in the entire history of humankind...

 

I have come

such a long, long way,

 

you opened up your door.

 

And in celebration

of my forty-fourth year:

 

You have made for me

 

the sweetest,

most perfect dessert

ever known to humankind...

 

We have parted now,

 

and I walk past

bright purple jacarandas.

 

I marvel at their amazing colour

set against

a sky of purest blue.

 

Meanwhile, in another part of the city:

 

You paint jacarandas

and a bright blue butterfly

 

in an artwork celebrating Spring.

 

I discover a park

behind Central Station

 

filled with deckchairs.

 

I sit down in one

to finish off remains

 

of my special birthday treat.

 

Meanwhile, at the same time

far across the city

 

alone (yet together)...

 

You're

having a break from painting,

 

finishing off

the dairy free

chocolate ice cream

 

I left in your freezer.

 

In the sunlight,

I wear a child-like smile

from ear to ear;

 

as I dig

 

(with re-newed enthusiasm)

into my

strawberry & blueberry

mini pavlovas

 

with jam glaze coating!!

 

The glaze

coats my tongue

& tickles my nose,

 

and I close my eyes

to intensify

the taste...

 

(Behind closed eyelids,

 

 I see myself once more

 

 in your hallway,

 in your doorway,

 in your arms.

 

 We are holding

 each other so, so close.)

 

And right at this moment

in the park,

 

never, ever, EVER

 

(in the entire history of humankind)...

 

Has a dessert

 

tasted so, SO sweet

   and so salubrious!!!

 

 

 

 

 

(c) Brent M Harpur, 29/10/2012.

 

"The object isn't to make art, it's to be in that wonderful state which makes art inevitable."

(Robert Henri)

 

 

 

 

reasons that I continue to write, no. 11...

a text message
that simply read...


:) Water so versatile, can freeze can boil,
    can soothe, can scold.
    Write, write, write -
    I can't wait to read more x

 


24.5.2012.

out of suffering...

"Out of suffering
  have emerged
  the strongest souls;

  The most
   massive characters
   are seared
   with scars."

   (Khalil Gibran)

there are no ordinary moments...

 

I'd rather
 learn from one bird
 how to sing

than teach
 ten thousand stars
 how not to dance.

-e.e. cummings.


"I am here." (Brent Harpur)


For E.

memories of Margaret...

Late July, 2012.

My home country,
Aotearoa

is in mourning...

For a storyteller beyond compare.

Memories well to the surface,
like tears.

This is not a poem,
just a collection of small memories.

I remember being asked
to tour with you
around the Kapiti Libraries...

It is sometime in the last year
of the old Millenium.

I have recently turned thirty
and am
beginning to doubt
whether I should be still working
with children.

The night before I am due
to meet
and work with you,
I re-read some of your
books.

I am so excited
that I barely sleep.

The next day,
I agree to meet you (and your host)
at the Parade Cafe
in Oriental Bay.

I am so nervous,
but somehow manage to be
gracious and intelligent.

We all sit down for a coffee
and scones, with jam & cream.

I find myself holding onto
every word you speak.

At one point,
I glance down and see that we are
both
wearing a small
purple amethyst ring
on our pinky fingers.

You are more than twice my age,
but I entertain in my head
the idea of marriage.

***

For the next three days,
I ride on the train to Kapiti,
and met with you.

We tour into a couple of libraries each day
and a few lucky schools...

You put on your multi-coloured wig
and your badge laden scarf,

and become a magician!!

With your words
and your voice alone,
children and adults alike

are captured & enchanted

by your huge presence, wisdom and magic!!

I stand at the whiteboard,
whiteboard marker in hand,
and try to control my shaking...

Do justice to your whirlwind of words,
bring them to life in pictures.

The gift you give me
(over three amazing days)
is that you are never
too old to work with children!!

That if you love what you do
and have a passion for it...
They will always love you back!

I wish I had been given a chance
to tell you that you gave me that back...

I remember sitting
on the trainride home
every night,

(having been so inspired,
working in the company
of a true wordsmith):

Scribbling masses of words & images
into my book,
the coast line of Paraparaumu
flashing by outside the window...

