Modern Australian Poetry 1920-1970: A guide to information sources edited by Herbert C. Jaffa
Underneath everything we touch is the smell
Of something too obvious to express
And yet we say there is nothing, nothing at all.
What is it about laughter that makes us lift
As if the burden might be gone or the weight
Be somehow alleviated? Laughter is just noise.
Wait. Sometimes the waiting seems interminable
But that is the trick with water. The dark
Gathers up your apprehension and you seek ...
Only the young can wholeheartedly love ancient music.
It is fancy-dress, sound pared to its bones
As if the naughty flesh were simply the prop
for the idea of fabulous costumes, or sackcloth and ashes
Such as we never dream of today.