KOMNINOS

Six :Months in a Poet's Hat

on the way to darwin airport i opened the envelope jan kapetas had given me.

inside was a black velvet cap embroidered in glittering, sparkling, sequined letters of the alphabet.

it was a poet's hat, a gift from jan, something she'd seen at the mindil beach markets, and just had to get for me.

i had been in darwin for nine days; it was the beginning of June, the beginning of the dry season in the tropics, the beginning of four months of blue skies and thirty five degree heat, and the beginning, for me, of six months of gruelling touring, a poet on the road.

i was in darwin at the invitation of the glenti festival, an annual greek-australian festival celebrating food, music, theatre, dance, and this year, 1991, performance art and poetry.

jan kapetas who co-ordinated my tour for glenti, arranged high school visits to casuarina secondary college, darwin high school, sanderson high school, dripstone high school and the greck language Saturday morning school.

adult creative writing workshops of about two hours were-given at brown's mart community arts centre and at the university of the northern territory, and recitals at mindil beach markets, and at the glenii day in bougtlinvillca park, centre stage in front of 5,000 or more people eating greek food, drinking greek wine, watching greek dancers, listening to greek music and generally soaking up what most aW,1raiians commonly think of as greek culture.

i read for the darwin street/pub/gutter/alternative Iift:_1y!e! anarchist/bohemian poets at the mississippi queen restaurant. what a fantasylwld!

i expected to see humphrey bogart drinking at the bar of the convened railway carriage.

the reading took place on the deck of a 50 foot wooden Indonesian fishing vessel, strategically positioned in the lush tropical gardens of the mississippi queen, connected to the train carriage bar by

a shaky wooden bridge; or was it -me that was shaky.

dan\;;n wasn't as redneck as I thought it was going to be, but,

i did find one thing unusual.

men still wolf-whistled at women in the street.

i mentioned it to some people up there and someone offered the explanation that darwin is like one big building site and that son of thing happens on building sites.

someone else just said it was the 'darwin mentality'.

walk walk walk

wolf-whistle

walk

walk

wolf-whistle?

did i hear a dinosaur?

something of darwin's that didn't evolve perhaps?

perhaps!

darwin was full of good times, warm people and the perfect place to stan my touring.

so with my poet's hat and a serve of crocodile and chips, i was off, back to Sydney for a week with the family.

by contrast to darwin my next destination was cold and at the opposite end of the world, the snowy mountains for a week, in a tourist-less tourist lodge in tourist-less berridale. the only pub in town closed at 8 pm. needless to say i had some lonely nights in berridale.

berridale

boringdale?

capuccino free zone

one pub

ten ski lodges

one general Store

five ski hire shops

one butcher shop

a million sheep

five restaurants

no customers.

four weeks into the season,

no snow!

but during the day i was busy visiting schools in nearby adaminaby, jemnglt:. cabramurra., the inimitable nimmitabel, dalgety,

jindabyne, and berridale.

my poet's hat was a great way of introducing myself, 'like my

hat'?'. i'd say.

'what does it say?'. they'd say.

'anything you want'. i'd say.

'it's the whole alphabet, you can make any word you want to

with this hat, it's a poet's hat.'

some didn't quite know what to make of the poet's hat, or was

it the poet? one kindergarten girl trembled and cried when she

saw me in the playground.

the five days working with 500 primary school students were fun

and rewarding for all involved, parents, teachers and students all

kept saying they don't get enough of things like this in their rural communities.

but that doesn't mean there's no art in them there hills.

i met a great yam spinner and bush poet at the dalgety, boyd

mould, and along with the local national party member, peter

cochran. and regional cluster director of education, em kotlash.

we gave a reading at the cottonwood lodge in berridale. the local

audience was not aware it had these three great poets in their

midst, and that's another good thing these tours achieve, it brings

people out, writers who work in isolation; divorced from their

artistic community.

