In The Other Room

By

Brent Downes

In The Other Room

A Lyrical Anthology in Contemporary Freestyle Narrative

by Brent Downes

“Lyricism is not the exclusive property of Poets” ~Brent Downes

Trimaxx Global Publishing Solutions

A Subsidiary of Trimaxx International Publishers LLC

Copyright©2012 Brent T. Downes

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored

in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means,

electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the

prior written permission of the Publisher.

Exceptions are made only for brief excerpts use in published reviews.

Published by

Trimaxx Global Publishing Solutions

Trimaxx International Publishers LLC

9092 Warwick

Detroit, MI 48228

ISBN: 0-9771186-2-2

Language: English (Australia)

Copyright©2012 Brent T. Downes - Brisbane, Australia

Printed in the United States of America

Edited by: Carolanne D. Grant

Cover Design and Interior Layout by:

Grant Design Concepts

http://www.trimaxxpublishers.com/Design

Contributing Photography©2011 Dreamstime Photography™

From the Author

Lyricism is not the exclusive property of poets.

For most of the writing of this volume, those words have been like a

mantra; when people ask what kind of book I have been writing I am

hesitant to pin it down to exactly a particular mould or genre. People often

misunderstand the term of ‗poetry‘ and even in my own journey with this

volume I have found myself shying away from the term of ‗poetry‘. In its‘

place I have dubbed this book at various points ―verse‖, ―anthology‖,

―experiment‖ and even ―novel‖. As I draw to the close of this book to I

seem to be settling on what has pervaded my mind since the outset; that

this book is a book of lyrics. Lyrics being not strictly music or poetry, but

instead a naturalistic and normal expression of human language. Our

ancient Greek brothers and sisters realised that everyday language was as

much chanted and sung as it was spoken and it is a revelation that has

been in my mind since the very inception of this book at an art gallery café

almost six years ago.

It was a rainy day in Brisbane and I was thoroughly inside a full embrace

of 1920s jazz and the old style lounge and crooners. Their voices were

melodious expressions of the extremities of my own life: the crushing

lows (Don‘t know why/There‘s no sun up in the sky) and the ecstatic

highs (Out together dancing cheek to cheek!).

In the Queensland Art Gallery hung a large full wall sized art piece which

was simply pictures of rooms. The artist had been all over the world and

had collected hundreds of photographs of different rooms. I being an

unashamed voyeur was instantly captivated by this piece of art and all the

promise and possibility of hundreds of rooms around the world; all lived

in, experienced, felt and real! I wish I knew the artist and the artwork.

Some years later I discovered the writing of the German modernist

romantic Rilke and his description of ‗those old houses‘ on the streets of

Paris is still one of the most incredible passages of writing I have ever read

and it is still my favourite.

The realities of a lyrical existence and the inhabited space are the

cornerstone on which this volume stands.. For me, this work is the work of

the times and places that we fill and the language that fills them.

I have tried, through my two stylistic devices; voyeurism and lyricism, to

bring you in, very, very close. To what?

To everything.

I make no apologies for the vast scale and scope of this book as I wanted

to go on a journey myself to the very, very close proximity of things--and

I wanted to do this for you as well. Lyricism was the key that opened the

doorway to ‗the other room‘ and voyeurism was the impetus that drew you

inside. I have discovered in the writing of this book that the simplest of

things is also the most complex, and that to write in a ‗simplistic‘ or

‗natural‘ lyrical meter was extraordinarily difficult; firstly to create and

then secondly to consistently obey. Basically, I had hoped to lure you into

‗the other room‘ with beautiful, natural sounding speech; imagine you had

just come down a dark corridor to see a slightly ajar door, with music and

wonderful conversation coming from behind it, who wouldn‘t open it?

This is also where the voyeurism comes into play. We are all voyeurs, we

love nothing better than to look upon or otherwise partake in the varied

spectrum of human behaviours and existence as our appetites and tastes

permit. In this book, I have invited myself and you into that ‗other room‘

from which the beautiful sounds were coming from, and in there I have

discovered and showcased for you some enormously private affairs, very

public conditions and always pressing matters to observe and relish in. I

am very forward that this is not a strict poetry book per se in that I feel it

blurs and bends a number of styles, forms. and conventions and then sits

in its own unique category. In this respect I recommend the book to a non-

poetry audience highly, since I haven‘t dubbed it as strictly a book of

poetry.

