Wave (Philip Hunter)

Waking we go to the sea to gaze into the recurrent waves. We want to ask the sea any question, in hope of finding the answer inside ourselves. They crash into us, knock us down or drag us along until we learn to duck or plunge or surf the waves. They seethe past us and rush undertow, the water cold from night. The pleasure of their rhythmic repetitions answers a certainty we learn in time. For even provisional answers are answers, as much as we grasp. And even here inland where the earth gives off the must and grit of worn seasons, we hear the recurrent waves. The slight breeze turns to a light breeze turns to a right wind and we hear the waves we never see, where the breezes come from, mighty and frightful out of the sea. Stillness turns to swell. Where squabble and chaos typified nightfall, froth and wash comes with morning. Artists cannot keep up and are reduced to shorthand. Our beings may resolve to gaze hard at the course of tempest.  Yet peace comes with these tranquil after effects of waves, one after another, though the pattern is imperceptible and innocent of the efforts of a formal draughtsman. Shore and moon before did their greatest, while here the lift and rush is settling and almost human in its small games.

Dreaming the sea rises up to take us down. Where we go in the surge is hardly even our business. We find the floor and ceiling equally endless, rigorous and writhing.  They are like eternities we barely have a moment to consider, should we care, should we dare. We are taken by the shoals through flatlands of moonlit gloom or sunlit filtering: stones, weeds and schools. When the new wave hit in 1978 it must have looked like a passing comedy to the author of Wisdom. As it subsided into undertow for the next new wave, did its former majesty stand up to scrutiny? Was it surpassing good? Wondrous was its crest against the sky, froth and bubble its most exorbitant after effect, plunged back into the daylight floor. Everywhere on our headlands and island bodies and far-reaching limbs new waves rush. The new wave of 1583, whence the men of London went into new found waters. What are we to make of these expansions and contractions? Everyone has dreamt of the Queen. The new wave of 330 may hold us in thrall, outstripping precedent. To think one Rome was not enough, they built another, as if the wave would never fall. Our landscape dreams, just as they appear moon-dry and explicable on paper, at the moment when they have reached their shelf-life, hear rain, or something like it, notice rising sighs of water, welcome the inevitable that is rushing as waves towards us, where we choose to be.  

Tidal Surge, Dust Wave No. 5 (Philip Hunter) (2007)

Siesta

As a thorough Italophile though this seemed only the first step before total commonsense took over and Australia instituted siesta as the best way to manage the unbearably hot weather we endure most summers. It is an indication of how terribly British Australia still is that we slave through a nine-to-five day and find charming the concept of siesta, while in similar conditions in a place like Rome everyone is already asleep at five-past-two in the afternoon. The only way this will change is when siesta is made legislation.

As throughout Italy though, this seemed only the first stop before total commonsense was lost and Australians insisted on siesta as the best way to manage the overbearing hot waiters who emerge most summers. It is an indication of how Britishly terrible Australia is that we sleep through a noon-to-four day and find calming the concept of siesta, while in similar condominiums in a place like Sydney everyone is anyway asleep from ten most nights until five-past-eight in the morning. The way this will only change is when siesta is made less positive logical.

As a through road of Italian cars files up this seamy alley it is only the first step before total commandeering takes over and the Australian drivers instantly toot-toot for steamy siesta as the best way to manage the bearings around hot winding ways, whether they are insured or not, since last summer. It is the indicator that is terribly British as the Australians still their slavering breasts through a five-to-ninety speed increase, find alarming the concept of siesta, while in similar conditions in a place like Rome everyone is already between tootling and speeding at well inside this rate most afternoons. The way to change this is when siesta is made legislation.

As throughout Italy, philosophers tough out this seemingly only first step before total commonsense takes over, while Australia is situated some siestas at best away, they manage the unbelievable and believable alike like so much hot weather endured and must be most summers. It is an indication of how terribly British Australian philosophy still is that we slave through up to ninety-five theses before Tuesday and find charming the conception of siesta, while similar conditionals in Roman leave everyone asleep at five-past-two, or sooner. The afternoon nap is the only way this will change, as no one is interested anymore in existentialism.

As a thorough Italian thought, this is a steamy only first stretch before total unconsciousness takes over. Dreams of Australia insinuate their seismic aspirations in the best way, manipulating unbared hot wishes. They assure us its summer. It is an indication of how terrifically brutish Australia still is in dreams that slaves throw a nine-to-five day revolution while Prince Charming concedes seizures of lust. Similar conditions in Rome are everyone’s regular and ready sleep come afternoon. The only way this will change is when siesta is made illegal.

As through Italianate though somewhat only early wakeful steps we glide, before total commonsense shakes us awake again, over in Australia it’s suitably midnight where such and such of the best waves manage and manage and manage the hot weather we endure most summers. It is an indication of how terribly British Australia still is that we slave through a nine-to-five day and find charming the concept of siesta, while in similar conditions in a place like Rome everyone is asleep at five-past-two and it may as well be night. The only way this will change is when siesta is made legitimate.

As a thorough Italophile might say, this seemed only the first step before total commonsense took over and Australia instituted siesta. This, it can be said also, is the best way to manage the unbearably hot weather endured, and not without complaint, most summers. It is an indication of how terribly British, terribly terribly British Australia still is that we slave, slave (he said) through a nine-to-five day and find charming the concept of siesta, while in similar conditions in a place like Rome (grumble) everyone is already asleep at five-past-two in the afternoon. The only way this will change is when siesta is made, where was I, legislation.