Everand Logo

Welcome to Everand!

  • Discover millions of ebooks, audiobooks, and so much more with a free trial

    Only $11.99/month after trial. Cancel anytime.

    Poverty's Window
    Poverty's Window
    Poverty's Window
    Ebook76 pages1 hour

    Poverty's Window

    By Noel Gray

    ()

    Read preview

    About this ebook

    I have not lived long enough to know all the ways of escaping poverty,  all the ways to leave that empty house, that desert of means, that so many are forced to live in after their birth. However, I do know that in such a house poetry is a window through which one may see a brighter landscape, one that beckons with its beauty and promise. A pen is all that is needed to explore it, and perhaps a stolen book, a match or two, and a candle to light one’s way.
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherOndina Press
    Release dateAug 2, 2018
    ISBN9788828368434
    Poverty's Window

    Read more from Noel Gray

    Related to Poverty's Window

    Related ebooks

    Performing Arts For You

    View More
    View More

    Related podcast episodes

    Related articles

    • Article

      Eight Poems

      Sep 1, 2021

      The rain is splashy.The baby is fat as apat of butter.Mother is sleeping.No one is crying.Because it was timeto live with strangersbaby was born.Hearing the rainjumping in puddleshe feels another eventis due in time.Not knowing what,not guessing what

      2 min read

    • Article

      Seven Poems

      Sep 1, 2021

      The dancersIn a terribly brightLight blue gauzeRetained the mystery Skating on a lakeBlue and iceAn illusionary timeWhere poetry feels inevitable The terrific clownWho lies insideEvery blue dressDoes he see me Always a starAlways a rootHorrible auras

      2 min read

    • Article

      Two Poems

      May 1, 2023

      At the end of the world, I sat in the dark waiting for you,but you didn’t come. You didn’t save me. At the end we are always alone, candles slowlyburning out, losing the flame for lack of oxygen. You didn’t tell me it would be like this. All of itcam

      2 min read

    • Article

      Three Poems

      Sep 1, 2021

      A type of hickory, it grows by water.So are we fools to drive to the riverthe day after our most savage stormshave finally stopped to seea tree we’ve never seen before?To hike in cold mud through a leafless forest,to behold clearings now clutteredby

      5 min read

    • Article

      The Swan

      Aug 27, 2021

      The Swan
      5 min read

    • Article

      Concerning The Future Of Souls

      Mar 19, 2024

      As a toddler she had caused a sensation in her family when she announced she wanted to live in a little hole like the ant. Not an ant, the ant. This might have been misheard. She was an easygoing child, not particularly thoughtful and stubbornly inar

      13 min read

    • Article

      Amanda’s Naked Truth

      Oct 26, 2020

      Amanda’s Naked Truth
      6 min read

    • Article

      Ring Silverbell

      Nov 1, 2021

      Ring Silverbell
      3 min read

    • Article

      Last Christmas

      Oct 6, 2022

      Last Christmas
      6 min read

    • Article

      The Last Friend on Earth

      May 4, 2023

      It was as if Doreen Saunders had been waiting for me, passing the time until my arrival. She might as well have been sitting in a rocking chair, knitting needles clicking, jam tarts cooling on the side, the door wide open, waiting for the next visito

      6 min read

    • Article

      Amazing Grace

      Aug 19, 2021

      Amazing Grace
      5 min read

    • Article

      The Joy Of Boxing Day

      Nov 19, 2020

      The Joy Of Boxing Day
      5 min read

    • Article

      As the World Collapses

      Jul 27, 2017

      As the World Collapses
      7 min read

    • Article

      Lucky Were the Bodies

      May 3, 2022

      Lucky Were the Bodies
      8 min read

    • Article

      Your Love Will NEVER FADE AWAY

      Dec 11, 2020

      Your Love Will NEVER FADE AWAY
      2 min read

    • Article

      A Gentle Reminder

      Aug 31, 2022

      A Gentle Reminder
      1 min read

    • Article

      In America

      May 1, 2020

      It rained, as we left that last day. What did the trees meanto explain, bent as they wereto the unruly street? What did the wind speakof ordinary time? Does anything left behind ever loosefrom us? The string. The balloon. The wrist. The sky that neve

      1 min read

    • Article

      El Portal

      Aug 4, 2020

      El Portal
      4 min read

    • Article

      Your Poetry

      Oct 29, 2021

      I have been to the heights far away,I have danced and sang till night is day,I have been to see a newborn childI have been to see my old friend – she died,I have been wild and sometimes bad,I have been happy and many times sad,I have been in the thro

      2 min read

    • Article

      Blue Stars In THE OCEAN

      Aug 3, 2022

      Blue Stars In THE OCEAN
      6 min read

    • Article

      Ursula K. Le Guin

      Jun 15, 2018

      He was thinking of Lookfar, abandoned long ago, beached on the sands of Selidor. Little of her would be left by now, a plank or two down in the sand maybe, a bit of driftwood on the western sea. As he drifted near sleep he began to remember sailing t

      15 min read

    Related categories

    Reviews for Poverty's Window

    0 ratings

    0 ratings0 reviews

    What did you think?

