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| ISBN-13: | 9781847774767 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | Carcanet Press, Limited |
| Publication date: | 10/01/2014 |
| Sold by: | Barnes & Noble |
| Format: | eBook |
| Pages: | 80 |
| File size: | 293 KB |
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The Republic of the Husband
By Lucy Tunstall
Carcanet Press Ltd
Copyright © 2014 Lucy TunstallAll rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-84777-478-1
CHAPTER 1
The Children of First Marriages
Remembering the Children of First Marriages
Oh remember the children of first marriages
For they are silent and awkward in their comings and their goings;
For the seal of the misbegotten is upon them;
For they walk in apology and dis-ease;
For their star is sunk;
For their fathers' brows are knitted against them;
For they bristle and snarl.
All you light-limbed amblers in the sun,
Remember the grovellers in the dark;
The scene-shifters, the biders, the loners.
Traction
My mother's grandmother wore black for years and years,
lived among laurel and yew in a lodge at the big house,
where Charlie, her unmarried brother, slept under the eaves
on a sort of ledge. No-one knows why it was Charlie
took off, slow as slow, with nothing for the journey
but an onion and a piece of sharp cheese, to pilot his
traction engine, by a seam of moonlight on the river,
as far east as Isleworth, by way of Maidenhead and Old Windsor.
Aunt Jane and the Scholar
In 1956, or thereabouts,
Aunt Jane fell in love with a beautiful
scholar from the subcontinent.
Her house is tall and thin like a doll's house.
Pictures are filling in the walls,
but where the paint shows through in a chink
it is the authentic dull pink of oxblood and lime.
We take tea in the garden which is like a well
with its high walls, and deep shade and the underwater
grey-green of the thyme lawn; and sitting still like a still
ancient cloistered thing at the bottom of a well
she remembers (she must remember) a long trip
to the only part of Canada where it never snows,
weeks and weeks of sky and sea and sickness like snow-sickness.
Ever after a drawing-in, this square
of London sky, and the cypress leaning over.
Home County
Sparrows caught and hung in the thatch.
The South Downs hung over us.
In the neighbouring field, heifers wept for their calves.
A bluebell-wood harboured logs in the guise of crocodiles, foul
mud that sucked in children's boots, and once free of the
wood, where to go but the arid chalk heath winding
unrelentingly on and up?
Pity the Romans their blue knees, their fluttering tunics, the flat, grey light.
A child's cradle in torn white brocade decorated the corner of the music room.
At Easter, the land was blessed. The vicar's name was Canon Dagger.
The young crops lay down and shivered in the east wind.
1976
We were not to mention the gold teeth
of Pedro, Nicaraguan prince and companion
of my godfather, Barry J. Gordon. All through lunch
the sunlight screeched off Pedro's canines
igniting the cutlery, the pine-cladding,
the tomato-red kitchen cabinets.
* * *
While my godfather swore blind the Staffordshire
pottery spaniel – seventeenth-century, royalist, red-haired –
belonged to him, I want that fucking dog,
my mother – regal, carolean – gave no ground,
Darling, you are dreadful. My father slunk about,
not up to the game, rightly punished.
* * *
By a curious and intricate choreography
my father made his way to my bedroom,
mapped out a constellation in phosphorescent stars,
retreated, reversing all the steps, leaning close in
to the dado, avoiding the creaky stair, was far away
when the lights went down, the applause began.
During the Blitz
Elizabeth stayed on in Greenwich, where her husband was employed in counter-espionage broadcasting for the BBC and, simultaneously, a cerebral and stimulating relationship with his secretary, Kathleen.
Elizabeth saw that the silver was polished, that no scraps were wasted, and barely flinched when a particularly heavy raid blew in the windows of the front elevation; shards of glass impaled themselves in the staircase and the panelling.
The children, now to be known only as major and minor, were removed to a progressive school in Kent where the playing fields, conveniently bordered on one side by a deep trench, lay directly beneath the flight-path of the incoming Luftwaffe.
In the dark, after lights-out, their father's words swam on through the ether, Liebling, mein liebling, my pigeon, my dove.
