the Psychiatrist
the Psychiatrist can sign you away
the Psychiatrist can give you a script
or several pills depending on the diagnosis
pills to start having an erection again
pills to stop obsessive thoughts and irrational beliefs
such as the world is going to end or
the sink is dirty like a big wet asshole
the Psychiatrist can give you a title
the Psychiatrist can give you a new name
so that when you start barking on the train
you can introduce yourself on your own terms
when you are at its desk
it will not smile but will frown
if you say I’m not happy
if you say the small pills make you feel small
it will only frown more
the Psychiatrist is a doctor
the Psychiatrist can take your pulse
or remove your kidney should the situation arise
more likely they will take your money, insisting
you should be okay in twelve months
but something will always be wrong with you
head lines
MAN’S HEAD USED AS BOWLING BALL
IMPALED FENCE CUT FROM MAN
TWINS LIVE BUT GRAN DIES AVOIDING ECHIDNA
EXCREMENT PILE SAVES CHINESE WOMAN AFTER BALCONY FALL
EYE DROPS OFF SHELF
SIX PEOPLE KILLED IN SAUNA FIRE
PERTH MAN RUN OVER TWICE BY SAME SKATEBOARD
FATHER ELECTROCUTED WHILE SAVING KIDS’ KITE
TRIAL TOLD OF CAKE-THROWING ASSASSIN
SPEAR REMOVED FROM MAN’S HEAD
survey
Please only fill out this form. Drink plenty of water within.
Take care to consider the space between lines.
Without looking at your stopwatch, start now.
1. Are you afraid of
a) the void
b) getting up
c) the ascending colon
2. It is rare these days to find
a) white gold
b) fool’s gold
c) lymph nodes behind the ear
3. My life is in balance
a) emotionally
b) there is nothing more to say
c) spiritually
d) when other people ask
4. Outside my window I see
a) the gathering of clouds
b) the Polish neighbour screaming
c) the hospital car park
d) another window
5. I deal with stress by
a) eating organic food
b) milking the sun
c) running into doors
d) everything below
6. If you open up my chest you will find
a) another chest
b) Lou Reed
c) a barrel of soft cheese
d) the enormity of the unfulfilled
7. I am a _______ person
a) strong
b) tea
c) narrow
d) warrant ego snort
8. Every Monday I look forward to
a) others going to work
b) going to work with others
c) watching spiders eat birds
9. I use social media to
a) tell you how you are doing
b) show you I am doing fine
c) communicate with the dead
10. Bleeding from the nipple
a) no
b) no
c) no
d) yes
11. To be human is to
a) wear the right name tag
b) shower daily
c) give what you can’t give
d) fold back into the white
12. In all relationships
a) couch desire in concer
b) Barry White
c) you will feel like crying
d) everything I’ve got, belongs to you
13. Men grow moustaches
a) to hide thin lips
b) to catch morning snow
c) Salvador Dali
d) one step closer to war
14. In dreams
a) flick the light switch
b) bite the man who murdered love
c) open the wrong door
d) administer is no longer a word
15. This is where we
a) disappear
b) find our way up
c) tell the rabbit to run
d) open out
the inheritance triptych
Hearing Dad piss in the night. Noisy Miners cry out anticipating
the first coal train as we pass each other in the hall. Four a.m.
Hope his kidneys are okay. He turns seventy next year and
still wears shorts through winter. The winds calm something
uncalled within. He disappears outside often and names birds
incorrectly. Dad likes to look at women when they’re not
looking at him. We all have strange talents. My first girlfriend
calls out of the blue and he reminisces about her blonde hair
but can’t recall her name. Seeing the record-player he tells me
he once saw Johnny Cash and Bob Dylan. Not that Dylan can
sing Dad says Not like Don McLean. Don never lets you down,
you get what you pay for. I put ‘Winterwood’ on once my boy
goes to bed, and Dad falls asleep on the couch, not letting
anyone down. I put down my wine and study what remains.
In this room of empty chairs, I am the ghost and he is the
father.
Advice comes in pairs. When being a tourist guide in your own
town, take your relatives to the places they least expect to hate.
