Saturday, May 27, 2017

Crossroads

Crossroads
Will you ever let him go? (Lord Lord)
Or will you hide the dead man's ghost?
Or will he lie beneath the clay?
Or will his spirit float away? - "Sweet Mellissa",  The Allman Brothers
 
My Dad playing a Greengrocer in "The God Boy"

It two days time it will be my birthday. I am a baby boomer, and hence it is a long time since I earned the title of "a woman of a certain age".

I have  outlived my father. And my mother. And my sweet brother. 

A time for reflection. Crossroads.

Gregg Allman died today. And 21 years ago the beautiful and  sensitive daughter of a good friend. So many lovely and talented people Gone to god.

But I am still here, my friends. Though I think I will call it a day when Bob Dylan kicks the bucket.

There are many people to remember, but today I am remembering my dad. William Thomas Juliff, who died  appropriately on Palm Sunday - in 1983.

Remembering a dad who I was deprived of having a relationship with for all my childhood and teenage years. In fact, as a child I didn't really know if I had a dad. I would write "dead" next to his name when I was in primary school and had to fill out an admission form. Later on, at high school I was more literate and wrote "deceased".

Occasionally a present would arrive in the mail. From New Zealand where my father moved round 1968. I would open it and see the accompanying card, "Happy birthday Katie, from your dad." Why didn't he put his bloody name? I would glance up at my mother, thinking perhaps it was a present from an uncle trying to be nice. But she'd glance away, pretending that she didn't hear. Playing the martyr. Absorbing herself in some unnecessary household chore.

My dad was plagued by a sense of what was wrong with the world. The Catholic orphanage of St Augustine in Geelong,  The Nazis in Europe. Stalin betraying the left-wing. Suffering later in life from alcoholism. From poverty in the 1920s. Addicted to nicotine. And to love. And to lust. And to life.

Fletcher (1986) playing Caravaggio
Was he a "good" dad? I think so. Given the circumstances.

I saw him again last night. In a TV movie streamed on the internet. Called "The God Boy". He played a dead man.  I took the screen capture you can see above.

I posted it on Facebook and I think the people who saw it were horrified.

I wasn't. To me it looked like something Caravaggio could have painted. I think it was because of the fruit and the depiction of debauchery just below the surface. My dad played a greengrocer in "The God Boy" - hence the fruit and vegies.

In any case, it wasn't the only time he played a dead man. He played the hanged bell-ringer in the New Zealand film "Utu". He also played a drunken hotel receptionist alongside Sam Neil in "Sleeping Dogs". He played a used car salesman in "Goodbye Pork Pie".

I don't know what other films or TV shows he played in because he was hidden from me.

We met back up for a week in the early 80's. He was living in a mobile home as we call them now, at the back of the Princes Gate Hotel in Rotorua.  His voice was gone - probably because of throat cancer. He wouldn't  see a doctor.

I was with my boyfriend of the time. We spent every night at the bar of Princes Gate Hotel. Kiwis weren't into wine at the time. But the bar had a few casks.

We drank the lot.

I'm with you William Thomas Juliff. Despite all those lost years.

Like you, I know there is no god looking down upon us. But if there were, I am sure she'd smile as I raise a glass of chablis and toast you.

To my misunderstood and very talented  dad.

R.I.P



























Tuesday, May 23, 2017

Who's That Girl?

Quien es esa nina, who's that girl
Senorita, mas fina, who's that girl
Quien es esa nina, who's that girl
Senorita, mas fina, who's that girl - Madonna, "Who's That Girl?"

One morning a few months ago, I opened Facebook and saw the photo on the left.

Published recently on FB by Australian photographer John Gollings and taken many years ago. Captioned quite aptly, "a baby kate juliff doing a bit of 60's modeling".

I didn't know her. I looked closely. Stunned. Was that really me? My god.
Certainly Wilde was right when he said, "Youth is wasted on the young."

A closer look and I recognize the setting. Macarthur Place, Carlton. The era? "The summer of love". The guy trying to look like Pride and Prejudice's Mr Darcy? I have absolutely no memory of him.

I remember the dress though. I made it myself - yellow and white gingham - right down to the fabric-covered buttons. Despite what the millennials think of us baby boomers now, we didn't have it easy. No lattes for us. We drank tea we made ourselves in teapots. Ate meals we cooked at home. Or didn't.