I want to thank you for picking up this volume, for holding it in your

hands. I hope that the journey into the other room is as full of joy and of

sorrow and eventual enlightenment as it has been for me. I congratulate

you on your willingness to travel some distance with me, I am at times an

unpredictable companion and not always the surest of guides on the lyrical

or spiritual highway. I can guarantee you that this volume will not

engender indifference; whether you hate or love what transpires here are

both equally possible but I do guarantee that you will not be indifferent to

these affairs.

This volume is a story. But it is not a story that even I am used to. It is a

story of stories and the storytellers are the limitless voices of all the other

survivors of the fallopian highway and travellers on this lyrical, spiritual,

and earthly plane. If there is some reoccurring theme here, it is of

doorways. Someone once told me that ―When God closes a window, He

opens a door‖ and I hold that to be true and believe it with all my heart.

For me, this volume is all about the space that lays beyond the threshold,

the place you are not in yet, words you are yet to hear, tears you are yet to

shed, pain you are yet to endure, love you are yet to be nourished by,

kisses you are yet to fall into like they were long cool summer nights. All

this and so much more awaits you on these pages but also ‗in the other

room‘ of your life and of your soul.

So much hasn‘t happened yet, but it will. It lays just beyond the door, I

invite you now to step with me into it and we shall see where we end up

together.

Brent T. Downes

Ventura County, CA

On the 23rd

of April 2010

Author Photo©2011 Brent T. Downes

Foreword by Stefanie Petrik

When I first met Brent Downes as a budding performance poet in

Brisbane, Australia, he was doing his best not to obviously shake out of

nervousness on stage. Now, after many years, gigs and tours later he is

going to make you tremble with this volume of poetry.

During my years of running poetry readings, I have had the privilege of

watching, right before my eyes, Downes explode into a seasoned,

confident performer, and have come to expect the very best out of his

writing. In The Other Room is an impassioned compartmentalization of

the love affairs that have changed him, that have shown him both sides of

that particular coin—innocence and experience.

As you move through all the ‗other‘ rooms of this book, you will bump

into Downes‘ honesty; it will not apologize and move out of your path.

You will knock over teacups full of sorrow; they will not ask you ―how

many sugars?‖ to sweeten the taste of their tears. You will find that time

wanders around holding hands and offering alms, but those twins—

wisdom and youth; as with Tweedledee and Tweedledum, you may need

to consider carefully what they say before applying their advice.

Downes‘ work is intimate, calculating, accessible and bold. It will dare

you to read it aloud, while you are sitting alone in your room, in cafes, in

parks, on street corners, on trains, on stages and even in public toilets. The

lyricism that swims through this volume like a current will hum with a

tune that you can‘t quite catch, play your windpipe like a distant flute, the

sound gently scattering your emotions with memories of your own. For

these tales of love will be ones that you‘ll recognize. They‘re universal

and real. Two words often not associated with poetry of our own age.

Most importantly, Downes‘ In The Other Room will show you that poetry

is everywhere. You just have to know where to look. Downes is

illustrating where he has found poetry, but here begins your own obstacle

course. Poetry likes to be courted, sometimes likes to play hard-to-get. But

there is something wonderful when natural poetry is caught red-handed in

the everyday actions of living; in the beauty and skill and meaning lying

haphazardly on the stairs of your apartment; in its rising to meet you

despite having been ground into the path leading to your office by the

racing feet of greed and capitalism; when its found to be growing on a tree

outside the library--or winking at you from the salt you just sprinkled on

your dinner. This volume will make you want to look, show you your

blind spots, encourage you to examine what is growing there in the dark.

In The Other Room is a journey that has the power to set you on your own

journey. And we all know what they say about journeys. They all begin

with a single step.

Stefanie Petrik

Lismore, NSW

On the 14th

of November 2010

Stefanie Petrik is an international grade poet deluxe, performer and

published author. Widely toured across Europe, the UK and the USA she

has continually redefined and dramatically reshaped the scope of 21st

century poetry. Her outstanding debut collection of poetry “The Artist Vs

The Upstanding Citizen” is available for purchase.

www.stefaniepetrik.wordpress.com

Acknowledgements

There are some very special people I would like to acknowledge in

opening this volume.