Start with West End, include a book shop and random cultural
commentary. Walk the thousand stairs at Kangaroo Point and
watch the fit climb into storm. Then the Valley. There your father
tells you to be careful, this is the land of the King Hit. It’s not the
punch you have to worry about David, it’s the impact when you hit
the ground. He’s more concrete than you about actions but you
know what to order at Yum Cha. Pork and peanut dumplings.
Green Jasmine tea. Dad looks around and declares there’s a lot
of Asians here so the food must be good. Also, there are no
photos of the food on the wall so the risk of food poisoning is
reduced. He asks for an itemised bill, you watch the flounder
trapped in glass. You proceed down to New Farm park, where
your boy makes friends under the figs with the grandson of
Tommy Solano, the alleged mob figure who set fire to shadows.
Things are on the up. The boy’s dad, Tommy Solano Jnr, finds
out you’re a poet but doesn’t ask what else you do on the side.
He has a thick neck. Branches snap nearby. Some parents at
school think you run a meth lab. You’re not that ambitious.
Tommy Solano Jnr can see that. He says no-one else talks to his
boy. His boy is five and has angry fists for eyes. He goes on to tell
you he wanted to name his son Zoltan, that his father Tommy
Snr fathered more kids than there are new cafes in this town.
Narcissists know how to make their mark. You make a joke about
bolstering gang numbers. He doesn’t laugh, tells you it’s hard to
grow up in a nightclub. Tommy Solano Snr is currently getting
paid three million by Hollywood for a screenplay about his life.
Crime pays. So does art. Your dad is nearby, wearing the same
clothes as yesterday and the day before that. If someone put a
hit on him, you couldn’t describe him to the police. We all need
somewhere to hide. This town is as good a place as any other.
Rewriting history takes time. Dad has been here three days and
I am starting to see where I am headed. Charisma only gets
you so far, keep the earth nearer. Whenever he would meet
one of my girlfriends, he would size her up. I would watch
him do it, casting his watery gaze while asking questions
without waiting for answers. Lack of love leads some men
to suicide, others to acting. I am a dark one, if I let it run I
only see bridges and water. Dad goes the other path, trying to
convince himself through others. Mirrors don’t catch his fall.
He finally shaved and showered yesterday. This is the palace
of broken men. Collectively we have three divorces and five
children. When I grieve I can’t masturbate, if Dad’s the same
he renounced such acts thirty years ago. He has the look of the
untouched. Holding Dad reminds me to eat more fruit. He
says that yoghurt helps reflower the gut, I don’t know what
that means but I buy more yoghurt. This morning I awoke
to dried blood on the pillow. No-one by my side, my right
ear bitten in sleep. I think it was a cockroach. Better than
the rats dancing in the walls. I’m not sure if it was German
or Oriental, I saw a light brown one near the toothpaste the
other evening. My son walked in, saw the blood and started
writing me doctors notes. He is convinced my phone is to
blame. Started sticking cold cotton balls up my nose, he’s
worried it will start bleeding next. There are so many exit
points from a body. Over dinner Dad retold the passing of
his brother on his own terms. Now they were close, Dad was
kind of noble, and there were stories to laugh at. How many
times does it take for a truth to become a lie? Later over white
wine he told me how he had proposed to his second wife on
the one-seater couch on my deck. He gave it to me when I
moved south. It needed upholstering. We still do. Now I live
in the north, I am the liar.
skywhale
for Anne-Marie
they lied
there is no whale in the sky
the ocean is not blue right through
on the hottest of days
wearing black inside and out
swept off course to land
looking up at the tallest trees
wounded men weep in the woods
you’re all I need to get by
the oracle spoke of your untold faith
now we are chasing the wonderful
there is no more that can be planned
I don’t care who gets angry
there have been such times of hate
this place is the last place to hide
no longing left to hang from the nearest branch
we drift dive, sleeping side by side
in the black house across the river
I wake up living
These poems are from David Stavanger’s The Special, published by University of Queensland Press, 2014. Our poetry editor Stuart Barnes has selected one poem from each ‘Axis’ of the book to provide an overview of the collection.
You can order The Special here, and find David on FaceBook and at www.davidstavanger.com.