Monday 24 June 2019

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.





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