My family, the family Downes

Nihil sans Labour.

The family Forsch – My wonderful other family.

Dedication

This volume is dedicated in its entirety to

Courtney Hayes Forsch

To whom it belongs unequivocally along with my heart.

She, who understands this ‗is what it is‘.

Kind Acknowledgements

I would humbly and kindly like to thank all those who have helped

produce not only this volume but all those I have written and will write.

As well as those who have supported me in my journeys.

Stefanie Petrik, Joel Perkins & Family, Bob (Mud) McMahon. Kristian

James. Cafe Checocho. Miss Kate, Paul Milo. Rowan Donovan. The

Kurilpa Poets. Speedpoets. Graham Nunn. Amanda Maystone-Towell. Vij

Chandra. Paul Dobbyn. Austin International Poetry Festival. Ruta Maya

Coffeehouse. Thom Moon Bird. Wendy Woodruff. Auntie Barbara

Youngblood Carr. Auntie Patricia Fiske for providing a home away from

home. Lee Leteff. Ash & Benedict Kim. MFYK. Nick Hall, Australian

Catholic University especially Dr. Tracey Sanders. Daevid Allen. Tiffany

Kelly. All the people & poets I met at AIPF 2010. Susan A Lewis. Brad

Beneke. Misbah Khokar. Raphael Sabu, Carolanne Grant (Lady Eros).

―And I was alone again, in the unquiet darkness.‖

~F. Scott Fitzgerald ‗The Great Gatsby

Chapter One

A Visit

~

In the other room

we‘re

talking secrets,

lips to lips,

shooting stars

with

the way

we‘re leaning into this,

sharing secrets

lips to lips.

& then suddenly

it‘s

not about the kisses anymore.

We‘re shuffling in the door.

With suitcases packed

dragging them

‗cross the floor

in through the hall

Washing hangs

on lines in the yard

& blows in the breeze

Taxi cab pulls in

under the palm trees.

Casting shadows, long shadows,

& drifting, waving, haunting silhouettes born on the breeze.

& she‘s

out of the taxi cab.

It‘s not about the kisses had

it‘s about the secrets spilled

among the coffee hot & juice chilled.

It‘s not so much

what‘s

said.

In or roundabouts the bed

or

what‘s

overheard.

It‘s

just a little thing

that happens in the other room.

She steps out of the cab.

In the afternoon.

&

The palm trees are all playing like they were on strings.

Distant birds

& lawnmowers

& choirs sing,

the darkness

whispers

things.

It rolls down from the western hills

we‘re out back

&

the beer‘s chilling.

She unpacked her suitcase‘s filling.

& We spoke at length about

a little bit of everything & a little bit of nothing

a little bit of not much & a little bit of something.

Went to the kitchen

& I open up the drink.

She says she‘s hungry

We‘ll go out

I think

-

Sitting at a pub table

on Queen Street Mall.

A thin girl plays guitar

alternating between her own song & a cover.

I‘m eating two fillets of barramundi

with salad & chips

tomato & tartar sauce

as dips.

She has

the Caesar salad

with chicken fillets & hollandaise sauce

she‘s drinking white wine

of course.

I have

a vodka ginger.

& I tap to the song with

my finger

“dreams last for so long

even after you’re gone”.

The girl has a pretty

voice

high

& with a Tamworth accent.

She smiles to the bar

with her pina-colada

& says everyone should

get online

& vote for her.

She gives the bar a sample of her own stuff.

I cut off a piece of the garlic & herb cobb loaf

that we bought to share.

My friend tells me of her flight

& all the things happening

back home.

The weather

the traffic

the people we mutually know.

Songs that she is liking at the moment,

new seat covers she bought for her car,

something she read in the paper

about our signs in the stars.

This year apparently

I‘m bound for a career push

I‘m destined for two romances

one bad, one good

&

a lesson learnt

& a new regret.

An old habit resurfaced

& a new haircut.

I laugh

& she tells me

don‘t make fun.

―There’s more in it than you think‖

I stay silent & raise up my drink.

She pouts

“Not on good terms with fate?”

She asks looking around the bar.