i packed my long underwear into the suitcase, and back to Sydney

for performances at the harold park, the state library; workshops

at busby high school in fiverpoo!. casula high; addressing a

conference of student activities officers at macquarie university.

i was only a week in Sydney before i was away again, but this

time with the family.

michdle. maxim, zanthi, the cot, the high-chair, the tcddy bears, and several boxes of toys were packed into the yolksie and off we went to brisbane for six

weeks as writer in residence at brisbm1c grammar school. .

ian howlett. head of english at grammar, made sure this residency was as close to perfect as possible, a comfortable home environment, a practical work environment, 'a progressive and enthusiastic staff, and sixty of the school's best year II and 12 students. creative writing workshops were held in the mornings from 9 till 12.30 pm. with groups of ten boys: afternoons and fridays were free for me to do my own work.

students appeared on an a.b.c. 7.30 report and on radio national's 'offspring' program with gcraldinc dooguc. i was able to complete my own manuscript, a 'how to' book on creative writing.

i wore my poet's hat at the weekly assembly of 1200 boys in the great hall. giggles, murmurs, whispers were heard as i entered the hall behind the headmaster and teaching staff all decked out in their academic gowns.

after the sports reports, parable_, and hymns, i was asked to read some poetry. the boys responded enthusiastically, ecstatically, exuberantly, by all reports, the most lively weekly assembly anyone had ever witnessed.

whilst resident at grammar, i had time to involve myself in other literary activities.

i went .to the story bridge, still after five years having leadings every Wednesday night, hosted by John dorkins. and still the rowdiest reading in

Australia.

on a tuesday night i attended a reading at bohemia cafe in elizabeth street.

the place was full of black-clad gothic types with exaggerated crucifixes and poetry obsessed with death, god and satan, and full of 'i' and 'why'. shortly after i wrote,

every poet has a poem about depression, this poem is called, .

deep deep

depression.

my sole is destroyed

my laces are distraught

my heel is indignant

my trousers utterly disgusted my belt is appalled

my shirt is unstable

my jacket aches

my jocks tremble

my mastercard seeks revenge my pen is extremely pissed off i think i'll write a poem.

on monday nights michael abbott holds a poetry and music night at the shamrock hotel in the valley opposite the exotic girlie dance-show shopfronts. the night i went i saw a performance by a woman on a table reading her poetry with a light show provided by various coloured torches and table lamps-very enlightening.

in the first week of august my book and cassette were officially released by u.q.p. and a party at the greek club in west end was organised with bouzouki music, greek nibblies, plate smashing, dancing and poetry.

along with the launching there were radio and newspaper interviews, bookshop signings, literary luncheons, lunchtime performances at q.u.t. and the university of queensland and creative writing workshops. .

also the opening night of 'blood on the butter'. a play about human rights staged by rock and roll circus for which i had acted as writing co-ordinator. the poet's hat was working hard.

after a week off in Sydney, and the launch of my book at writers in the park, it was an with my poet's hat again and off to nagle

girls high school in blacktown for a week of creative writing workshops, working with a different year level each day. things at home got a bit hectic, michdlc went to hospital with a suspected appendix, the engine literally fell out of the car, i lost my credit card, and i had to get two kids to child care each morning before training it to blacktown, pick them up at night, feed them, bath them, visit mum in hospital, get them home to bed, and get ready for the next day.

a few days after niichelIe got out of hospital, i was off again to boggabri in northern n.s.w.

it was now the beginning of September, and i spent two days at the sacred heart primary school conducting creative writing workshops with the students of that school and nearby boggabri p.S. i also gave a performance at the boggabri golf

club and local poets once again emerged to strut their stuff. on the way back from boggabri, i caught a plane from gunnedah. and the hazdtoll airlines pilot sadly announced that jt was his last flight as hazelton had retrenched 60 staff and closed gunnedah airport.

i spent the whole trip hoping he wasn't feeling too depressed or suicidal. Sydney looked great from the 8 seater r13vajo but i was only going to see the family for lunch at the airport that day. i was off again, this time to the south of n.s.w.

