THE BAY Mullins/Baxter On the road to the bay was a lake of rushes Where we bathed at times and changed in the bamboo, Now it is rather to stand and say: How many roads lead us Nowhere, The alley overgrown, no meaning now but loss: Not that garden where everthing comes easy And by the bay were cliffs with carved names A hut on the shore beside the maori ovens. We raced boats from the banks of the creek Or swam in those autumnal shallows Growing cold in amber water, riding logs Upstream, waiting for the taniwha Growing cold in amber water, riding logs Upstream, waiting for the taniwha. So now I remember the bay and the little spiders We found on driftwood, so poisonous and quick. The carved cliffs and the great outcrying surf With currents round the rocks and birds rising. A thousand times an hour is torn across And burned for the sake of going on living. But I remember the bay that never was And stand like stone and cannot turn away. |
TWO LOVERS Mullins/Hyde Close under here I watched two lovers once Should have been a sin from what you say I’d come to the beach to look for prawns But the tide was out so I strolled away And climbed the dunes to lie here warm face down Watching the swimmers by the jetty-posts Wrinkling like the bright blue wrinkling bay Close under here I watched two lovers once They were pale thin people, not often clear of town Any fool could see they had to kiss But your pet dunce didn’t quite know Men count on more than that And so they lay, and so just lay, patterning the sand. And when they’d gone I went down To the hollow place where they had been But I never meant to tell the rest , or you, what I had seen Elastic snapped when he jerked off her hat I heard them arguing about the frock But he thought she was bread He thought that she was bread Close under here I watched two lovers once They were pale thin people, not often clear of town Any fool could see that they had to kiss I wished her legs were brown, oh I wished her legs were brown And mostly , then, stared at the dawdling sea Hoping Perry would row me some day in his boat But not all the time, not all the time And when they’d gone I went down To the hollow place where they had been But I never meant to tell the rest , or you, what I had seen Though that night when I came in late for tea I hoped you’d see the sandgrains on my coat Close under here I watched two lovers once (adapted from The Beaches VI) |
RHYME OF THE DEAD SELF Mullins/Fairburn Tonight I have taken all that I was and strangled him that lily-white lad I have choked him with these hands, Choked him with these claws Catching him as he lay a-dreaming in his bed A-dreaming in his bed He is dead pale youth and shall not rise on the third day or any other day sloughed like a snakeskin there he lies and shall not trouble me again for aye He is dead pale youth and shall not rise on the third day or any other day sloughed like a snakeskin there he lies and shall not trouble me again for aye Then chuckling I dragged out his foolish brains that were full of pretty love-tales heigho the holly and yes I emptied them holus bolus to the drains those dreams of love oh what ruinous folly What ruinous folly He is dead pale youth and shall not rise on the third day or any other day sloughed like a snakeskin there he lies and shall not trouble me again for aye La la la la la la la |
WHERE FAIRBURN WALKED Ross Mullins 1987 Oh ferry me across the shining harbour Take me back again Rock me rock me gentle on the water I will feel no pain And take me through the corrugated hallway Out on to the pier Where the whitebaiters roll a smoke And the gulls circle near O walk me through those sleepy settlers’ streets Where Fairburn walked Past the villas with their filigrees And chestnut trees and the idle talk Of the old boilermakers in the public bar Sipping at their beer Past the poets at the dartboard Waiting for their marvellous year And by the graveyard pioneers There stood a priest Lay down your pen he said Abandonment is only the sister of release And when my journey’s ended, I will ask you to bury me On the slopes of the gentle grassy mountain That looks out to the sea And bury me in a black piano Beside a macrocarpa tree And toss my music to the wind And throw away the keys And toss my music to the wind And throw away the keys |
NOT MADE WITH HANDS Mullins/Gilbert Find me the rose that will not die, The tree no axe can fell, The spring no Summer’s drought shall dry, And this last miracle: Show me the wood, the timeless wood Where tall and steadfast stands (The lightnings quenched, the storms withstood) A house not made with hands. Here is your rose that will not die, Your tree no axe can fell, The spring no Summer’s drought shall dry, And here your miracle: Behold the wood, the timeless wood, And see how, steadfast, stands (All lightnings quenched, all storms withstood) Love’s house, not made with hands. Love’s house, not made with hands |