“I prefer”

Says I,

“To be surprised”

“To see things as they come.”

She smirks

& changes the subject

enquiring about dessert

when the waiter comes to pick up the plates

“How about pudding? Sticky date?”

“Mmm” She says

“Sounds sweet. Sounds great”

-

Sitting back drinking beers

cold stubbies

bitter to taste.

Slouching on a bar-room couch

with the light forming crescents over my face.

The band sings:

“I cannot wait

I’m yours”

She taps her foot to the rhythm

My stomach is full & fed

I yawn & check my watch

looking at the time.

Look down at my beer

& her tequila & lime.

“Cuz yeah, everybody here’s got somebody to lean on”

Yeah,

I guess that‘s true

so I yawn

& lean to

the side resting myself against her shoulder.

(―Ah‖ you are thinking

―he becomes somewhat bolder‖.)

& yeah

I guess that‘s true too

after all

if a good looking woman

flew down to see you

What then

would you do?

& so

I guess it‘s true

I lean in,

lean over

she leans in too.

But we don‘t hold hands

we don‘t kiss

I don‘t put my arm on her shoulder

nor hand on her leg

we‘re just together

Leaning together, leaning together

just so

I watch the lights in the bar dim

it must be past seven.

I check my watch

It‘s eight

where did the time go?

Now we‘re leaning together just so.

sipping beer,

& tequila & lime

shoulder to shoulder

listening to the cover-band sing in time

“All that shimmers in this world

is sure to fade

away”

&

yeah

I guess that‘s true too.

It‘s funny

when everything you hear,

you feel it pertains to you.

She‘s smiling

a lime smile,

a nice smile,

I would like to kiss it

just once

& see how it tasted.

She has her eyes closed

“Too far away for me to hold

far out away”

Yeah

it‘s true

all that

Glitters

Shimmers

& shines

is so surely

doomed to fade away.

The song ends

people in the bar cheer

I look down

& see my beer is empty.

But we‘re still leaning together

& I remember

what she said before.

“Two romances

one bad

one good”

& I think

I‘d like to kiss her if I could.

My beer is empty

the band takes a break

the speakers in the bar blare back on

some nonsensical, inaudible

techno-disco-electro song

“I’m running on empty”

I say

“Would you like another? The same again?”

“Mmm”

she sighs

“Make it a double”

I smirk

“That kind of thing could get you in trouble.”

-

In the other room

my lips at her neck

her hands

wandering on the inside of my leg

fall to the bed,

Pull the blanket over

it‘s a bit cold

but her skin is warm to touch

we‘ve probably

drunk too much.

Out goes the light

but skin is pale

like its‘ own

light

in the dark

lips find lips

whispers are whispered

her hands

find the hem of my shirt

& lift

it up.

My hands move to her breasts

& cup

& grasp & feel

she tosses my shirt aside

& smiles at what she reveals,

Bare skin

she gropes in the dark

with her fingers she sees.

I move my hands down her body

& unbutton her jeans.

Move my hands back up

pull off her top

she wiggles

as she pulls her jeans off

giggling non-stop.

Cheeks flushed

she unclasps her bra

I taste her nipples

she moves her hand to my crotch

her hips on the bed

like a ship on the ocean

pitch & toss.

Not a moment,

not a minute

is wasted

or lost.

She moans

when my tongue

moves on her collarbone.

I gasp

when her hands

grip my arse.

Hands in her underwear

both mine & hers

hers giving pointers

mine eager to learn.

her lips at my neck

& teeth this time

her voice

in the dark

like a chime

“Oh god!

oh please!

get your pants off now!

oh god!

oh please!

I want it!

oh now!”

I unbutton & unfasten

my cumbersome jeans

my underwear joins hers

pushed to the floor

she opens her legs

I move between them

& into her.

We both cry out

the anticipation met with reward.

“Oh fuck!…mmm fuck

oh yes!

oh god!”

Lips meet lips

in the dark

I barely see.

More, just flashes

of leg,

of breast,

of torso,

of lips,

of her

&

me.

Like flashes

of

something

deep in a dream.

Just glimpses

with feeling

of her flesh

& her skin.

She approaches

climax

with me

within.

She moans

I moan

we

gasp

&

fall.

I wonder

if the stars

saw this coming

at all.

~