Zenith Automatic
In a small flat by the Thames, my father hoarded silver and china, pictures of his grandmother as a young woman with my profile, Staffordshire pottery figures, political cartoons of the eighteenth century, theatrical silhouettes, monogrammed napkin rings, a stone unicorn, glass-fronted bookcases, the family Bible, leather-bound books of naval history, a coat of arms, a writing-desk, a good paperknife, a Chinese vase.
In the last few days, these things took flight. Paintings, books and shepherdesses danced about his head. Nothing could be pinned down. It became important to fasten his father's watch directly onto my wrist from his own, which, according to the evidence of the perpetual mechanism, had already passed to an empty plain.
Thin
In an eyrie by the Thames, my mother is preparing for the summit.
What used to be a first-floor flat has grown higher and higher.
Even at base camp the air is thin. She is very high up.
She watches us all in her magnifying mirror, or doesn't bother.
Tea, cigarette, coffee, aspirin, cigarette, cigarette, wine, cigarette.
Cigarette, cigarette, cigarette, as the night draws in.
Days wax and wane. Soon it may be necessary to boil snow.
She is preparing her physical body for an extraordinary feat.
She is trying on her dresses. She is Wallis Simpson-thin.
Today, tomorrow or the next day, is the day she must be gone.
One Day a Herd of Wild Horses Came into the Garden and Looked at My Mother
Well, this is extraordinary, she is saying, this is quite extraordinary.
The horses stand on the grass and look at my mother.
My mother stands on the path and looks at the horses.
The horses nudge and shift; their manes tangle; their hooves are caked in mud.
Not until the mare has turned her head, like a sail in the wind,
away from the house and out toward the hills, and led each
straggling foal away, will my mother go
back into the house; close the door; pick up a book, a coffee, a cigarette.
Estate
Cousin Gillian lives in a caravan by the shores of a lake in
Canada, and in that caravan, so they say, she keeps Grandmother Elizabeth's long-case clock.
Some people do not think this an appropriate arrangement.
They think it heartless of her to keep so fine a piece
(school of Tompion) in such a dread abode.
Heartless and unthinking. How could she?
But I think it is a fine thing
which I would like to behold.
Is there a special orifice or protuberance of some kind
in the roof of the caravan through which or into which the clock extends?
Does it lean jauntily within, and does this have any adverse effect on the mechanism?
Do the bears and moose rouse to its bong bong bong?
How could such a wonder be, in any way, wrong?
It may be scooped out like a canoe
circling the lake at dawn and dusk; there would be room
for a packed lunch and the catch.
Might be a barricade, staunch
against the creatures of the night; it might be
out in all weathers; may serve as makeshift bench or table.
It might be firewood, a folly, or a totem pole –
it's possible, we just don't know.
Oh Gillian, cousin of my right hand! Cousin I have never met!
Let me, if some will not, bestow with happy heart
this ancient clock, to do with just as you see fit,
in praise of self-possession and the pioneering spirit.
Phyllis Pearl Dawn
Most loved, most beautiful, was my mother, Phyllis Pearl Dawn.
It was not wrong of her to think that all men would clamour at her door.
But this was easeful beauty of the dark almond eye, the perfect bone and brow.
If only she had learned envy and fight, struggle and plot,
like those who were not noble, but better equipped.
Cigarette Trees in Richmond Park
Where the boxcars all are empty
And the sun shines every day
And the birds and the bees
And the cigarette trees
The lemonade springs
Where the bluebird sings
In the Big Rock Candy Mountains
Harry McClintock, 'Big Rock Candy Mountain'
No darling, I can't come with you, I'm going off through the park.
They say there's nothing whatsoever wrong with me it's all a big mistake and there we are.
Such a beautiful evening – I've got my cab fare –
it's like the Serengeti sometimes, in high summer when the sun lowers –
the deer and the yellow grass and a sort of thick haze like water
or old glass. And when Concorde goes over I love that, too, the boom
and then the arrow.
I think, actually, from now on, that is the way I should like to travel.