narrandera. city of trees and victorian pensioner pokie tour mecca on the murmmbidgce.

in two days i was able to conduct writing classes with each year at the public school, three sessions a day, over three hundred students.

the kinder/grade 1 class like my hat.

after reading them some poems i asked if there were any questions. the first little hand that went up said, 'i like your hat.'

then another little hand, 'i like your hat too.'

and another, and yet another, i decided to cut question time back and read them a few more poems.

the students at narrandera public school were enthusiastic, and

so were the thirty teachers and parents that came to the murrumbidgee club for a performance and workshop and dinner and drinks.

the next twenty days were the most tiring, draining, totally exhausting period of my life as a poet.

living out of a suitcase, a schedule that was jam-packed, a different school in a different town every day, evening performances in c.w.a. halls, service's clubs, pubs and community centres, billets, cheap hotels and boring motels.

two regional arts councils had got together to organise my tour of the riverina, and, keen to make full use of me, left very little time in the twenty days for me to rest, let alone get any of my own work done.

there was only one day when i had no commitments at all, and that was at the beginning of the tour.

my first job for coolamon shire arts council was at the gal1main sports club; an all day writing workshop for teachers and interested locals.

on monday, the matong primary school of about30 students were joined by the older students from grong grong for a day of writing workshops and WORDSPORTS.

this was hay making country and the recent spring rains were good for the crops.

i got a lot of poems about shearing too, as most of the farms grazed sheep, and all the hay farmers were ,hcm'ersthis time of

the year. .

the next day at ganmain public school one ofthe parents saw

me lurking around the front gates of the school and was going

to report the presence of this weird stranger to the police; i was only having a smoke outside the school grounds.

on Wednesday, i was at ardlethan central, performing, talking, and doing workshops with primary and secondary students.

an extra evening session was held at the pub that night for teachers and locals.

i was bailed up in the public bar by bemie whyte. who asked

me if i was 'the fella resllscitatin' poultry in the bistro',

bemie turned out to be quite a story teller himself, spinning his yams to me till 2 am, and when i went to bed, to the rest of

the crowd until 5 am.

i was picked up the next morning to go to nearby beckom, a school of 35 students, joined by the older primaries from ariah park.

the next day i visited ,t michael's in coolamoll, and at lunch time dropped into the royal for a counterie.

i won a $50 jackpot on the poker machine and went back to school to a very aggressive WORDSPORTS competition amongst the 5s and 6s.

these coolamon kids took their literature very seriously.

michelle and the kids arrived at the ganmain 'opera house', the locals' name for the pub, and after an extra unpaid social session exhausted and poeted oU,t, we headed for wagga for a couple of days.

Sunday night i was the guest of the wagga wagga folk music club, another extra gig but one i enjoyed doing.

the folk scene has always been good to me and a keen apprcciawr of my poetry,

i was feeling run down and' overworked at this stage and i wasn't 4

looking forward to the next 10 days work without a break.

at coolamon central, i worked the whole day conducting writing

workshops without a classroom teacher with me

four teachers away at a conference and rehearsals for t_schoo]

show was the rationalisation, but that did not make me feel any

less like a relief teacher.

the next day after working all day at marra!' public school, a great

little school, i had to go to wagga to launch a book by mark

brcnmm and paul nolte. called twitches.

the launch was organised by the wagga wagga writer writers, i

was so exhausted; as soon as the book was launched, i fell asleep

in the foyer of the education centre.

mark drove me back to m<llOng some 80 km from wagga that

night in rain that made the unmade roads treacherous and several

times the car fish-tailed out of controL

my busy little organiser for the coolamon arts council had

organised three visits to three different schools in narrandera the

next day. "

i couldn't wait to get the keys of my hire car and leave narrandera

at 4 pm on Wednesday, 18 September, for the next ponion of

my riverina tour organised by the south west arts project inc'"

rob atkins.

