station'ry

Saturday

2008-08-09T02:16:05Z

on the train
life
pouts postulates preens
black & red uniform
matching clown outfit?

leather balls, even out the usual mix
turbans, beanies & baseball caps
different teams same function
R A T M blasts drowning
out
the. banter of a hundred nations
dressed to the nines
flattened wastelands brimming with regrets
glide past

scratched, grubby windows
fences battle
creepers for supremacy
change here for Cragieburn
services
five ply, yellow girders
hi-vis vests

still the murmur of a hundred nations
skyscrapers prod a melancholic sky
even the trains sport
different teams colours
hacking; dry; dim sims

lesser beanies
regular mix of accents
tube of sound
rumbles
morse of flouros
dark arches
lead to darker skies
and a horizon broken by hi-vis jackets

a few words

2008-06-29T09:17:17Z

(seen written - in cursive! - just under the window of the 86 tram we were on yesterday afternoon)

sweet lime
vanilla slice
chocolate macaroon
baklava

86, northcote

on this morning's tram

2008-04-30T22:48:49Z

I sat under this sign
and maybe
just maybe
the funny looks weren't aimed
at me, this time.

oh, wait...

86, bourke st, tram

monday morning's alright for standing

2007-08-12T23:20:51Z

A shock on the 86 this morning - it's not right for a Monday, not when it's the wrong side of 7am - we've got one of those trams where they've ripped out most of the seats and put a line of bum-cushions down along the windows, instead. For a little while, I teeter on the edge of one of the few real seats left, but figure that I'll be giving it up for somebody more worthy some time real soon now, and so decide to pre-empt the situation before there's nowhere good to stand. The end of the tram suits me. I can stare out the back window, watching the rails shoot out and away, the rain make patterns on the windscreen, and drivers swarming around the rear of the tram like angry bees.

familiar things in unfamiliar places

2007-07-24T11:03:49Z

On my last ride to in work on the 112 tram, we reached the SuperStop^TM at the top end of Collins St. I watched a scraggly old man carefully drape an Australian flag across a rubbish bin, before picking up his plastic bags and walking off. A few passers-by looked nervously at it, before it blew off and fell in a crumpled heap on the ground.

the luck of the polish

2007-05-13T03:09:04Z

We sped toward the city in the dark and I nestled my camera on my lap as the taxi driver waxed enthusiastically about winning two thousand on the horses today, further proof that today was his lucky day. My waving him down on the side of the nearby main road was also proof of his lucky day, since he'd just dropped someone off and was hoping to head back to the city. But horses. He was keen. He studied the form guides, watched the international races now and then (but didn't do so well on the Japanese horse that won last year's Melbourne Cup) but seemed to be forming the opinion based on today's experience that a slightly crazy bet now and then was almost a surer way to win (if you were going to win at all, that day).

He told me a story about taking some friends to the races, years ago, along with a visiting Polish family member who couldn't speak much English, but pointed at a horse called "Lulu" on the sheet, so they put a few bucks down for her. It came in at 25:1. Blind luck, he said, shaking his head. When I got out, I wished him luck. Well, further luck.

shakespeare's brother

2007-03-27T11:17:38Z

Overheard on the 70 tram heading along Flinders St today, just after midday: "Shakespeare had it hard, y'know...the puritans tried to ban theatre...they tried to ban Christmas!"

86'ed

2007-03-20T01:12:03Z

I took a slightly more circuitous route home, thinking that a walk would do me good, and that I'd be able to see how the old street was going. The tram, however, was full. I couldn't see much past the other passengers, so it was all just a blur of old Northcote memories as I strained to see through the window and work out what had changed in the past few months. By the time the crowd thinned out I was back in more familiar territory, so I left it behind and set out on foot.

station'ry is expanding to cover trams, buses and taxis - i haven't been taking the train much, lately, and we seem a bit starved for content.

portable merriment

2006-12-25T11:44:55Z

From somewhere behind me, a voice rings out as we head north, alongside Hoddle St:

"Hi. Yeah, I'm on my way to Epping now, and I'm pissed.
Yeah, I've got my traveller.
Geez, I'm the only one on the train having fun.
Nar, nobody else looks particularly merry.
Anywa, I'll seeya soon. Ciao. Bye."

