1. |
The Elbe Feeds The Port
06:33
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If you're coming to Hamburg, you better
bring a duffle coat. I'll meet you at
Stadtpark, avoiding a tawny chow dog.
It ain't December, the gingerbread is all
gone. The Elbe feeds the port, HADAG.
But if you're travelling to Bamberg,
confluent with the river Main, you might
chance upon my sweetheart there,
wearing neither a bonnet nor a shawl.
Say for me that my heart, oh, it
paws the ground. And my mind, oh,
is left blackberrying in the sun.
So if you're coming to Hamburg,
there's the planetarium. I'll
meet you at Schauspielhaus,
avoiding the urban seagulls.
In a pedal boat, let's look for the
swans. Not at the Alster Lake,
must be at the Mill Pond.
But if you're travelling to Bamberg,
confluent with the river Main, be
sure to try some asparagus there,
as my sweetheart is wont to do.
And say for me that my heart, oh, it
paws the ground. And my mind, oh,
is left blackberrying in the sun.
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2. |
Wissotzky In The Night
04:13
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My father was an anarchist, he drank
Wissotzky in the night. We'd talk about
Bakunin until the morning dawn.
They'd be workers’ committees and
syndicates, and free association.
And my father would say: "Oh,
my son, the Kibbutz ain't that bad
And, oh, we're godless Jews."
Working the land in a collective way
of life, cattle and chicken coops.
Organised from the bottom up,
Mutual aid, and fish ponds.
They'd be no one beaten with the
peoples’ stick, and we'd all own the
fruits of our labour. And my father would say:
"Oh, my son, the Kibbutz ain't that
bad and, oh, we're godless Jews."
My father was an anarchist, he drank
Wissotzky in the night. We'd talk about
Kropotkin without lashing the wind.
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3. |
One, Two, Three
04:58
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Dear, oh, dear, in a buttonsome
dress. Such, such are the joys: days
of honey, no days of onion, cumulus
clouds, I thumb my nose at thee.
Marzipans, upon my word, for I've a love
full of delicacy and wit. She's a heart
that beats fast, a head that swims not.
The cold German winter is right
outside, and I'll blunt the sword of
longing when the moon does wane.
What if my plight's the one of the
bumblebee, and my nonsense that
upon stilts? What is my mother's
one only a face could love, a
bureaucrat and a bleeding heart?
Even if you'll take me out to a
nightclub, and say "Damn me, won't
you dance?" I will kiss you, one, two,
three, whimper, moan, and sigh.
The cold German winter is right
outside, and we'll blunt our toes and
ankles dancing shudder quotes.
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4. |
Sydney
04:53
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It's been the best part of a year since
I last was in Sydney. I miss the local
beer and the heath-leaved banksias.
A shaded bus-stop may flank Black
Star Pastry. Sapphos and wattle
trees. Oh, how I miss the coterie.
And when I think of Clover Moore,
I don't think of Grover, no.
I've got a longing din and it's on
account of Sydney. I miss the local
near architectural disasters.
A faded poster says: "Blood is on
the wattle". Take heart, I tell myself.
Oh, how I miss the Courthouse.
And when I think of Clover Moore,
I don't think of Grover, no.
"An acquaintance friendly frowns
in a quaint and friendly town".
Julian Nation's on the radio. Oh,
wait, he's from Melbourne.
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5. |
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As the leaves fell down on Bialik
Town, on a wept-stridden morning.
I overheard a plaintive man, was
lamenting for his Evelyn.
"My Evelyn should be hanged on
a Keirin chain, above the dittany.
The apple of my eye all cycle-
clipped. Oh, I blush and blench."
Go bridle me my milk-white steed,
Go bridle me my fixed-wheel.
Hold fast for weal or woe, and
stay the hand of vengeance.
"Go away from my window sill,
The pie there is cooling down.
Leave me to loll my tongue, and
lay by the chimney flues."
At two weddings did Evelyn dance; tug,
tow, and pilotage. No need to cleave the
air, like horses in the new morning clover.
"A man about town have I become,
And not for bread alone. What
can't be said cannot be said,
And it can't be whistled either."
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6. |
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If you'll be fond of me, I'll sail my kite and
keep a clean plate. If you'll be fond of me,
my insides will turn to dry clay. If you'll
be fond of me, it will hold in spades.