i was looking forward to this part of the tour as i had all the information up front and the program was restricted to three sessions a day, with a good mix of

primary, secondary and adult audiences.

the poet's hat and i had travelled far since June, covered'a lot of country, and now i was out west, beyond the black stump,

in the hay plains, and i didn't really know how they were going to accept my poet's hat.

i was told a city theatre "group was tarred and feathered and run out of town, not so long ago.

but my poetry, even though it is very city in it's imagery, is about people, and people are basically the same wherever they live, or come from, or do for a living.

and so i was happy that my poetry was accepted warmly by the small audience of 35 at the hil\ston services club, and even happier with the response of the 200 students at the central school earlier in the day.

in the tattersull's hotel i met leu,

what are ya?

i can't work it out.

-when ya first come in 'ere i thought you was a bikie. but

i looked outside and there's no bike.

then

when ya ordered steak an' eggs

i thought for sure ya was a truckie.

but, there's no truck.

so .n what are ya?

a poet?

oh. yeah. i read there was a poet comin'.

well say a poem for us then.

go on.

the next day i headed for hay, taking banjo paterson',. and everybody else's advice to avoid booligal, and take the long way 'round the black stump, even flatter land than i'd seen the previous day, emus dancing

beside my car, cattle grazing across the road, and semi trailers

looked like mirages in the distance.

i arrived at hay war memorial high school to a rather unsettled

atmosphere, a student had committed suicide a couple of days

before and the school was crawling with counsellors and was

scattered with crying teenagers,

despite that, we had a great session with the year nines and tens

and the performance was covered by the local 1. v. station.

next stop, next day, Saturday, deniliquin. two workshops, one

for adults and one for kids, and an evening performance and

WORDSPORTS._ audience participation.

Sunday i arrived in echuca and found a laundromat.

the performance that evening was great, over 100 people, inside a winery, right near the wharf, where the paddle steamers.cruise the murray, an audience of five to ninety five year olds, they loved the hat and the poems.

in tocumwal my hat caused the butcher to comment on the arts

council lady and her strange companion. .

the english farmer's wife was keen to quash any rumours instantly.

on to ned kelly country.

he was in town for two and half days, bailed up the local police

in their ownjail, held the town's Fopulation captive at the royal

mail hotel, took over the telegraph office, wrote his famous

jerildcric letter, and left quickly.

i was only there for one day, and : can't really say i had as

devastating an effect.

the next time i visitjerilderie i don't expect to see komninos mugs,

keyrings, placemats or tea towels.

but, i did have some effect, at leas! on the students at the public

school and catholic school and the seventy people at the colony

inn hotel that night for dinner and poetry.

coleambalJy, the last town on my tOur of the rivcrina, and the

newest town in the riverina, only 25 years old.

it felt a bit like twin peaks driving into tall pine forests and a huge

excavator as a permanent monument in the park, the wine glass

shaped water tower and the suburban feel of the shopping centre.

at the high school, i read to 200 year 7s and 8s in the hall, and

conducted a workshop with some year nines,

the ladies of the arts council had organised a greek banquet, with greek food, greek wine, greek sweets, and there was even some greek music playing.

back in sydney for four days, re-establishing my relationship with michelle. maxim and zanlhi.

you don't realise just how much of your life you can't pack into a suitcase.

beginning of October and j'm off again to Tasmania as guest of the tasmanian writer's union for 1\VO weeks.

me and my poet's hat made the news as soon as we arrived in Hobart.

the mercury reporter, the photographer and i were thrown out of the parthenon souvlaki bar no. 4 for not asking permission

to photograph in the shop; top secret souvlaki? the tsatsiki formula?

i lived just 59 steps up the kelly steps from salamanca place, at the writer's cottage, and found a coffee lounge to my liking.

i recognised some of the staff from melbourne’s brunswick street cafe society, and they recognised me.

retro

write a poem for the retro whilst you're here the waiter said.

