Musings of a Performance Poet - reading between the airlines
of a shop to wait for it to let up. A little man with a red umbrella and a great big coat sidled up to me as if he was curious about the time, or wanting to know the directions to some place he intended visiting. He smiled at me as he approached, I smiled back, hoping he didn't say anything in French I couldn't answer. But he said nothing. He looked out at the street, then at me, then he smiled again, and put the back of hand on my thigh, jerking his head slightly as if to indicate that I should follow him. He was trying to pick me up!
Staying in the heart of the Latin Quarter, I wasn't far from Shakespeare and Company, Sylvia Beach's legendary bookshop and lending library (though it has moved from its most-famous location). George Whitman, the present owner, was manning the front desk when I arrived clutching three copies of my book of poems (Singing the Snake), which I hoped he might sell in his shop. "You just can't get good help these days!" he fumed, as if I was to blame. "What do you want?" he snapped. I showed him the books, suddenly unsure that they meant anything at all. He flipped through the pages and asked me if I knew Les Murray, his favorite Australian poet. "He's been here, y'know". What a relief! Yes, I said. Les had been instrumental in getting my Aboriginal poems published in Australia, the very book he held in his hands. "Where are you staying?" he asked; then, without waiting for my reply, pressed some keys into my hand and told me I could have the flat on the third floor. "Why don't you move in for a week or two? It's free!"
It seemed almost too good to be true. It was also impossible, this. Later I would visit again and stay for a month. But this time I had another plane to catch with readings in Vienna and Salzburg, and then on to my final destination, Italy.
In Vienna, my first stop was the Literarisches Quartier of Kunstverein Alte Schmeide, Vienna's contemporary literature centre, where I was to perform with fellow Australian poet, Rudi Krausmann. Kurt Neumann, the director, had allowed a day on either side of my reading so I could take in a few sights.
There was a message waiting for me when I
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