pdf download - Westerly Magazine
pdf download - Westerly Magazine pdf download - Westerly Magazine
JAN KEMPTo My Father, M.H.K.My father, who at 82, three yearsand twice my age, can still terrifywith an intermittent Napoleonic barkI went white inside at as a child,a tennis-player with an un-putaway bikeor a huntress become a forlorn rose-bed weeder,ours the normal family sins,now frail and thin, frets againsthis uselessness when his eyes cloud up,his breath coming in fits and startscleaned through an air-pump three times a dayand then on a good one, perambulatesthe lawn with my mother to survey the progressof a troop of new sweet-peas along the trellice,Captain Kemp who wrote back from the warthanking my aunt or granniefor the knitted socks or fruit cake"all the company enjoyed; life's notmuch good here - I'm not grousing,it's the same for all the chaps -and we did see the Pyramids."On the ship back home he gambled for & wonmother's diamond rings, being quick at cardsand billiards; and now, serving her sherryon the silver platter, tells again the storyof the belly-dancer who might have beenour mother. I first heard Gershwin & Cole Porterthrough the glass door, that let you peep atsparkling mothers in strapless party dresses6WESTERLY, No.2, JUNE, 1989
and Morice, hospitality itself at the piano.Though I always wished him leather-elbowed,tweed-jacketed and wise, with pipe and books,he preferred obliviously burning his eartopsin the Coromandel summer sun, up-ended overthe intricacies of the outboard motor'ssplutterings & how to get us up on water-skis.Once, caught on the wrong side of the breakerstogether in the boat, he knew we'd been stupid,should not have cut so close to shore,"we'll have to ride them through," he yelledover the roar, "hold on!" and held a hand downon my back, least I ricochet & the boat smash up -I loved him fiercely then, proud it was just meand not my brothers too, riding it through with him.He would give me the other half of a first nectarineor golden queen we'd share in the orchardor after dinner, let me plait his hair in topknots;took me at night to receive a childhood prizein the provincial town's sound shell and puthis jacket round my shoulders against the cold.And now my mother must prepare for him daily, makesoup or the filled bread rolls he likes at lunch,while listening as she reads aloud when the mailwith our letters comes. Daily she consortshis ups and downs, together they watch t.v.,talk to visitors. Perhaps she wishes he was the kindwho'd read more, so books could give himthe things she knows of, in the blanks.He says he's not afraid of dying - his dream's to beput to sea in a boat like ours was, withthe bung-hole out and gently to sink down;he's saddened more by growing inabilityto do things on his own. So, this man, my fatheris given to our family to hold close. My motherwill read him this when the next mail comes.WESTERLY, No.2, JUNE, 1989 7
- Page 3 and 4: CONTENTSWESTERLYVOLUME 34, No.2, JU
- Page 5: WESTERLYa quarterly reviewISSN 0043
- Page 10 and 11: JAN KEMPThe GypsySuddenly before yo
- Page 12 and 13: WONG PHUI NAMA Death in the WardThe
- Page 14 and 15: WONG PHUI NAMCousinI had to call to
- Page 16 and 17: WONG PHUI NAMObitIt is as thin smok
- Page 18 and 19: So thus I lie here fearful of movem
- Page 20 and 21: VIRGINIA BERNARDA ValedictionWhen N
- Page 22 and 23: "Yeah, yeah," I call, returning the
- Page 24 and 25: she flops for a bit, slurps her tea
- Page 26 and 27: well her students did, she was neve
- Page 28 and 29: English or Indian, that they had th
- Page 30 and 31: ANDREW TAYLORSpringSpring is a dive
- Page 32 and 33: CAROL SElTZERAiming for the MouthTr
- Page 34 and 35: GRAEME WILSONA Selection of Japanes
- Page 36 and 37: a highly ambivalent attitude to his
- Page 38 and 39: Esson attended some rehearsals of T
- Page 40 and 41: the literary life of Bloomsbury. Lo
- Page 42 and 43: Without Yeats Esson would quite lik
- Page 44 and 45: "What theatre do you have in Austra
- Page 46 and 47: In the back room Esson could feel t
- Page 48 and 49: "When we started our little theatre
- Page 50 and 51: a screen against a wall. A theatre
- Page 52 and 53: VINCENT O'SULLIVANSinging Mastery:
- Page 54 and 55: flighty relation in most statements
- Page 56 and 57: living and the dead; that places hi
and Morice, hospitality itself at the piano.Though I always wished him leather-elbowed,tweed-jacketed and wise, with pipe and books,he preferred obliviously burning his eartopsin the Coromandel summer sun, up-ended overthe intricacies of the outboard motor'ssplutterings & how to get us up on water-skis.Once, caught on the wrong side of the breakerstogether in the boat, he knew we'd been stupid,should not have cut so close to shore,"we'll have to ride them through," he yelledover the roar, "hold on!" and held a hand downon my back, least I ricochet & the boat smash up -I loved him fiercely then, proud it was just meand not my brothers too, riding it through with him.He would give me the other half of a first nectarineor golden queen we'd share in the orchardor after dinner, let me plait his hair in topknots;took me at night to receive a childhood prizein the provincial town's sound shell and puthis jacket round my shoulders against the cold.And now my mother must prepare for him daily, makesoup or the filled bread rolls he likes at lunch,while listening as she reads aloud when the mailwith our letters comes. Daily she consortshis ups and downs, together they watch t.v.,talk to visitors. Perhaps she wishes he was the kindwho'd read more, so books could give himthe things she knows of, in the blanks.He says he's not afraid of dying - his dream's to beput to sea in a boat like ours was, withthe bung-hole out and gently to sink down;he's saddened more by growing inabilityto do things on his own. So, this man, my fatheris given to our family to hold close. My motherwill read him this when the next mail comes.WESTERLY, No.2, JUNE, 1989 7
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