Years later, just
before I moved to Australia

(to continue my work with children
on a larger scale)

I saw you give a speech
at Te Papa,
the National Museum of New Zealand.

You were now in your seventies,
but you hadn't slown down at all...

I still vividly remember
your tiny frame
filling that entire huge stage.

& every now and then,
mid-speech,
you would cough.

And you said, 
delighting everyone that came to see you,
(all still hanging on your every word):

"When you get to my age,
a cough can be used as punctuation,
like an exclamation mark in a sentence..."


***


In late July of this year,
I was swept up in a sense of loss...

A loss an entire nation
(and indeed, many a booklover
& librarian overseas, young and old)

would feel too.

I wanted to write this then,
but the words failed me.

They still fail me now.
How does one put in words
what we have lost?

I am just grateful that you
were a true magician of words,

and have left so many of your words
behind in this world.

A world,
that now,
perhaps (more than ever)

needs the magic,
love, wonder & delight

that you believed in
and wrote about.

Kia Kaha, Margaret!!

I said it before.

This is not a poem,

and the words
contained within
seem awkward,

fragile even.

Yes, they are not a poem.

Merely
a collection
of small memories.

My

memories of Margaret.


(c) Brent M Harpur, 2012.

- For Margaret Mahy,
  21 March 1936 - 23 July, 2012.

"I hope I am not too repetitive. However, coming to terms with death is part of the general human situation." (Margaret Mahy)

the three most beautiful things...

Have you ever imagined
what it would be like...

For the sun to come out in the middle of the night?

Or to look upon the dry red desert sand
and to suddenly see it

bloom with a 1,000 tiny red flowers??

Or for the entire skyline
to become a single rainbow light???

And so much more beauty,

imagine it if you will...

I no longer have to
imagine these things

for I have seen your smile.

And in your smile
I have seen all these things...

...and so, so much more.


***


In the (nearly) forty-four years
I have walked upon this earth,

the three most beautiful things
I have ever seen

are:

(in no particular order)

A painting by van Gogh of his chair.

The early morning gold & silver
glitter skyline
(from a plane window)

of Beunos Aires.

and...

Your smile.

Should I go blind,
these are

the three things

that I will hold onto in my head
and never erase.

These three things will
keep me sane,
make me smile from ear to ear,

even when I lose all my teeth...

And the memory of

these three things

will help me
to remain an artist,

even in darkness.

Even in darkness.



(c) Brent M Harpur, 2012.


- For E.

"I often think that the night is more alive and more richly coloured than the day." (Vincent van Gogh)

"For my part I know nothing with any certainty, but the sight of the stars makes me dream." (Vincent van Gogh)

probably (the distance between two hearts)...

Would the fish miss the waves
 if they were taken from the sea?

Probably.

And would the moon miss the sky
 if it were caught up in the trees?

Probably.

Will the flowers miss the sunshine
 if the world lost all its bees?

Probably.

And will a blind man miss his sight
 when he can no longer see?

Probably.

And would a bird miss its cage
 when it is finally set free?

Probably.

And if a door is left unlocked
 does it miss its key?

Probably.

Probably...

But not nearly as much,
my dear /

As I am missing thee!!


(c) Brent M Harpur, 2012.

- For E.

"Some cannot loosen their own chains & can nonetheless redeem their friends. You must be ready to burn yourself in your own flame: How could you become new, if you had not first become ashes?" (Thus Spake Zarathustra)

paint the town purple...

 

"For what is it to die, But to stand in the sun and melt into the wind? And when the Earth has claimed our limbs, Then we shall truly dance.” (Kahlil Gibran)

 

 

 

It is nearly

thirteen years to the day...

 

A day when

the world

 

(one warm

 Saturday October morning)

 

cracked open,

 

and all the purple

threatened to

bleed & spill

 

right out of it.

 

Today,

it is a beautiful Spring Melbourne day.

 

And outside the local library

purple flowers bloom brightly.