press button for assistance

2006-11-01T09:45:06Z

sit down on the train hot bothered i just want to get home no train for 15 minutes so i hop on the hurstbridge one instead one row of seats ahead a girl looks at me pouting looking terribly unimpressed i don't know what sin i could've possibly committed but i stare out the window avoiding eye contact from here on in turn up the fall as we speed through richmond and abbotsford "ten times my age and one tenth my height" says mark e smith later we reach clifton hill over the music i can suddenly hear her mention the word "epping" to her friend who reaches for her timetable for the epping line i get off at westgarth to walk over to the tram and wonder should i have said something?

allocated seating

2006-10-23T12:48:17Z

The train emerges from the underpass to be assaulted by the early morning sunlight I try to squint into it. along with the others who forgot what side of the train to sit on Daylight savings' salvation still a week away The sun screams into my face slipping into the carriage like a veteran fare evader urban shadows flash across the scene strobing through my clenched eyelids. The people who knew what they wanted to be when they grew up stare back at us, they knew where to sit, saw it all coming. the scratched windows mock us further with disfiguring shadows hastily applied vandal wrinkles, defying age or status. Blind hands lay frozen solid in our laps the proximity to strangers strangers we see every day immobilises us until the passageway fills with more commuters some savvy, some fools, at Camberwell.

the lonesome west, again

2006-09-13T12:42:28Z

White City station lives on in old editions of the map, if nowhere else - I walked along Sunshine Road today, and there really is no trace of it, as Wikipedia warned. I've got a childhood nostalgia for the western suburbs that's hard to shake. It reminds me of the old blue trains, which makes me think of the smell of brake fluid and rubber as they'd hurtle through the (brand new) city loop with the doors open, creating a deafening roar. Being young and impressionable, I'd worry about somehow falling out one of these open doorways, left to scrape my way out of a greasy and dusty tunnel on my own.

(see also.)

Sleeping at Victoria Park

2006-09-06T10:01:59Z

The station's further away than it looks, and much further away than it sounds. From the decking, I can see that it's only two roofs and a small jump. From my front door, it's either left or right, under the bridge or past the car showroom, cross at the corner or cross at the pedestrian crossing that's so wide cars refuse to believe it's a crossing and crawl lethally through it at 5km/h against the lights. And then, back under the bridge, and up the ramp, and craning to see a corner of the decking that seems so exposed when I'm up there. Every morning just after five, we half-hear the bing and the announcement: "Good morning, passengers. The 5.26 to Epping has been delayed". It carries, that ABC radio voice, in the stillness and chill of the morning air. On winter mornings when I open the door to let the cat out, I can see the sign hanging sulphur-lit and low. The darkness and distance gives the station a mystery that up close vanishes like the mist. At 8.45, on my way to being late, I can only imagine how the crowds would have filled the races leading to the crumbling members' gate.

the other colour

2006-08-31T05:06:49Z

Glenferrie and Auburn station have those dark, hairpin ramps down from the platform to a tunnel below, evoking an early part of the 20th century circa The Sullivans when life was, apparently, more brown than it is today^*. Dad hops off a Red Rattler after work and pops into the local for a quick pint on the way home. Junior rides his bike around the streets after school, smiling in his shorts and a shirt and a sleeveless jumper. Nothing to do on Sunday but tag along to church with everybody else and wait for a nice roast dinner. Johnny O'Keefe is years away.

I'm just passing through this time - off to a bright red shop of sorts, dropping off some piece or other of broken technology - but I spent a couple of pleasant years in this area a decade previously. More on that later.

* (When did Melburnians move on from brown to black, anyway?)

moving galleries

2006-08-28T01:43:22Z

I haven't personally spotted his contribution in the flesh (as it were), but it's heartening to know that Our Bro has contributed to the Moving Galleries train poetry project. Leanne Hills over at Cordite suggests:

In my mind, the defining image is of a 42-year-old financial advisor, somewhere between Kooyong and Richmond, looking across at one of the rooku decals, sports pages still open on his knee, and connecting with poetry - for the very first time.

absolutely!