Although I was invited to the inaugural Avon Valley Writer’s Festival last year, to speak and workshop with my screenwriter’s hat on, I wanted something tangible for the audience to purchase so (as mentioned previously) self-published three small books.
Since writing the poems in 1998-2000 on the train between the Northern Suburbs, to the City of Perth then on to University in Mt Lawley, they appeared in my first book published in Ireland ‘Hidden Capacity ~ a poet’s journey’ and more recently re-assessed and ‘tweaked’ to appear in the stand-alone chapbook for sale. Some pieces have also appeared variously in publications and on the net.
Now I’m hoping to give it yet another life, to convert the chapbook to an e-book for purchase on-line. Any suggestions? The service at Amazon has been recommended although I’ve been told not to expect ‘many dollars’ it’s a chance for many to see the poems and a whole new experience for me so I’ll have a look at it. As I’m not really clever technically, I’m looking for something laywoman easy 😮
Meantime I thought I’d share a story and poem from the book just in case you wanted to investigate further either by purchasing a hard copy from me or perhaps later an e-book from Blurb, Issuu or Amazon. These are the first couple of pages:
Edgewater Station, 7.45am.
The first time I climbed the ramp to cross the empty freeway I thanked my daughter’s advice for nervous, first-time train-travel.
“Don’t make eye-contact and take something to read.”
Embarrassingly unfit; I was truly unworthy of riding to city steeples and naked greed. However, I was able to slow my breathing before reaching the platform, populated by corporate black.
Like others in smart casual I waited unprepared, searching and praying that I had correct change. No way would I approach anyone to help if my Target Special revealed only notes. An extra minute to read the zones and I felt their impatience stab my shoulder blades.
First rule: be prepared. Why doesn’t someone press the ‘Next Train to Perth’ button? How long have I got? Finally, the clunking use of coins and metal spit of ticket, loudly confirmed my lack of railway sophistication.
As I claimed my waiting spot, the gentle morning sun warmed my arms and I began to relax.
My head moved left to spy an approaching train. Then swung right, to relax the tension. The violent clash of eyes focussed on the anticipated train, brought heat and colour flooding to my face. Have I broken another rule?
I turned away. Moved left and slid around to a corner bench, hiding under graffiti steps.
A cleaner diligently wiped the dead remains of habit from a shiny steel surface. As our eyes met, she smiled in understanding. My isolation lifted with the corners of my mouth. “Good morning.”
A distant sparkle from Joondalup Tunnel caught my attention. Although I had lost my place for the central carriages, I joined the stragglers just as the last door swept toward my flat comfortable-s.
The unsmiling silent wave surged toward the precipice, eager to rest their feet or continue sleep. We were swallowed with a whoosh.
All around people take off their Sunnis and don clear glass, casually opening their oft-thumbed pages: Time magazine, corporate handouts, New Idea, ‘Bondage – a love story’ the latest Patricia Cornwell…
I am starting my own new adventure – a new life.
No husband ~ he’s decided to share his bacon with a younger model.
No children to care for – they’ve all moved out, no-one who needs me, just me.
So I’m dealing with the empty nest, taking my new life into a different direction ~ a city job direction.
The first day of my new life: new job; new me. Is it obvious?
No one speaks, except the odd un-sophisticate, who broadcasts gossip as if it elevates them.
I lose myself in Harry Potter and block out the other occupants, cocooned against intimidation.
Priority Seating.
Chivalry’s not dead.
Young man offers an older
person his seat, but
not the young lady. He stands
silently, matching her sway.
Freeway Sprawl.
relaxed – half asleep
compassionately floating past
overheated motors crawling
without air-conditioned silence
forced to queue as road workers
widen a future path.
Frances Macaulay Forde © 2013
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