WHITE IRISES Mullins/Hyde But when it came to holding fast All my heaped days as water went, High in swirling dreams I stood, With vain hands clutched the slipping past Of straws and faces on the flood. Till single among stones I saw The white, the ragged irises, Cold on a sky of petals dead, Their young cheeks roughened in the wind, Boys.white-surpliced boys Cold boys of spring, the irises With parted lips stood chanting there, The green flood restive to their knees, Rain powdered on their hair And I who sought for heart’s farewell, In dusk of spring, have brought you these - The choir singing in a spell, The white, the ragged irises. Over their feet the spring tide bore High bellows flecked with daisied foam. I saw the wind, a swimmer, pass From grey-girt isles of cloud, his home, And mount the blue stockades of trees. O then a singing on the air, Caught and flung back and held again, Curled in the rosy shells of rain And pressed against earth’s listening ear Took up the triumph-strain. Cold boys of spring, the irises With parted lips stood chanting there, The green flood restive to their knees, Rain powdered on their hair. Until a red moon dipped shoulder-high, A lantern swinging from the pole Of some old fisher of the sky In starry waters of the soul. And I who sought for heart’s farewell, In dusk of spring, have brought you these - Irises white irises. |
MY LOVE LATE WALKING Mullins/Baxter My love late walking in the rain’s white aisles I break words for, though many tongues Of night deride and the moon’s boneyard smile Cuts to the quick our newborn sprig of song, See and believe, my love, the late yield Of bright grain, the sparks of harvest wrung From difficult joy. My heart is an open field. There you may stray wide or stand at home Nor dread the giant’s bone and broken shield Or any tendril locked on a thunder stone, Nor fear, in the forked grain, my hawk who flies Down to your feathered sleep alone Striding blood coloured on a wind of sighs. Let him at the heart of your true dream move, My love, in the lairs of hope behind your eyes. I sing, to the rain’s harp, of light renewed, The black tares broken, fresh the phoenix light I lost among time’s rags and burning tombs. My love late walking in the rain’s white aisles See and believe, my love, the late yield Of bright grain, the sparks of harvest wrung From difficult joy. My heart is an open field. There you may stray wide or stand at home Nor dread the giant’s bone and broken shield Or any tendril locked on a thunder stone, Nor fear, in the forked grain, my hawk who flies Down to your feathered sleep alone Striding blood coloured on a wind of sighs. Let him at the heart of your true dream move, My love, in the lairs of hope behind your eyes. My love walks long in harvest aisles tonight. |
SENEX Mullins/Campbell Go away,young girl, and leave me To my bitter senescence. I’m tired of being a battery Feeding your incandescence. Go away, with your cool young eyes That consider me with amusement - An old fool is an old fool And not a thing for abasement. Enough that I spent long nights Cursing the source of my weakness - The spreading gold on your shoulders, Your butter-milk sleekness. Go, for what happened between us Flared up and was soon over. I’ll go to my empty apartment And you to your lover. Enough that I inwardly rage While you stand there all unfeeling, A slow smile touching your lips As you stare from me to the ceiling. Go, for what happened between us Flared up and was soon over. I’ll go to my empty apartment And you to your lover You to your lover You to your lover |
WHY DON’T YOU TALK TO ME? Mullins/Campbell Why do I post my love letters in a hollow log? Why do I post my love letters in a hollow log? The spiders spread their nets And they catch the sun And by my foot in the dry grass Ants rebuild a broken city Why don’t you talk to me? Talk to me Why don’t you talk to me? Why put my lips to a knothole in a tree and whisper your name? Why put my lips to a knothole in a tree and whisper your name? Butterflies pair in the wind And the yellow bee His holsters packed with bread Rides the blue air like a drunken cowboy Why don’t you talk to me? Talk to me Why don’t you talk to me? More and more I find myself talking to the sea I am alone with my footsteps More and more I find myself talking to the sea I watch the tide recede And I’m left with miles of shining sand Why don’t you talk to me? Talk to me Why don’t you talk to me? |
