they will just move on once we are gone, of course; what choice do they have, after all? perhaps none— their play-filled days a soundscape we cannot hear, we can't pretend to know if they'll sleep or eat enough to get them through it; but should they fall asleep in a park somewhere, who will be there to hold them? surely that new friend, the one they met just once, will come along with smiles and new ideas for games? (we must rely on this idea of new friends with games, otherwise there's nothing to hold onto in the dark, when we listen for some sniff or cough and realise those nightmares were really our own (oh! but look— the moon falls behind the trees and we say: "goodbye!" just fold their clothes, then try extra hard not to cry
Author: David Prater (page 6 of 25)
David Prater is an Australian-born writer, editor and parent. His interests include mince pies, ice hockey and Joy Division.
After watching the first few episodes of The Americans, it seemed to me that the show’s producers had spent more on wigs than they had on the script. But later, having watched all six seasons of the show, I changed my tune.
Across the show’s various story arcs, what starts out as a cheesy 1980s homage quickly descends into vaguely horrifying Cold-War-era gore, complete with dismemberment, assassinations, undesirable sex and, well, honky tonk. I got hooked on it, and I’m not too proud to admit that.
Anyways, about a year ago the forever-bulk-ace Alicia Sometimes and I were chatting about The Americans online, as you do, and she sent me a poem she’d written about Keri Russell (who plays a Soviet secret agent posing as an American housewife, Elizabeth Jennings, in the show).
It was, of course, a great poem. And, you know, even though I don’t write so many poems anymore, I was immediately inspired to write a kind of response, about Elizabeth’s husband Philip Jennings (another Soviet agent, played by Matthew Rhys).
Then Alicia casually let slip that she’d submitted her poem to an online literary zine called Freeze Ray, and we thought it’d be fun if I submitted my poem, too.
Well, I’ll bet you can guess what happened next. Sure enough, Alicia’s poem, ‘Keri Russell’s voice in The Americans’, was selected for publication in that esteemed journal.
Meanwhile, my effort, ‘Line dancing with Matthew Rhys’ was rejected by the Freeze Ray editors, via the immortal burn phrase: ‘Unfortunately, we’re going to pass this time around’.
Now, I’ve been rejected many a time before, and even had some other poems that didn’t make it into this or that literary journal, too. So I was not greatly bummed by this turn of events.
I mean, the whole world got to read Alicia’s bodacious poem, and the two of us still got to read mine.
But, you know, I got to thinking, and then to tinkering with the opening lines of my admittedly rushed effort, and after a week or two I felt like I had a new draft I was happy with.
And rather than subject myself to the whole publimication fandangle, I thought I’d just pop the thing up on my own website HQ instead.
So, anyway, there you have it. Have a read of ‘Line dancing with Matthew Rhys’, and let me know what y’all think.
Oh and don’t forget to check out Alicia’s poem in Freeze Ray in all its sustained glory (and listen to an audio version as well).
I just want to die at that moment in The Americans when Matthew Rhys (or should I say Philip, a Russian double- agent whose actual name is Mischa line dances in a crowded country & western bar somewhere in Virginia, alone but somehow at home, at last. Is it something about his careful joy, or his brand-new, clunky suede boots? Thumbs hooked in the too-tight jeans, the hand claps, swivels, furtive glances? Whatever the reason, I’ll die right here, thx. The instant Mischa turns to see an American woman coax her husband (who could be Benjamin Netanyahu onto the dance floor, oh-so-reluctant, we realize something about dancing & about love, how some just don’t get it (unlike Mischa, who knows the moves, who has found his place, here, at last. Kill me so I don’t have to live beyond this scene, in which lines fall into place, in which bodies become honky-tonk, in which music becomes lines of words. I don’t mind being strangled or shot, as long as Mischa’s the one doing it, & like I said, make it right after this scene, pls & thx. Oh & Mischa: forget me when you leave this bar. Extract peanut shells from the soles of those boots & walk on. Don’t look back as you exit the cubicle where my crumpled body lies. It’s okay. I can take a new form, whichever you like. I could be your cowboy hat, or the horse you rode in on. Just say the word, Mischa. It’s dark in here. Light up my line. Dance.
So excited that I just had to share this here, too.
My imaginary #Netflix series ‘You’re Killing Me’, a gritty, eight-part murder mystery based on the true story of US indie rock band #Pavement, has been name-checked on a podcast about Pavement, entitled The Pavement Conundrum!
Listen in from 27:20 to 28:35 for some smooth Scottish accents.
Fire.
I am humbled, proud, excited and just a tad braggish to announce three huge milestones in my previously unacknowledged career as a parent.
First, our oldest child, who is six, started school this week, and kicked so many goals in doing so that it left a small, permanent tear in the corner of my eye. Truly, I could not have got through the past six years without her. Every day she teaches me how to survive on this crazy planet.
Second, our middle child, who is about to turn four, has now transitioned to being the elder sibling at his daycare, nailing it so brilliantly it leaves me dumbfounded. How do small, fragile persons handle change in such dignified, humourous and hopeful ways? His strength and sensitivity floor me daily.
Third, our youngest child, who is one, started daycare too. Oh boy, did he bring all the feels to that challenging task. But it took him just three days to sleep on an unfamiliar mattress, throw food at whoever was within range, and generally act like a hooligan (the carer’s word, not mine).
So today, rather than criticize myself because parenting isn’t a real career, I’m celebrating my three awesome ‘colleagues’, their amazing achievements, and my own small part in helping them realize their goals.
#parenting #children #career #proud