Topic Tags:
0 Comments

Audiology

Geoff Page

May 01 2008

1 mins

The winter shrubs are
crisp with wrens.
Wire brushes on a snare

are suddenly a
well-heard whisper.
It’s not a miracle exactly

but something very close.
The world retrieves its
rustled paper,

the sibilance of
jingled keys.
And now I start to hear my shoes

complaining on the gravel.
My typing is as brittle as
an office full of clerks.

Max Roach playing cymbals
leaves his fretwork in the air.
The sound of Clifford Brown on trumpet

(before the turnpike and its grief)
is sweet and clean as first I heard it
fifty years ago.

The world seems more
transparent now,
thinner than a leaf.

Geoff Page

Comments

Join the Conversation

Already a member?

What to read next

  • Letters: Authentic Art and the Disgrace of Wilgie Mia

    Madam: Archbishop Fisher (July-August 2024) does not resist the attacks on his church by the political, social or scientific atheists and those who insist on not being told what to do.

    Aug 29 2024

    6 mins

  • Aboriginal Culture is Young, Not Ancient

    To claim Aborigines have the world's oldest continuous culture is to misunderstand the meaning of culture, which continuously changes over time and location. For a culture not to change over time would be a reproach and certainly not a cause for celebration, for it would indicate that there had been no capacity to adapt. Clearly this has not been the case

    Aug 20 2024

    23 mins

  • Pennies for the Shark

    A friend and longtime supporter of Quadrant, Clive James sent us a poem in 2010, which we published in our December issue. Like the Taronga Park Aquarium he recalls in its 'mocked-up sandstone cave' it's not to be forgotten

    Aug 16 2024

    2 mins