I've had enough of patience, and the jays in the garden at dawn
and the terrible sound of the foxes. Do you know the man who feeds them,
and also – can you believe it – the rats? And an orphaned moorhen
tucked into his beard! But I'm bored of saving the scraps for him.
It's just that I've done it, do you know what I mean?
I've absolutely given up the Tube and those awful auditions.
It's so much more elegant to travel peacefully on the top deck
and have you noticed how empty the buses are, now, it's wonderful?
There's always time for a coffee before you have to go in.
And, I meant to say, I've met that lovely man,
you know, the one with the big roll of notes, overalls,
the one who does something practical.
I can see a use for a man like that, and also he is kind.
The food's good, simple – soft-boiled eggs, stew, fruit straight from the trees,
that sort of thing; and always an open bottle of red in the evening
and at lunch a little pick-me-up. Do you know, I think this is the way to live.
And darling, time to read, time to sit and stare.
I am looking forward to you coming, darling,
when it suits. But don't worry about me. I'm going to sit here
like this and look at the water. I'll be absolutely fine.
Lilian's Letter
All the leaves are down on Ealing Common.
I love the spring.
Mozart is one of my favourite composers, & I enc. article re: him.
He died at 35. So v. young, poor man.
I've enjoyed book "The Horse Whisperer" but v. sad ending.
Author: Nicholas Evans.
I don't go out alone after dark.
I used to be a secretary and my favourite job was working for a
MARINE sales manager at ARBORITE dealing with shipping.
My boss, Mr Hill, had been a commander in the Royal Navy.
Sadly he died, due to a car crash. I had to visit his wife in their
lovely flat in Hampstead, & take his personal effects.
Please write, however briefly, as I enjoy letters.
*'Arborite' was a competitor to 'Formica', but they may have closed now.
Our office was in W. Eal..
Words by Lilian Lewry
Naming the Baby
for Chloë Gordon
Call it Goathead, said the child
or Lamppost, I don't care.
And off she went with her imaginary friend, Cerys Butcher, a large, black hound.
Pantomime
I was one of those children who had to be coaxed.
The dancing-girl zeroed in, inviting, all teeth and eyes.
Yes, yes, bobbed the feather attached to her head.
No, no, no, no said my fingers, clutching the underside
of the red velvet seat where the nap was still good –
take the others, take the other children instead.
As they all clambered eagerly onto the stage I relaxed
my grip, put my theatrical career on ice.
Not Playing the Dane
He liked – or said he liked – best of all
a light cameo in the final act,
a decent armchair in the dressing-room,
not too much to learn, nothing experimental,
no doubling up, no hanging on for curtain call.
From the Pantechnicon
Barry J. Gordon, a beautiful young boy with extraordinary golden hair, first met Carl at a party that appeared to accommodate every anarchist, communist, out-of-work actor, sailor, pimp and prostitute in town. From the minute he set eyes on these unkempt and clay-covered people pouring out of the back of a pantechnicon that accommodated Carl's wheelchair, he was intrigued. Gordon became known as 'Carl's legs'.
Framed photograph and newspaper cutting
William Beach Champion Oarsman of the World
Photographed in Foley's Baths, Sydney, N.S.W.
September 25th 1888
Beach later claimed that his first earnings at 9 were for minding cows on lush feed to stop them 'blowing', and that he then learnt the trade of blacksmith. On 18 September 1886 he successfully defended his title against Gaudar on the Thames; in this exhausting race each rower in turn stopped and slumped in his boat. Beach was then 5ft 9 1/2 ins. tall with a 42 ins. chest, 15 1/2 ins. biceps, 16 ins. calf and a weight of 170 lbs. Monuments in his memory are at Cabarita Park, Sydney, and in Bill Beach Park, Mullet Creek.
Playbill
Little Theatre Great Yarmouth
(Next to the Royal Aquarium)
DEATH GOES DANCING
A New and Exciting Comedy Thriller by Barry J Gordon
Front Stalls 6/-, Back Stalls 5/-, Balcony 4/-
Postcard from The Palace
Dear Mr Gordon,
The Queen has commanded me to thank you for your card and for the record of her grandfather's speech at the opening of the Five Power Naval Conference on 21st January 1930. Her Majesty is delighted to accept this and greatly appreciated your kind thought in sending it to her. The Queen very much looks forward to listening to it.
