Umbrella (November)

The Umbrella Man was not signalling Jack Ruby to start unloading ammunition from back of the Grassy Knoll. He was protesting John Kennedy’s father’s promotion of Neville Chamberlain’s appeasement policy of 25 years previous, a black umbrella being one of the Prime Minister’s signature symbols. The 22^nd of November 1963 was a bright sunny day in Dallas: no raincoats, no umbrellas. By turning the umbrella upsidedown he could have caught pennies from Heaven. With supernatural powers, he could have risen through the air like Mary Poppins. The motorcade sped up, in no time to notice René Magritte by the roadsign.  

Umbrella (November)

The umbrella is like some poem in another language, a device seemingly inessential to its meaning. It’s teeming across daybreak Melbourne, suburbs of grey rain linked by orange street-lights. Then at line seven the click of the diamond button. The canopy flowers. Or perhaps spreads like a leafing November tree. Or sets into the air like a dome. The verb infers all these possibilities. What the person feels comes late, relationships sorely tested, failure of anyone properly to understand. And thinks: stoicism is all very well but rain is lovely under here. The word for lovely (line nineteen) is untranslatable.