancy paper...
...later, metal fences...
...reinforced with beds 
of flowers and shrubs...
...were erected...
...to stop all this wet ink 
from running...

8.	...there is hope
on the faces of the young...
...who wonder out aloud
why native bush is not 
allowed to grow back... 
...along the edges 
of their streets...
...in their patch of garden...
...beside the tall,
lonely cabbage tree...
...for some reason overlooked...
...left behind...

9.	...do the tourists sense 
the coming of the winter...
...fleeing northwards... 
...like the white clouds...
...turning black and blue...
...storming up and over
the motorway..?

10.	...stunted pines going north...
...surrendering to the southerlies...
...jagged... abruptly twisting...
along the edges of the golf course...
...branches like the death defying 
antlers of a flock
of century old stags...
...a bearded stubble 
studded with warty cones...
...between this crop...
...a few feathery tufts
of flying pine needles...
...the droppings of these
worn out accretions 
scenting the soil...
...even in the midst 
of this bitter breeze...
...I can freely smell
this refreshing cleanser 
of the earth beneath me...
... and nestled among the same...
...between these drunken trees...
...the native broadleaves...
...standing upright and sturdy...
...survive without effort...
...unperturbed...

11.	...just off the main beaches
rises a small isle 
called White Island
that pales before the waves
that break up beside her...
...but the Maoris had 
a more keen eye for detail...
...and called these distant rocks
Moana Rua... two islands...
...for the emergence 
of a daughter rock...
...half submerged beneath...
...better named these windswept tips...
...the last port of call 
for those prevailing gales...
...before their arrival
in the Southern parts
of a South America...
...halfway around the world...

12. 	...the main street
is dressed in a succession 
of overcoats...
...a few young men defy
the shifts in seasonal weather
wearing football shorts...
...walking a little
bit more quickly 
than they did yesterday...
...chilled by distant, 
inland mountain tops 
not yet given over 
to a mantle of ice... 
...and snow...

13.	...on a levelled hill
First Church juts 
above the shops...
...its cluster of spires
and rooves re-inventing 
the outline of its once 
sacred foundations...

14.	...loved the ducks in the Gardens...
...always fed them stale bread...
...remembered the turtles in the glasshouse pond...
...and the monkeys... and one day saw 
that shy kiwi in its Maori hut...
...the cages now long gone...
...replaced by a small swamp with irises...
...and the more pleasant smells
of a well stocked herb garden...
...at this time of year the roses
are the worst for wear...
...like the busy students hurrying past...
...taking short cuts 
through their short university year...

15.	...`return to antiquity'...
...`know your roots,' they say...
...but how can I return to a past 
now demolished...
...the late house and garden
of my late philosophy teacher 
now informs a row of dumb motels...
...his dusty tomes now entombed
in the bowels of that nearby 
university library...
...mostly out of sight... unloved... 
...unread... uncared for...
...but ...I take a spiritual comfort
from the fact that in the rambling
ministrations of my mind 
this kind minister 
can still be visited...
...therein fondly remembered...
...entering one more world 
in `the very best of all 
possible worlds'...

16.	...with what forethought
the earliest settlers
trampled through the mud..?
...many pubs once lining 
the commencement
of those bullock trails...

...later... from gold rush monies...
...came the first flush of style...
...a dash of colour...
...main-street became paved
with planned intentions...
...buildings took root
with some architectural
pretensions...

...then...the railways...
...followed by the trams 
and cable-cars...
...the spread of suburbs...
...a democratic dispersal
of former wealth...
...larger mansions of the wealthy
set beside the smaller houses
of the middle-middle classes...
...the age of these dwellings
reflected in the growth 
and density of their surrounding trees...
...the homes of the poor...
...just around the corner...
...or up on the coldest of hills...
...looking down on 
all those forms of lower life...

...now... the car yards displace 
even the buses...
...and the price of petrol
displaces those 
that have lost their jobs 
even before they had one...

17.	...once beside each other...
...near the Exchange... stood
two ornate, Grecian banks... 
perfectly carved columns...
...temples to finance...
...the one survivor has
now beside itself... imposed... 
...one drab, modern building...
...without style... without foundations...
...exactly the same size... but... 
...without that same inner dimension...
...and each time I pass still remember
such pointless vandalism...

18.	...one proud, `victorian' Townhall
with its old, tall clock-tower 
re-erected... the central Octagon
re-designed... pavilions to protect
the pedestrians from the weather...
...two abstract waterfalls...
...and a busy market on Fridays...
...now replace the longed for removal 
of one modern, donated musical fountain...
...that collected only leaves...
...and those small copper coins...
...now likewise forgotten...
...two rows of wet footed pigeons and gulls
now beg for crumbs instead...
...the booming bells now signal 
that the time is twelve...
...time for lunch under the shadows 
of a half-hearted sun half hiding behind
a veil of puffy white, sugar-coated clouds...

19.	...the sunroom 
is a warm place to be 
on a cold afternoon... 
...and there I find 
the sleeping cat... 
...in residence...
...temporarily forgetting me... 
...and the heater...
...in the other room...

20.	...the mysterious mansions... 
...on the lower parts of High Street...
...and on the other streets nearby...
...wearing pointed hats... 
...and turrets... and finials...
...glowing in the dark 
through stained glass windows...

21.	...nature's inherent symmetries
broken... and therein... 
...remaining unbroken...
...the triangular end-profile 
of Saddle Hill... the rounded,
flattened dome of Mt. Flagstaff...
...the camel humps on Mt. Cargill...
...all wrapped and hidden
behind an unfolded, thick blanket 
of rolling, white cloud...

...act one... the curtain
above the city lifts to reveal
the first fragile snows of winter...

...second act... the distant range 
hovering above the airport
glistens for the rest 
of the next morning...

...act three... a few days later
the wooden fence...
... in its turn...
...on one side...
...is painted a patchy white...
...from a liberal sprinkling
of a dry, dusted powder...
...collecting in drifts...
...gently laid down...
...throughout the night...

...for a few short hours
the forms of the world
are underlined...
...capturing the essential nature 
of each moulded shape...
...be it hill, tree, rock 
or mountain...

22.	...a windswept peninsula...
...its grass and macrocarpas
seemingly untouched by the seasons...
...in my childhood rambles remember
the seals, the penguins 
and the albatrosses that tourists 
must now pay for...

23.	...the waving of the tussock...
...the movement of the flax
heavy in thick, black seed...
...dishevelled coiffures...
...first impressions undermined...
...by the flushed, pink faces 
of the passersby...

24.	...collecting in shop doorways
in the lower Octagon...
...in circles to chatter...
...congregations of dry Autumn leaves...

...these seasonal guests
are the only customers now
as they... unseen... enter
these welcoming premises...

...the flurry of sleet signals 
falling snow on those nearby hills...
...time to hurry home for supper...
...watch television...keeping warm... in bed...