Annotation to last will and testament applied by hand in green ink
5 (g) To
– DELETE!
Letter from Murra Wurra
My Dear Barry,
17
I am afraid that this letter will greatly shock you. Heinz is dead. By his own hand last night. I can tell you very little except that he gassed himself. I do not know why as I have little contact with him as you know.
I rang him Easter to tell him to write you. I wonder if he did? All very dreadful. I feel that it was inevitable as he had the deathwish very strongly. I know you will feel dreadful about it and I am sorry I can not cushion the shock. I will write when I can tell you more. Of course there may be nothing to tell.
Love.
L [?] A [?]
Stapled, photocopied pages from Butler's Lives of the Saints
Saint Genesius the Comedian
In a comedy which was acted in the presence of the Emperor Diocletian in Rome, Genesius took it into his head to burlesque the ceremonies of Christian baptism. But here he was suddenly converted by a divine inspiration. The other players went through the whole ceremony of Baptism with him; but he in earnest answered the usual interrogatories, and on being baptized was clothed in a white garment.
Brass plaque removed from a dressing room at the Palace Theatre, Manchester
Barry J. Gordon
Singin' in the Rain
Poor quality photocopy of an entry in the register at Moonee Ponds, Victoria
I, Violet Lillian May Gordon, Spinster, of 24 Railway Place, Flemington do solemnly declare –
That the said John Gleason when a few months old was adopted by my mother Elizabeth Carmina Gordon in 1931 and was thereafter brought up by her and known as Barry John Gordon.
That I am the daughter of Elizabeth Carmina Gordon and the facts disposed to are within my own personal knowledge
and I take this solemn declaration conscientiously believing the same to be true and by virtue of the provisions of an Act of Parliament of Victoria rendering persons making a false declaration punishable for willful and corrupt perjury.
Manuscript in pencil and biro
DISTANCE
for Monté
We sigh with an ocean between –
Each wishing the other was near,
While Atlantic waves faded-green
Wash our thoughts 'cross the hemisphere ...
And the one sun warms our skin
Each of us prays that soon we'll lie
Wrapped together – distance
London 1960
(Continues...)
Excerpted from The Republic of the Husband by Lucy Tunstall. Copyright © 2014 Lucy Tunstall. Excerpted by permission of Carcanet Press Ltd.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.
Table of Contents
I The Children of First Marriages
Remembering the Children of First Marriages 11
Traction 12
Aunt Jane and the Scholar 13
Home County 14
1976 15
During the Blitz 16
Zenith Automatic 17
Thin 18
One Day a Herd of Wild Horses Came into the Garden and Looked at My Mother 19
Estate 20
Phyllis Pearl Dawn 21
Cigarette Trees in Richmond Park 22
Lihan's Letter 24
Naming the Baby 25
Pantomime 26
Not Playing the Dane 27
From the Pantechnicon 28
II The Republic of the Husband
The Effect of Spaceflight on the Female Body 37
Dolls in National Dress 38
Seventeen Poems About Adultery 39
No Sex, Again 40
The Hula-hula Girl and the Reeds at the Water's Edge 41
Electricity 42
Falling 43
The Terrible Poem 44
The Vulgar Muse 45
Arthur's Pictures 46
The Girl in the Tree 47
Virginia Creeper Very High Up in the Yard 48
Lessons 49
The Mighty Gyrfalcon and the Lowly Pigeon 50
None of These Things is Completely White 51
The Republic of the Husband 52
The Husband Behind the Wall 53
Kind 54
Benediction 55
III Land- and Seascapes
Signal Flags 59
Finding America 60
The Random Nature of God 61
Harvest Hare 63
December Hare 64
February Hare 66
The Sacred and the Drear 67
The Biochemistry of Beasts 68
The Angel of Necessity 69
Idyll 70
Making Dens 71
Starlings 72
Mind in his Cage 73
Flood 74
Signal Flags (Without You It's Chaos) 75
Coda 77
Notes 78