Poem 16 Rejection

I wrote ‘Desert Piece’ at the age of twenty-one.  It was my first poem as an adult.  I was feeling very depressed about life in general and life in Australia in particular.  Two years earlier I had arrived in Queensland with my parents and twin brother, Jim, determined to make a success in my new home.
 
 My school experience in a Somerset public school had been less than an overwhelming success.  I disliked the system, which was designed to subdue the individual and to promote obedience and uniformity.  Going to Australia, the land of huge spaces and individualism, seemed perfect for me.
 
I wanted to go to university, to study English and, above all, I wanted to be an operatic tenor!  My first move was to get into Queensland University, in St Lucia, Brisbane.  I enrolled with the Queensland Correspondence School and did a crash course to pass my Senior Public Examination in five subjects in just over six months.  I had no conflict with teachers to distract me and passed with flying colours.  Unfortunately fate then stepped in. 
 
I was called up at the age of nineteen for National Service in Australia.  Only one male in ten was balloted and Jim and I were among the lucky ones!  I volunteered to apply for officer training in Portsea, Victoria for eleven months, and was accepted.  As a twin, Jim could then do six years in the Citizens’ Military Forces as a part-time soldier.  I didn’t particularly want to be a soldier, but it was the start to a career, and I badly needed a career.  For reasons best known to my training officers, I found myself a bit of a square peg and resigned, after ten months, before they could kick me out!  I behaved impeccably, but apparently, lacked leadership qualities!  Oh well!
 
I was back where I had started, but a year older and totally lacking in self-confidence.
It seemed to me that the dry outback was just the right image to describe me!  I wrote this poem as a way of expressing my feelings of frustration with life and felt better afterwards. Years later, I realise that, while poetry can’t fix the world, it can release ideas and images which are both therapeutic and insightful.  As with most things in life, things got better with a bit of hard work and application. The good thing is that I am left with a poem to show for it.  Better than a medal!

Desert Piece
 
I’ve trudged the dry outback –
extruded roads,
a rolling patchwork back-drop,
scrubby dust and flies,
the country talking in their shivering wings grizzling.
 
I’ve seen sun’s fried egg on blue
snap the bouncing dust-ball
raindrops back,
and so, too, have I been
sucked of moisture, spat
and fallen, dried sand, to the ground.