(Also been trying for months to get hold of the TV series but HK is bereft and I'm just hoping that Smith McCall showing himself so popular here puts that to rights.)
However, thanks to the Redoubtable Mrs Walker, who's always so well organised and "in there first", I got a ticket to see the wonderful, incredible, amazing Les Murray, the man I've long thought was Australia's BEST and most honestly marvelous poet.
I fell in love with his words two decades ago, reading a poem about Lindy Chamberlain in which he said her real crime was that she didn't know when to cry; that not crying at the right time unleased a horror in the minds of Australia, and the entire nation needed to grow up and learn that there wasn't "a right and wrong time to cry."; that people cried when they cried and not on cue.
I'd already decided that was why Australia was then "unleashing the juggernaut" on a grieving mother; that it was because she wasn't showing the 'correct' emotions and, as a borderline Aspergic myself, who never knows the right time to cry I felt for her. And then came this marvelous poet with the most marvelous mind and the best ever words, expressing exactly what I felt in a way that was honest and new and true and thus began the long love affair with this man's mind and words.
And here he is:
The big man in person.
We got two hours of his poems and they were just beautiful.
Of course, there's always the problem of the image that kept appearing in my mind:
But if you could imagine the vogon reciting words of exceptional beauty and truth, then you'd have it.
Gorgeous morning. Well worth getting up so early for.
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