TIDEMARKS Mullins/Hyde Calm stood the old house Long unpossessed, Close beat its silence Under her breast; Out of its sills Wreathed clear and forlorn What echoing trumpets Of what dead morn? Standing with fingers Wide-spread and chilly, On the spangling hood Of a wild pink lily ‘How many tidemarks Since this house loved? She spoke in a small voice unmoved How many green tides Wither again, After this hour Caught up from rain? We looking down From the sills to the waters, I with cloak loosened, Last of its daughters.’ But before they had entered He paused and drew over, Sandalling with dew Her feet in the clover; Down on her brown cheek Straight drew he A bough of old drudging Mulberry tree; And crushed the berries, Ungathered, unblest, Into her mouth, Into her breast. ‘How many tidemarks Since this house loved? She spoke in a small voice unmoved How many green tides Wither again, After this hour Caught up from rain? We looking down From the sills to the waters, I with cloak loosened, The last, the very last, the last of its daughters.’ |
TO A FRIEND Mullins/Fairburn March will die into April, autumn will age and be grey as a pensioner, May will fade in a mist, the day come when the tui no longer spandles the scarlet flax-flowers with his song, when the dawn brings sleet and the bees are quiet and the morning thrush is dumb Winter will come with a blast of wind and a flourish of chilling showers, and the sea will moan, the driftwood whiter grown be swept in heaps like bones and the bodies of dead sea-birds will lie beyond the lash of the wave the sea will rave and the surf cast rags of kelp on the shore the creeks will rise, the streams with yellow water run and the mud be cold and deep about your door And the wind in the dark will roar and the midnight fill with dread but the drifwood fire will still be warm at the midmost core at the beating heart of the storm Then like a smile from the dead or a song from the granite rock spring will come with its four blue eggs that mirror the sky in the nest in the privet hedge with a blush of green on the willow and buds on the sycamore and the thrush in the macrocarpa telling the time of life The starling in the gutter will splash in the shining air the spiders make of their spittle great cities in the grass the fantail flit in the tea-tree turn cartwheels over the mare young violets charm the wind even the dun unsmiling bush at the head of the stream hold up its flowers to kiss the robe of the sun. The time of doubt will pass, faith and fact will be one. Old friend, some day when I’ve had my say, and the world its way, then, O then will I come again and stay for as long as I may, stay till the time for sleep; gaze at the rock that died before me, the sea that lives for ever; of air and sunlight,frost and wave and cloud, and all the agony and joy, all the agony and joy, all the remembered agony and joy fashion my shroud. |
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BENEFICIARY Who is this man walking down the street His shoulders stooped in shame With his woolly hat and ragged clothes He hasn't shaved in days His head is full of phenzodol But he knows where he must go It's the twentieth - he gets paid today He's been waiting all week But he won't let it show And you call this a benefit A blessing in disguise A token of their gratitude A cover for their lies And those kindly benefactors Write laws and make decrees And everybody's smiling except the beneficiary What do you do when you can't pay the rent And they disconnect the phone Crashing down on someone's floor 'Cause you've got no place of your own So come on down to Doletown Fill out a form or two Sign away your self-respect And the welfare state will care for you And you call this a benefit This sordid little cheque This pay-off for their silence This rope around the neck And those kindly benefactors Bestow their charity And leave everybody smiling except the beneficiary |
CASEY AND THE PEARLY GATES Casey was the local bartender He rubbed shoulders with the very best He served oysters with his dinners He knew all tomorrow's winners And could get you tickets for the test Casey had a heart condition And the doctors said his time was right So he made himself a will Put his fingers in the till And Casey passed away one night Hats off to Casey Jones He's up there somewhere with his roll-your-owns We miss his company Down at the Naval and Family He was sent to purgatory But not to be deterred He saw the angel scribe Offered him a bribe And his sentence came to be deferred He soon left purgatory But when he came to the Pearly Gates St Peter drew his sword Declared his papers fraud And sent him off to expiate Well he demanded that his case be taken To a higher authority The objection was dismissed And in a haze of Irish Mist He was fanfared into eternity Old Casey win's again He's up there somewhere with his Capstan Tens We miss his company Down at the Naval and Family |
