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PAPERBACK BOOKS

THROUGH AND AFTER 



through and after cover

The voiceless breeze

stirs ruffled amber leaves

as they hang between winter’s dawn

to fall and live in the dust.

 

But she’s only a vision

without sound, warmth, softness.

 

A vision

that follows down every hallway.

 

A vision

at the bottom of every empty wine glass.

 

A vision

in the shadow of every passing car.

 

A vision

etched in my memories.

 

Eric Barnett is a multi-instrumentalist, playing the guitar, the Japanese harp, the Hawaiian pedal-steel guitar and drums. He has performed in Ireland, New Zealand, Fiji, the Solomon Islands and New Guinea.

He is also a songwriter, playwright and author.

 

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Ebook version - $AUD9.00 upload.

 

ISBN: 978-0-9944084-5-7
Format: Paperback
Number of pages: 110
Genre: Non Fiction

Cover: Clive Dalkins


Author
-
Eric Barnett
Publisher: Zeus Publications
Date Published:  2018
Language: English


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     Read a sample:    

Dedication

 

To Shanan, Rachael and Danielle

who bring light into my life

 

 

About the Author

 

Eric Barnett was born at Gosford, on the Central Coast of New South Wales, the youngest of four sons.

When he was six years of age the family moved to live at Newtown in Sydney. Eric played first-grade Rugby League with the Newtown Club at 17 years of age as a goal-kicking centre. He then went to England where he played three seasons with the prestigious Huddersfield first-grade team in Yorkshire and during this time he was also a cricket professional at Leeds, also in Yorkshire.

He returned to Sydney where he played first-grade Rugby League with the Balmain Club.

Eric was also a player/coach of Rugby League in Darwin and Port Moresby where he was captain/coach of the Papua team. He also played League in Christchurch, New Zealand.

He later played Rugby Union with the Wasps Club in London, the Nomads team in Toronto and the Wanderers team in New York. He played cricket in Toronto and with the Staten Island team in New York.

While living in New York, Eric studied television production and was dux of that year, which allowed him to work with the American NBC Network in St Paul, Minnesota, where his eldest daughter, Shanan, was born. He later returned to Sydney to work for Channel 10.

Eric then joined the Regular Army with the rank of Captain and saw war service in Vietnam, serving in various regions there. While Eric was serving at Army Headquarters in Canberra his second daughter, Rachael, was born.

From 1968 to 1995 Eric was a financial member of the Australian Journalists’ Association.

Eric is a multi-instrumentalist, playing the guitar, the Japanese harp, the Hawaiian pedal-steel guitar and drums. He has performed in Ireland, New Zealand, Fiji, the Solomon Islands and New Guinea.

Eric is also a songwriter, playwright and author.

Read a sample:

1

Through and After

 

As I sit on my verandah at the old homestead

on a raining, chill afternoon,

the air is clear,

the birds are perched,

the grass is a glossy dark green.

 

The old blue cattle dog is under the house;

he rolled a bed in the dry, powered dust.

The black Kelpie, too, has left the mustering yard

and sits under a gum tree,

alert for a whistle.

 

The dapple-grey Clydesdale, with his proud brown eyes,

flicks his tail as the wet cools his hide,

and the cud-chewing cows, with their udders full,

stand close in their sentry-like pose,

as they await the milking machine beat.

 

The lightning clickers and the thunder booms,

a lone bantam hen jumps, squawks, and hares for the shed.

The old spayed cat just dozes by me,

oblivious, as all neuter genders surely must be.

 

The water tears across the corrugated iron roof

into the guttering held firm,

rushes through the rusting downpipe,

fills up the tank and splashes over –

devoured by the ground.

 

The small tombstone where my Grandad lies

ne’er caring to be wet or dry.

The cabbage and celery down near the dam

stretch high as their roots draw in.

 

The old stock whip upon the dray

with its handle so worn and now wet.

The moisture soaks deep into the leather plaited tight

and the dye runs off with the excess.

 

And now the drops cease; as dusk moves in

the clouds part as the rays filter down.

I see blue sky, pink clouds and pink homestead

as the cumuli move on to open elsewhere.

 

The old blue cattle dog trots to the mustering yard

as the mud in the dam starts to sink.

And the Clydesdale canters through the back paddock

with a momentary feeling of colthood.

 

I throw the switch down,

the sucking cups draw in.

The first cows by habit shuffle forward

I fill deep my lungs and enthuse

… my acreage.

 

 

2

An Arabesque for Atoms

 

The two-world atmosphere of life;

the air within our skins

and the air outside our skins

that understands something

and imagines more.

As rain floods down

on flowers polluted with

the burning of war and peace

and graves that once breathed life.

 

Every step taken through the shadows of life

and every turning at the end of a lane

is a heartbeat of life.

Like the dying swan on the lake pirouetting

an arabesque of atoms.

A grand chat and a petit chat

of fallout of every creature

in its own generation.

 

White crosses of peeling paint –

covered with wreaths of wars infinite –

bleach in the warmth of “This is the last war”

as shrapnelled stubs of limbless soldiers

ache in the winter of thawing marrow

as pink bubbles of sweet champagne

splash in crystal glasses

in the peace rooms of the warmongering nations.

3

Dedication

 

As I cast my affection upon the sea of love

rolling and foaming through eternity,

my life is soaring above mountain peaks

since your lips first formed my name.

 

Our love is like light on the wings of doves –

and your memory is the power to remember roses in winter

or to recall the first dew of spring

long since devoured by the parching sun.

 

If the world were a warehouse of palaces,

for you I would cross every threshold

or lay bare my lungs

to the talons of the polluted air of the world’s cities.

 

As the moon glows down, it reflects in dancing light

the goldenness which is you.

 

My love goes out and offers all that is me.

Be it wealth, illness, fame or hope –

and in return to seek your nearness

in depression, joy, fear or laughter

or every emotion that weaves into life and death:

and on this elevated plain

our hearts have joined

to be devoured by the mists of time.

4

Amy

 

My daughter, Amy,

whom I may never be allowed to see or hold.

Our hearts in sacred bonds are entwined,

bound by paternal love too true,

binding your youthful heart to mine.

For to live without thee, Amy, is all my pain

while your memory will my heart retain.

So now you’ve turned one

and time passes swiftly on.

And as you glide through life like a dove,

you are lost to your father’s and sister’s love.

For you are worthy of our peerless love

and as we stay in forced isolation from thee

we send you the purest hope

your young heart will ever know.

For we wish to see your joy

in living childhood’s happy hours.

To share the beautiful scenes

of your early baby life.

Warmed by the light of glorious growing years –

in laughter, joy and tears

… all these and more we wish

for your passage through life

is not shared with me and your two big sisters.

For we seek all our lives to share

and to hold and soothe your little sorrows there.

 

 

 

 

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