Y’HAVE COME A LONG WAY, BABY

 

THE MELBOURNE PUSH
written in a fit of pique

THE MELBOURNE PUSH
WRITTEN IN A FIT OF PIQUE

I’ve read
your biographical notes
on the net
and how you dismiss
with a broad sweep
of your intelligence
the art of almost everyone
around you
during your emergence
as a writer
in the 60s…

Were we
worthless artists
all trifling pretenders
to being part
of the 60s revolution?
our
writings
paintings
dances
music
amounting to
a hubbub
about nothing
of any value
worth savouring
or saving
for future elucidation?

Were we irritating grit
and dust
trapped in
the shambolic outer rings
of the Real Stars
of the Melbourne Push
La Mama
the Pram
and the other places
where we gathered?

In that brief period
in that great flurry
were we merely flotsam
to be washed away
by the great tide of time
easily forgotten?
Detritus in the scheme
of things
bit players
wannabes
merely setting the stage
for the grand entrance
of the Real Stars
in the romantic drama
“Modern Australian Literature”?

You are now
a Grand Old Bard
You are a Real Star
Oh! Yes, you are!
Most pompous
collector of feathers!
with your name
and arrogance
in the glare
of  bright lights

Bedazzled by
your own brilliance
illuminating the long shadow
of your ignorant youth
still trapped in academe.
You are a Real Star
Oh! Yes, you are!

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