EDMOND'S SURE TO RISE Eddie's off work, he's going down for a swim With his radio and his chilly bin And he's feeling like a winner In his baggy togs Pretty topless girl lying next to him With a range of cosmetics for her delicate skin And her mind on vacation All summer long Place on sand then Warm till tender Baste with oil to appetise Turn it round Grill till browned And Edmond's sure to rise Eddie'd love to meet her but he doesn't dare She'd probably dismiss him with an icy stare And he's sure she must be waiting For some muscular guy But she's looking at her watch - it's time to decide Whether to take a swim or do the other side And half the beach is watching From the corner of their eye Cool in ocean Add a lotion Marinate to appetise Grill the breast Tegel test And Edmond's sure to rise He's been lying in the sun for an hour or more Red as a lobster and incredibly sore So he takes a cold shower and wanders off alone |
FEATHERSTON So you want to be a soldier son You're going to join the boys in green I fought in the war myself I was only seventeen I didn't win no medals They didn't send me overseas They sent me down to Featherston To guard the Japanese And those voices in my head Loud enough to wake the dead Life was slow at Featherston We lived from day to day We gambled in the guardroom We drank the nights away And them, they simply stared at us With hatred in their eyes We didn't speak their language We couldn't read their minds And those voices in my head Loud enough to wake the dead They gathered in the compound It was getting out of hand The CO gave the order To have the brenners manned Those Japs kept surging forward "Fire!" someone cried I heard the sound of gunfire And men falling like flies Forty-eight men died that day In that barbed wire hell You won't find any cenotaph Showing where they fell So you want to be a soldier Well I know you're not to blame But if you'd been there at Featherston You'd hang your head in shame |
FLIGHT 501 Another whisky on the rocks Joe I can't see how I stand to lose You know I haven't slept since Friday Friday was the day I heard the news And though I've sure been doing some drinking I haven't gone to pieces yet But I'm burning out Like this half-smoked cigarette You ever been stranded at an airport Joe Left sitting there like last week's freight You want some word about a passenger "I'm sorry Sir, you'll just have to wait" Hey you must be sick and tired of me by now I know we've been through this before But I just can't see How they can be so sure No, don't start me talking about all that Joe Don't look for answers where there's none And I don't know why I can't stop thinking about Flight 501 |
GOAL ATTACK Saw you at the courts with the college team Training with the Catholic girls from Baradene Well I stood there pressed against the fence My eyes pinned on the goal defence I wanna be your goal attack With your sexy legs and your little pleated skirt With your mind on the ball and your body so alert Well I stood there panting with desire On the wrong side of that fencing wire I wanna be your goal attack Well I know they're very strict at boarding school And if I said I want to meet you they would treat me like a fool But someday you're gonna ask me up into your dorm And we're gonna make love in you're your uniform I wanna be your goal attack |
GOING TO AUSTRALIA I work the assembly line At Team McLyon Ford The taxman takes home half my pay And the rest goes to my landlord Well I'd kind of like to settle down And raise a family But I just can't seem to get a break Down at the TAB So I'm packing my bags And a carton of fags And I'm going away to Australia My mother works at Foodtown My Daddy's on the dole And sister Sue is living up in Darwin Bless her soul Well I've been around this country Seen all kind of things But that aint nothing on what I'll see The day I land in Kings So I'm packing my bags And a carton of fags And I'm going away to Australia I'm gonna cruise around on Bondi Beach In my sawn-off corduroys I don't know but I've been told They've got two girls for every boy Last week I got laid off At Team McLyon Ford And guess just what I'm gonna do With my redundancy award I sure as hell am a Kiwi And I know that Kiwis care But get me down to Quantas quick Before they change the fares So I'm packing my bags And a carton of fags And I'm going away to Australia |
LAST FAIR DEAL Suzy just lit up her last cigarette It's quarter to four and her man aint home yet She knows he's on business - this time it's for real As she watches him drift to his last fair deal He's been playing his cards real close to his chest And says to be patient 'cause he knows what's best But that guy that they found rolled in the field He sure got burned on his last fair deal And she tell's him she loves him And he's breaking her heart "Let's go to England and make a new start" But he stares at the ceiling - no reply And in all those years She's never once seen him cry She still aint accustomed to sleeping alone As she lies on the bed and waits for the phone To say that they've found him tied to the wheel With an empty valise on his last fair deal Suzy just stubbed out her last cigarette It's four in the morning and her man aint home yet She knows he's on business - she's beginning to feel He may never return from his last fair deal |