In for a penny, in for a pound. I'm
so taken by your smile, you're
so taken by your man.
If you'll be fond of me, I'll shout until
my lungs are hoarse. If you'll be fond of
me, they'll be bags under my eyes and
penitence in my soul. If you'll be fond of
me, here's hoping to have but not to hold.
Cut the pie any way you like.
I'm so taken by your smile, you're
so taken by your man.
If so, so be it. For your pleasure in
cogwheels. For my breast shaken with
doves. I am at pains to emphasize:
I know for every goose there is a
Swan yet I'm so taken by your smile,
You're so taken by your man.
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7. |
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News just to hand, at autumn's gate,
She's left me nonplussed on my heels.
Oh, wild horses couldn't drive me to her.
Advice is to my woman gone, don't
compound folly with malice. Oh, it
was in the merry month of April.
So take your head off my pillow,
Lay your sweetest warm breath
On someone else's lips.
News just to hand, she's as keen as
mustard, rearranging the furniture
whilst the house burns down. Oh, wild
horses couldn't drive me to her.
My l'amour fou is now jamais vu,
No more cinders in the snow.
Oh, nor a penny on my soul.
So take your head off my pillow,
Lay your sweetest warm breath
On someone else's lips.
My heart warms towards her, but
it could never the years between
us. Oh, not a hope of a prayer.
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8. |
Plump For This City
06:01
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I don't want to go to Broken Hill, darling.
No, I don't want to go to Broken Hill,
darling. The mines are closed at the
Line of Lode and the people are ill
from the silver skimp dump, darling.
I don't want to go to Wollongong,
darling. No, I don't want to go to
Wollongong, darling. I don't care if
it's the only place where you can
skydive onto a beach, darling.
I don't want to go to Bendigo, darling.
No, I don't want to go to Bendigo,
darling. The bank there has long coddled
The inner flake of the CEO, darling.
Leave me here in Sydney town, darling.
I'll cast my bucket down where I
am, darling. I'll plump for this city, I
won't throw in the towel, I'll swallow
dry and take a chance, darling.
I don't want to go to Silverton,
darling. No, I don't want to go to
Silverton, darling. It's the most
lively ghost town there is, and Mad
Max was filmed there, darling.
I don't want to go to the Big Potato,
darling. No, I don't want to go to the Big
Potato, darling. I've seen the Big Yabby,
I've seen the Big Cheese, I've seen the
Big Easel and the Big Bench, darling.
Even if we're living on the whiskey
line, even if we're living on a
flute's sigh, I'll don the hat.
Leave me here in Sydney town, darling,
I'll cast my bucket down where I
am, darling. I'll plump for this city, I
won't throw in the towel, I'll swallow
dry and take a chance, darling.
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9. |
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A piebald fence flanks a dandelion.
A sausage dog walks past. And that's
where I saw you locking up your bike.
You had on those tight blue jeans that
I like, and that in motley top. Looking
so sequined in the moonlight.
Oh, devil take the hindmost, everyone
is doomed to happiness. But I never
loved somebody sometimes.
Waft her, angels, to the skies!
A hushing finger at the mouth.
Let's just elope and ebb away.
Be all that as it may, you still
haven't let all the geese back into
the fold. It’s at least something to
have a choice of nightmares.
Oh, devil take the hindmost, everyone
is doomed to happiness. But I never
loved somebody sometimes.
So I'll bite my tongue, bide my
time, and count my beads.
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10. |
Bedlam In The Willows
04:50
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It's high-dusk in Akko town, the end
of the High Days to boot. And the
fishing boats and the sandstone walls
Knock the sea west of Galilee.
For he's come one night through the
neighbourhood, and a blameless
man he may well have been, saying
"Here am I, behind the wheel, though
on this day it is outlawed by creed.
I am a man upon the land, the
crescent moon my only guide. And
when I step through David's gate,
I'm neither whale nor minnow."
And he has taken a leap of faith,
Behind the wheel in a dash across
town. Now the heave of stones at
the moving windows, bedlam in
the willows and ill fares the land.
The tensions stoked for nights
therewith, knives and clubs, hotheads,
a mob. Saying "There are several faiths
herein, but one law and overlords.
For if you're not our kin and ilk, the
crescent moon your only guide,
The law will shine on your every
flagstone, unjust as the day is long."
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Bud Petal Sydney, Australia
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