 

They remind me of:

 

Your hair,

your tattoos,

your amethyst eyebrow ring,

 

even that

larger than life laugh

 

that contained

every ounce & every shade

of purple

 

within its thunder.

 

Will I ever see you

(or the likes of you)

 

again?

 

I would give up

everything I own

 

(and more)

 

to have one last

red wine

with you.

 

Oh, to talk about art,

and to tell you

about this woman I have met

 

(whose art, heart & smile has captured me

 like your's once did).

 

You'd take the piss of course,

laugh that laugh

 

that I miss so, so much.

 

Nothing was ever

serious in your company

 

for too long.

 

Then again,

Gentle Piscean Purple Man,

 

then again.

 

One thing

that perhaps you did believe in

 

(and maybe

 even more than your art??)

 

was Love.

 

In fact,

that was what I loved most

about you...

 

(even more than your

 accomplished, well practiced,

 enviable passion & play

 with paint.)

 

Here we were,

 

two young men barely

in our thirties,

 

sitting at the edge of a new Millenium.

 

Two young artists

who had been stung by love

 

(and who had broken a few hearts ourselves)...

 

(yet)

we remained two hopeless

yet

hopeful romantics.

 

And,

despite

(or maybe because) we'd

 had our hearts broken before,

 

we still  believed

there was

a girl out there

 

somewhere

 

who would save us.

 

Save us, by loving us.

 

 

***

 

It seems like only yesterday:

 

That I remember seeing you

in that small, cramped casket,

 

so still & cold & pale,

 

all life gone.

 

And

I still remember

thinking that no coffin so tiny

could ever contain

 

such a huge heart.

 

I also remember

(and it still brings tears to my eyes):

 

Your beautiful Clan

of older sisters

presenting everyone

 that attended your service

 

with a purple "Vivid" marker.

 

So that, as we went in

a select few at a time,

to see you in state

 

and to pay our last respects...

 

...we could do so

 by drawing & writing

in permanent purple ink

 

on the outside of your white casket.

 

- Such a fitting tribute,

to a man who spent most of his life

 

creating & making art.

 

And when it was finally

carried to the front

of the (full to bursting)

Nelson hall,

 

everyone laughed at a message

someone had scrawled

on the back panel

of its lid:

 

"You can visit Marz@Celestrial.com"

 

I remember standing there in

my purple suit,

 

reading a poem

I had written for you

on the flight over.

 

And seeing everyone sitting there

from the Wellington Art Posse,

wearing their purple armbands

in tribute

 

to a fallen artist & friend.

 

And I remember Rimu

tenderly playing his guitar

 

and singing

with all his young (raging) heart:

 

"Have I Told You Lately that I Love You?"

by Van Morrison.

 

At the end of the service,

you were carried out to

the speakers crackling, spluttering & vibrating to:

 

"Purple Haze"...

 

(I'm sure that

somewhere

you and Jimi must still be

talking & laughing

 

about that one.)

 

 

***

 

Time is a strange, strange thing.

 

All of this feels like it happened

only a few weeks ago.

 

And I am sure that this week

I am not alone

 

in thinking of,

mourning

(and celebrating)

 

You.

 

Seeing those purple flowers

outside the library,

 

I smile,

& shed a couple more tears

 

behind my purple Raybans.

 

It appears

that you are still finding the time,

my Friend:

 

Getting out there

in this world

with your

paintbrush & palette,

and painting the town

 

in bright splashes of purple!!

 

I will raise this glass of red,

tonight

and (quietly) promise

 

that I will never forget you...

 

And all those days

of your long / short

(thirty-four year) life...

 

That you gifted

& blessed me:

 

With your company,

your heart,

your humour,

your compassion...

 

and your art.

 

 

 

- For Maru "Marz" Cummings,

  (March 1966 - October 1999).

 

(c) Brent M Harpur, 11th October 2012.

 

"It is eternity now; I am in the midst of it.
 It is about me in the sunshine; I am in it, as the butterfly in the light-laden air.
 Nothing has to come, it is now. Now is eternity; now is immortal life."
 (Richard Jefferies)