MARCY'S IN LOVE AGAIN Marcy's in love again, it comes as no surprise She's found another of her eligible guys Says he's a sales rep Says he's in personal supplies Wants to take her skiing For a week in July Marcy's in love now but she'll come off second best This guy will break her heart just like all the rest I watch them drive off With all his ski gear on the rack His suit and his sample case Thrown in the back Marcy you sure can pick your men There's no way you can win Why don't you deal me in? We could ski our little hearts out |
MISSING Stacey had a bashful kind of smile Never said a lot when I came to visit her But I haven't seen her in a while Lent her money so she could see Her sister get married in Australia I guess it just wasn't meant to be Thought I heard her calling in the night Or was it just the howling of the wind She'll never know how much I'm missing her tonight Stacey left home on Tuesday Gonna hitch to Takanini Got picked up on the motorway By a guy in a stolen mini Stacey had a timid kind of smile Used to blush when I told her she was beautiful But I haven't seen her in a while Thought I heard her calling in the night Or was it just the howling of the wind She'll never know how much I'm missing her tonight |
NIGHT OF THE TEST They came out in their busloads They queued up at the gate They bought their season ticket The ladies brought a plate Ears to their transistors They smuggled in their beer They settled on the terraces They raised a mighty cheer Night of the test Biggest night of the year Night of the test Can't afford not to be there No curtain raiser No marching girls team No hot pies in the vending machines They wait for the kick-off They yell for the ref They start slow clapping Gonna shout until they're deaf Night of the test Don't let them put us to shame Night of the test For the sake of the game Commentator's countdown Hush over the crowd A blinding flash of light Fire in the cloud Debris on the goalpost A thousand empty cans And scattered round the stadium The bodies of the fans Night of the test Biggest night of the year Night of the test Can't afford not to be there |
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PINEHEAD Pinehead grew up on a farm Tough Taranaki breed He drank his daily Valbazen And his bowl of cattle feed Solid as a piece of 4 x 2 Dad said "Son, we'll make an All Black out of you" The day he came to college He made the first fifteen He mowed the opposition down Like a harvesting machine With a hide so tough He broke every teacher's cane But they made him head boy And never lost a game Pinehead was a hero A legend in his time Signed a child's autograph And I'm proud to call it mine Chosen for his province He rose quickly to the top Caught the head selector's eye Named him blindside prop Played against the Boks in 65 Made the headlines with his winning try His fame it spread until one day When tempers started to flare He took a man out in a ruck And left him in a wheelchair But he's happy now sitting on the bench Makes a buck on tv Selling cattle drench Pinehead was a hero A legend in his time Signed a child's autograph And I'm proud to call it mine |
SCRATCHINGS Sid's been on a losing streak lately Gay rang up to call it a day She met somebody else at the races Sending back his hoseshoe in the mail Head like playdough Turn on the radio Song thrashing And now for the scratchings: Number 2 Gay Filou Number 3 C'est la Vie Number 8 take out Stablemate Number 5 Sid's Pride Number 9 Valentine 21 Out comes Lucky Son Put a dollar on a rank outsider Felt so low he thought he'd mow the lawn Neighbour poked his head through the privet Shook his fist and started to warn Sid, fair go Can't hear my radio S'posed to be catching The Riccarton scratchings: Number 2 Gay Filou Number 3 C'est la Vie Number 8 take out Stablemate Number 5 Sid's Pride Number 9 Valentine 21 Out comes Mister Fun Drove down to the pub in his Holden Got himself as rotten as a newt What kind of girl would leave you in the boxcart And run off with the off-course substitute Barman says Oh Turn up the radio S'posed to be catching The Riccarton scratchings: Number 2 Gay Filou Number 3 C'est la Vie Number 8 take out Stablemate Number 5 Sid's Pride Number 9 Valentine 21 Out comes Lucky Son |
SPORTIN' LIFE BLUES (trad. arr. Mullins) I'm getting tired of running round Believe I'll get married and settle down Cos this old night life This mean old sportin' life It's killing me I've been a gambler and a cheater too But now it's come my time, my time to lose Cos this old night life It's a bad life And it's killing me There ain't but one thing that I done wrong I played this sportin' life much too long Cos this old night life It's a bad life And it's killing me |
