the interview to study librarianship at Melbourne University 1977:

 

I had decided – or had it been decided

for me,

luckily it was 1977 so any decision was free,

contextually.

I wore my favourite shirt,

white cotton, only four buttons to the neck

overly large, unflappably flappy –

it was even clean.

jeans, I think, basically

in 1975

it was always jeans,

I think.

I entered the formal entrance,

two huge doors, wooden, designed

to intimidate and they worked

I had never been in a building with two doors;

doesn’t that say a lot about the doors I had,

and had still to cross,

then followed a sign – it read interviews this way

and the arrow to the right.

I followed, dutifully

and found four students hardly older

than I was seated, erectly, behind a large table,

the table adorned with a white table cloth –

it matched my shirt

unfortunately, except whiter

newer, and suited to that room

and time.

“Sit,” said one. I sat,

and the interview began –

I blame my voice

not its timbre,

its deep, beautiful resonance, a bassoon of a voice;

rather its ability

to locate me specifically

and in that room, on that chair,

it did so perfectly.

I could hear their voices and noted mine

my hair too, long, obviously washed,

overly so,

and combed to perfection –

not theirs,

allowed to just be, hanging loose,

they had no attention

to details to worry about.

as I spoke

I felt the chair moving further and further away

a speech in a long shot – the reverse zoom,

table, corridor – two double doors, outside;

“thank you, we’ll let you know,’

but we already did. Them and me,

my voice and theirs, my hair and theirs,

everything in that room knew –

even the room itself knew – and especially

the portraits knew;

it may be free but I was not

gaining entry.