Live Encounters Poetry & Writing Volume Five November-December 2024
Freewheel, poems by Alex Skovron.
Freewheel
For I was a boy then
took off on the glide
one foot to one pedal
one leap astride
a boy who could catch
in night-tones of May
sparks in his pillow
their starry array
the lines and melodies
whose namings hummed
the calendar seasons
wheels that stood or spun
tall vaults and arches
of cathedrals rendered
sweet by their smoke
that kindled the embers
of memory’s glow
for sleepwalking fondly
for crossing of doorsteps
as foreign words woke me
that quickly grew mine
and a new tongue softened
yet think how the pedals
jerked or how often
the chain seized up
each dismount or tumble
turning to chessgame
a private conundrum
till bed became mirror
while pencil would stitch
on the kitchen doorpost
another inch
my graphite ladder
propped against time
retracted only to
watch the rungs rhyme
Under Everything
‘as if there were
another voice
under everything said’
— Kit Kelen, Pictures of Nothing at All
He locates an itch to scratch—nails it.
Lets the Penguin riffle and spring
itself closed like a paper slinky. Rises
from the clutterless bureau to brush
his thumb over the topmost shelf, the one
with all those holy books. He eases out
a stout King James, its print protected
by a lockable steel clasp. Let us play,
he says, opening at random. The pages
cling together, hard-pressed to behave,
but he notices that he’s hit upon Job—
the story that always riled him as a boy;
Milton made so much more sense. But
committed now, he reads; and having read
a verse or two, replaces the antique tome,
asking himself why. He is tired, sleepy,
can’t for the life of him decide what he is
doing here, in this imposing scriptory
laced with diplomas and degrees, and he—
what? The itch comes back, the one
he’s endured for years, that he can nail
all right, but never really scratch.
The Goblet
Caesar decided, thumb came down,
a deadly hush assailed the stands.
Gladiator’s blade at the slave’s neck,
thigh-muscles twitching, his chance.
Victim waited, gladiator glared
into the sun where the Emperor sat.
Colosseum drifted in a haze of doubt—
what would such behaviour beget?
Caesar stood up, wine-mug askew,
opened his arms, interrogative sign.
Gladiator, scorning the eye of death,
spat at the sawdust, sword cast aside.
Thumped his chest, a fisted salute,
strode to the edge; multitudes gasped
as he climbed the enclosure, leapt
the façade—rash, presumptuous guest.
Caesar invented a fallacious grin,
senators stared from adjacent rows.
Gladiator seized the tottering wine,
artfully drained it, athletically tossed
the goblet onto the gravel. Exclaimed:
‘Imperator, as your glory be great,
I’m leaving—a gig in Mesopotamia.
May the gods be with you. I’ll write.’
© Alex Skovron
Alex Skovron was born in Poland, lived briefly in Israel, and emigrated to Australia as a boy. His family settled in Sydney, where he grew up and completed his studies. From the early 1970s he worked as an editor for book publishers in Sydney and (after 1980) Melbourne. His poetry has appeared widely in Australia and overseas, and he has received a number of major awards for his work. His most recent collection is Letters from the Periphery (2021); his previous book, Towards the Equator: New & Selected Poems (2014), was shortlisted in the Prime Minister’s Literary Awards. Skovron’s collection of short stories The Man who Took to his Bed (2017), and his novella The Poet (2005), have been published in Czech translations; The Attic, a selection of his poetry translated into French, was published in 2013, and a bilingual volume of Chinese translations, Water Music, in 2017. His work has also appeared in Dutch, Macedonian, Polish and Spanish. The numerous public readings he has given have included appearances in China, Serbia, India, Ireland and Portugal. In 2023 Alex Skovron was honoured with the Patrick White Literary Award for his contribution to Australian literature.
http://sydneyreviewofbooks.com/towards-the-equator-alex-skovron/
https://compulsivereader.com/2022/03/12/a-review-of-letters-from-the-periphery-by-alex-skovron/