STANDARD THREE Nine year old urchin Jam-faced and cornflaked Wiping the sleep from his eyes A pocket full of marbles And the neighbour's monkey apples Slips on his schoolbag and mumbles goodbye Down by the bikeshed And over the creek A hideout in the blackberry vines A fort with a password A key to the land where a boy Can shanghai the moon after bedtime Bullrush and bullies Rabbit-punch the primers Girls upside down on the bars And six of the best For the last one into line Journals and inkwells and insects in jars Down by the shed Through a hole in the fence A hideout I dare you to find Lost in the lupins A mythical land where a boy Can shanghai the moon after bedtime Down by the bottom field Over the creek A hideout in the blackberry vines A place known only To those in the land where a boy Can shanghai the moon after bedtime Three o'çlock scramble Ambush down at Dundale Cornered by college kids one on to three Wounded in action Makes it to the kitchen Cases the fridge for his afternoon tea Down by the shed Through a hole in the fence A hideout I dare you to find Lost in the lupins A mythical land where a boy Can shanghai the moon after bedtime |
STATE HOUSE KID Brown-eyed girl on Queen Street, stepping out for Friday night, Angel in denim, stops, asks a stranger for a light, And boys whistle in the crowd, But she holds her head up proud, And she's only 15 but she keeps it hid, She looks 21, this state house kid. Spends the last ten dollars she earned down at the superette, She's got to meet a girlfriend at nine outside the de Brett And they're going to the disco bar, Or going cruising in a car, And she's gleaming in the night like a black orchid, And she's starting to forget she's a state house kid. She's so tender and so unafraid, But there's an ugly world out there, And they're waiting for her, Like cops on a dawn raid. Night is spent and finds her out of smokes and down at heart, It's getting on midnight as she makes her way to Britomart, And she'll take the bus ride home, Creep into the house alone, And in the morning they'll be asking her what she did, But she won't say much this state house kid. |
THE MATING OF A RATING AND A WREN There's a wedding on tomorrow Word's out all over the place One of the wrens And a fine able seaman Getting spliced right here at the base The boy's have knocked off early Sit round and sink a few beers A shout for the blokes A few wedding night jokes Not for the officers' ears So let's drink to the health of the RNZN We've been waiting for the mating Of a rating and a wren Tonight there'll be a stag party They've got the crates from the stores And when it gets late They'll chain him to the gate And nugget the poor bugger's balls Meanwhile the girl's are going out to dinner Even some of the cadets They'll have a whale of a time Drinking vodka and lime And throwing a few serviettes So let's drink to the health of the RNZN We've been waiting for the mating Of a rating and a wren But let's go back to that stag party They've drunk a whole dozen each And it's already late He's chained to the gate And the boys are giving him heaps But in the morning they'll be down at the chapel In the finest kit that they have And when the vows have been done And the last hymn is sung They'll be into the mussels and pav So let's drink to the health of the RNZN We've been waiting for the mating Of a rating and a wren |
UNCLES Bright eyed uncles On their way out to bowls With their whites and their blazers And their packet of rolls Their hair is glistening with vaseline And there's a twinkle in their eyes as they reach the green They tease the ladies with their dapper ways Uncles Dewey eyed uncles At the Christmas reunion With a niece on their knees And a bottle of Bourbon And they reminisce as they finish their sweet About six o'clock closing and the Battle of Crete And the sons-in-law all laugh at their jokes Uncles Uncles were the ones the kids adored When they used to dress up as Santa Claus Fiery eyed uncles Purple with tension Jostle in the queue As they wait for the pension They moan about the rights of the ordinary bloke Never used to be this way with Holyoake And the lady at the counter has to agree Uncles Uncles in the garden with their Nylex hoses They got worms in their peaches and blight on their roses Beery eyed uncles Stagger and sway Singing Auld Lang Syne Out of the RSA And their dinner's in the oven Burnt to a cinder But Mum'll be on the phone Talking to Linda And they turn on the telly and begin to snore Uncles Uncles grow old and they'll be dead before long And we'll all kind of miss them when they're gone |