Who's that girl? What was I thinking when the photo was taken? Trying to look virginal and demure. Sadly, I was probably both...

Who's that girl? What did she eat for breakfasts back then? Was she happy? I know she had a lover. Where is he now? In Spain I think. I left him in London. In the grey suburb of Golders Green. I remember he was sad when I told him I was leaving. I also remember being rather puzzled. "Why was he sad?" I wondered. Unfeeling girl.

Had I no compassion? No feelings?

No, that wasn't it. I just didn't "get" love.

I have thought about that scene, the leaving-my-first-love scene many times over the past too-many decades, and I always come to the same conclusion as to why I didn't "get" his sorrow.

It was,  I firmly believe,  because I was brought up fatherless. The little I remember of the brief periods when my parents were together was of late nights when they were screaming at each other.

I remember my mother at midnight, digging like a mad woman in the garden. Burying some record she'd bought for my father - hiding it  because she had found out he was screwing my third grade teacher.

I thought there were no happy marriages. That it was all come and go, with the emphasis on the go. I didn't think that men had feelings.

Who's that girl?
I try to get inside her mind.

I sit in my Manhattan apartment, thinking of her. She was beautiful and innocent and had her whole life ahead of her.

Who's that girl?

I don't know that girl.

I wish her well, and adieu.

MacArthur's Park is melting in the dark
All the sweet, green icing flowing down
Someone left the cake out in the rain
I don't think that I can take it '
Cause it took so long to bake it
And I'll never have that recipe again
Oh no! - Richard Harris, "MacArthur Park"

Friday, May 19, 2017

Hey ! Mister Tangerine Man

Dedicated to Bill Maher who reminds us, "We Are Still Here!"

(Apologies to Bob Dylan....)

Hey ! Mr Tangerine Man, stay away from me
I'm not happy but there is no place I'm going to
Hey ! Mr Tangerine Man, stay away from me
On that jingle jangled Tuesday I did not vote for you.

Though I know that your hoped-for empire has turned into sand
Vanished from your little hand
Left workers blindly blind to stand  by you while still naively hoping
My amazement amazes me, I'm branded on my feet
I have others like me to greet
And the old Rust Belt streets are too dead for dreaming.

Hey ! Mr Tangerine Man, stay away from me
I'm not happy but there is no place I'm going to
Hey ! Mr Tangerine Man, stay away from me
On that jingle jangled Tuesday I did not vote  for you.

Don't take me on a rip around your madman psycho trip
My senses have been stripped, my mind can't grasp your grip
My toes too numb to step, wait only for my boot heels
To be wanderin'
I'm ready to go anywhere, I'm ready for to fade
Into my own parade, but you won't have your way
I promise I will stay.

Hey ! Mr Tangerine Man, play a song for me
I'm not happy but there is no place I'm going to
Hey ! Mr Tangerine Man, stay away from me
On that jingle jangled Tuesday I did not vote  for you.

Though you might imagine laughin', spinnin' swingin' madly 'cos you won
It's not aimed at anyone, it's just escapin' on the run
And  for southern states there are no walls a-facin'
And if you hear vague traces of skippin' reels of rhyme
In your tangerine mind, it's just your ragged clown inside
I wouldn't pay it any mind, it's just a shadow that you're
Livin' and it's failing.

Hey ! Mr Tangerine Man, stay away from me
I'm not happy but there is no place I'm going to
Hey ! Mr Tangerine Man, stay away from me
On that jingle jangled Tuesday I did not vote  for you.

From the Union Square Subway Therapy Wall 11/16
Then keep me disappearin' from the smoke rings of your mind
Down the foggy ruins of time, far past the climate change
The wasted, leaf-burnt trees, out to the shrinking beach
Far from the twisted reach of our tomorrow
Yes, to dance beneath the diamond sky with one hand waving free
Silhouetted by the sea, circled by the weeping sands
With all memory and fate driven deep beneath the waves
Let me forget about today and all our sorrow.

Hey ! Mr Tangerine Man, stay away from me
I'm not happy but there is no place I'm going to
Hey ! Mr Tangerine Man, stay away from me
On that jingle jangled Tuesday I did not vote  for you.


RESIST!!!! Stay!!! WE ARE STILL HERE!!!
.