    Tap to rate

    Review must be at least 10 words

      Book preview

      Poverty's Window - Noel Gray

      POET

      ON THE RUN

      What knowledge I have about myself is always one step back from what I am, always a little less than a full measure. This gap between what I know about my life and what it is comes in and out of clarity like a dream struggling to be remembered. It seems clearer when I look away, think of something else. It is for this reason that I will speak of a life that is not entirely mine, but close enough to be indistinguishable in spirit if different in a few of its details. A life finely balanced between anger and art, between frustration and hope.

      Adrian Shadow, the subject of this tale, was born in early August, between the atomic blast that flattened Hiroshima and the one that destroyed Nagasaki, a month that was named after the first Emperor of Rome who bequeathed to the world the Altar of Peace. Adrian’s mother, Anna Kovic, a Russian Cossack of youthful beauty, was expelled from her homeland, her history, and her culture. In tow with many of the dislocated she finally arrived in America. It was there she met Nathan Shadow, a mid-westerner bridled with an inflated angst fuelled by a wide range of perceived injustices. After a brief and intense courtship the couple decided to seek a place where they might forge a new life. Shortly after their marriage, and just before Adrian’s birth, Anna and Nathan immigrated to Australia, a country still in the throws of inventing a past yet to come. Unfortunately, barely putting their feet on its shore they fell foul of the authorities. Before long they had become petty criminals, constantly squabbling with each other as they hid with equal consistency from prosecution. One of their hideaways, little more than a shack, was where Adrian grew into his early childhood. Set in Northern Australia, the boy’s playground had dashes of rain forests and wide, white-sand beaches. Sparse and beautiful.

      Reflecting the worldly chaos surrounding his birth Adrian’s upbringing was riddled with drama. When his parents were not blaming each other for their troubles, or when they were not eluding the law, each tried to enlist their son against the other. Caught in this marital spring that ran dry as often as flush, Adrian hid in his imagination, unaware he was a poet in the making. However, true to many of this persuasion, even as a child an air of melancholy settled around him. It was tinged with flashes of rebellious babble also characteristic of the whimsically shy who become so through loneliness.

      It has been wonderfully said, by an author whose name I have forgotten, that poetry is language talking to itself. If this is true then daydreaming is the gallery where this conversation takes place. Echoes wandering around this mental space marvel as they turn into images or melt into words. Being a lonely child Adrian’s imagination was a gallery so full with echoes there was little room for rationality to use its broom of order. Unknowingly fulfilling this observation about poetry’s love of self-conversation Adrian could often be found chortling away to himself. To help him with this mirror talking he had many imaginary friends who joyously awaited his every utterance.

      One day, he was standing on a cliff looking at the sea far below, its sharp tipped waves gnashing like demented teeth, eager to chew the delicious blue of the sky and swallow it whole. On this occasion they were to go hungry because the sea remained steely-grey. From a distance behind the boy came the noise of his parents’ arguing. This sound, joining with the sight through his eyes, made him imagine that the sea was angry at being alone; a friendless creature crying out for company and peace. He decided that he and two of his friends would rescue the ocean from its torment and tempest. Madam Sea needs some friends, he said to Mr. Sun and Mr. Wind, who happened to be in the sky over his head. If you like you can play tug-a-war with her. I’ll sing the mighty sea song so you’ll have something to tug along with.

      When you sing the mighty sea song to the sea,

      You must sing loud, and you must sing free,

      You must sing up, and you must sing down,

      So the waves will know when not to frown.

      Oh, Oh, The Mighty Sea! Oh, Oh, The Mighty Sea!

      When the mighty sea hears you sing her song,

      She will calm down, and she will drift along,

      She will change to blue, and she will twinkle bright,

      And the sky and stars will get a horrible fright.

      Oh, Oh, The Mighty Sea! Oh, Oh, The Mighty Sea!

      When the sea became calm and friendly Adrian did a little jig, hopping about in a circle. What do you think of that, Mr. Tree? he giggled at a wrinkled palm. The tree, its arms flopped by its side, was precariously perched on the edge of the cliff, undecided whether to end it all or hang on and see what tomorrow would bring. Not waiting for a reply the boy ran toward the house to let his parents know he had a new friend called Madam Sea, and that he was going to be a singer when he grew up.

      Dismissing the child’s exploits and predictions as nonsense, Nathan ordered him to go back outside. And keep away from that cliff, it’s dangerous! Adrian hung his head and left the room. Joining the child as he tramped away his mother walked him back to the edge of the cliff. Out of earshot of her husband she began to plead with her son to help persuade Nathan to leave the mountain. You’ll have more friends in the town, she suggested as they stood on the cliff and stared down at the sea. Adrian’s reply was always the same. I

      Enjoying the preview?
      Page 1 of 1