retro?

it sends me back

to the early eighties

the birth of brunswick street hip

maynard g. crebbs rules

black clad culture with coffee to match

the maars bars .

the metropol

the rhumbarella's experience: just sitting is art

moscow cocktail and purple pit

long before the brunswi.:k street feminists shave their legs jazz is cool boris.

the old is new

the new is retro.i performed and conducted writing workshops at three of hobart's four secondary colleges as welI as launceston college, allanvale high school, and queenstown high.

all day adult workshops were given in hobart for the terrapin puppet theatre group and in launceston for the community writer's festival.

then three days at the tasmanian poetry festival, held each year in launceston, and organised by tim thorne.

the launceston poetry cup must be the most enthusiastic, energetic, night of poetry anywhere in the world.

two hundred and fifty people listened to 'poets of the machine', gwen harwood. gig ryan. john ashton, bruce penn. dorothy porter, andrew legget michacl harlow, selwyn pritchard. madclinc gallagher and myself.

and 250 people cheered uncontrollably when gwen harwood pulled off the launceston poetry cup, beating locals and all comers.

not long after arriving in hobart i found an old friend, erie beach, we had shared a house in melbourne in the early eighties. .

eric was a great influence in my early writing.

the night i arrived in hobart he was at a reading at the st 1VCS hotel, home to tassie's alternative poetry scene, street poets, pub poets, dole poets, angTy young women and men fighting the world with their pens.

it was a different kettle of smoked salmon when i read for the tasmanian writer's union at 'round midnight.

the t.W.u. organises readings of'literary excellence', by 'published authors', with no ope!). section.

an articulate, middle class, polite, professional, literate, word appreciative, good listening audience and always a challenge to read to.

this audience responded as warmly and as enthusiastically as the fishermen i read to the previous night in the public bar of the doghouse hotel.

what point am i trying to make?

well, poetry is a natural bodily function of human beings, we

all do it, we all need it, whatever our background, social standing or financial situation.

back in Sydney for two days and then to melbourne to promote my book and cassette, a reading at la mama and readings bookshop, radio interviews and an unscheduled performance at a new venue for writing at o'conndl's hotel in south melbourne. back to Sydney on Wednesday and on friday i caught a train to bathurst, the charles sturt university union board dirmer-very black tie formal indeed.

a week later i was back in bathurst reading to boarders in the dining room and drinkers in the rafters bar.

home, sweet home, changing nappies seemed like bliss, being woken by a son proclaiming that it was no longer night time, a daughter folIowing me around the house saying, 'daddy, hat, hat.'

cafe breakfasts with the kids, the morning child-care rush, visits to the park, bath time and sleep time, getting dressed out of a wardrobe instead of a suitcase, my own bed, with someone in it, a warm body, a loving partner.

novcmber. time to plant tomatoes and other summer vegetables, mow the lawn, pay the bills, catch up on my household chores and duties neglected over the last five months. '

a variety of work in Sydney, performing to the corporate sponsors of the Australian museum, reading a traffic noise poem at the king street festival, 6 days of workshops at liverpool girls high school, script development with a theatre group, WORDSPORTS at the powerhouse museum, performances at writers in the park, the old casino writers group, a charity book auction at the n.s.w. writers' centre, lunchtimc performances at the university of western sydney and charles sturt university, readings at the greek photographic exhibition at the australian museum and the anniversary of the warringah shire council, at the migrant resource centre conference,

and at a poetry Olympics with an English performance poet, Attila the stockbroker.

six months in a poet's hat..

six months of performances, meetings, talks, and workshops.

six months of peering. ,

a performance poet's life, performances to more than 10,000 adults and 6,000 school students, writing workshops, booksignings, radio interviews, LV. reports, newspaper articles, book launchings, thousands of kilo metres traversed, it's been busy. and if anyone wants to offer me a real job, well, i'lll afraid they can keep it, i work hard enough being a poet.

and i'm not changing hats with anyone!