In hours before the dawning dims the starlight in the sky
The wan and weary faces first begin to trickle by,
Increasing as the moments hurry on with morning feet,
Till like a pallid river flow the faces in the street
Flowing in, flowing in,
To the beat of hurried feet
Ah! I sorrow for the owners of those faces in the street.
The human river dwindles when 'tis past the hour of eight,
Its waves go flowing faster in the fear of being late;
But slowly drag the moments, whilst beneath the dust and heat
The city grinds the owners of the faces in the street
Grinding body, grinding soul,
Yielding scarce enough to eat
Oh! I sorrow for the owners of the faces in the street.
And then the only faces till the sun is sinking down
Are those of outside toilers and the idlers of the town,
Save here and there a face that seems a stranger in the street,
Tells of the city's unemployed upon his weary beat
Drifting round, drifting round,
To the tread of listless feet
Ah! My heart aches for the owner of that sad face in the street.
And when the hours on lagging feet have slowly dragged away,
And sickly yellow gaslights rise to mock the going day,
Then flowing past my window like a tide in its retreat,
Again I see the pallid stream of faces in the street
Ebbing out, ebbing out,
To the drag of tired feet,
While my heart is aching dumbly for the faces in the street.
Henry Lawson
He stood at the door of the country store, drinking straight from the carton of custard he had just bought, looking out at the street, the scraggle of humble houses, the colours of the Liverpool Plains in the distance. So saturated were their minds with American imagery, he could easily imagine, indeed expected to see, a tumbleweed bowling slowly down the centre of the street. As infinite time had kissed us; as if giraffes danced in the sky, as if anything which lured us to a sense of dislocation, of infinity, was welcome. The hard, plain faced woman behind the counter kept up with his desultory questions about local goings on, for he visited here only every few months. Kojack, the chook man, drove past and he could see Rodney, the boyfriend of the publican, lighting yet another cigarette on the pub verandah.
They had seen nothing and done nothing; and he would return here to find only minor changes in personnel, the children of welfare dependent parents looking taller, scrawnier, the grass changing from green to brown depending on the rain. They hadn't been to parties full of criminals, where no one but he made a legitimate living. They hadn't been to press conferences with the Prime Minister, Mr Sheen as the press corp now called him. Once their great white hope, anyone who wasn't Howard, anyone who wasn't conservative, now the evil march back into the pack mentality of the left and the deliberate whipping up of fear in the populace, over global warming, over the global financial crisis, over swine flu, all of it, with the politicians preening themselves like fat camp maggots before the flames of public adoration, all of it made him sick.
So he talked, as he watched the images dance on the horizon, of idle things, the bone lazy characteristics of the local alcoholics, who out here were under no compunction to even pretend to be normal. Or interested in work. It was too far to Centrelink; too isolated to search for work, to far away from the office to worry about being sprung for doing cash work on the farms while collecting the dole. They all did it; it was just regarded as normal. No one even seemed to think it was immoral. You got what you could from the government, that was the thinking. The tax payers working in the city to fund their lifestyle never got a thought.
And then it was that he knew it was over. The things he used to believe in were like soiled sheets tossed out on the landscape, breathing in places he had never seen, enraptured, failed, dead. These people had seen nothing and yet their lives were more fulfilling than his; as they pottered about certain of their place in life. Phil, never seen without a beer can in his hand; their five kids providing a handy source of income. Odetta, with the long long painted nails who rented the old post office with her equally old husband. Who was she dressing for?
And the healthy one, Lex, tucked down the bottom of the town in a yard full of derelict cars, happy to retire now he was 65 and could collect the old age pension. He beamed at everyone; as happy people did. They were all infinite; as if touched by the landscape itself. The conversation drifted, as he drained the ordinary tasting custard out of the packet, the only thing he had eaten all day. And so in the tortured sky, his own spirit fled. He could feel the sun moving through the sky. He could see the ancient wisdoms cloaked in the landscape. He could remember the expensive party, where he had been only days before, a world of triumph and money, secrecy and bullying tactics, triumphs of indulgence in a place the mainstream would never know about, and he held their hands and walked towards the light, because everything was different, because he had lost hope, because those strange Dali images dancing on the horizon were only the result of mental exhaustion; and he smiled as he turned to the hard faced woman. This custard's pretty ordinary, he said. Don't know how you can drink it, she replied, even though she had been the one to sell it to him.
A truck roared through the town; and he watched it until it disappeared out of sight.
THE BIGGER STORY:
http://www.abc.net.au/news/stories/2009/06/09/2592617.htm
A rally in Sydney's west over an attack on an Indian student last night has died down, with about 50 students remaining.
Police say one Indian man was assaulted, sparking the protest, and three Lebanese men were attacked later as an act of retaliation.
Protesters are also demanding that police release a man they say was arrested for intervening in the initial attack.
One protester told the ABC that the incident is only the latest of many.
http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/newstopics/politics/gordon-brown/5479906/Gordon-Brown-staves-off-rebels-with-emotional-speech-to-Labour-MPs.html
The Prime Minister was cheered as he entered the room before showing what was said to be a rare degree of emotion in a meeting which was designed to allow a show of strength from those loyal to him.
Labour peer Lord Foulkes told journalists as he left the meeting that there had been "great support for Gordon".
"Charles Clarke spoke and no one even put their hands together," he added, referring to the former Home Secretary, who has been a vocal critic of Mr Brown.
Ben Bradshaw, the new Culture Secretary, said Mr Brown had given the "speech of a lifetime".
Quentin Davies, the Defence minister, said the contributions had been "overwhelmingly positive".
Mr Brown told the meeting: "I have my strengths and I have my weaknesses. I know there are some things I do well, some things not so well.
"I've learned that you need to keep learning all the time."
He told his MPs he wanted to use all the "talents" in the party and act in a "more collective way" and promised to hold more meetings with backbenches, to be more "open and consultative."
But he insisted: "You solve the problem not by walking away but by facing it and doing something about it."
Mr Brown called on the party to learn the "lessons from the past", where it had succumbed to divisions.
"I'm not making a plea for unity. I am making an argument for unity," he said.
Mr Brown said there was "no huge ideological difference" within Labour and added that there was "not a resignation letter I have seen that mentions differences over policy".
http://www.news.com.au/heraldsun/story/0,21985,25607619-661,00.html
A SEETHING Tracy Grimshaw last night vowed she would never interview foul-mouthed celebrity chef Gordon Ramsay again.
The host of A Current Affair was dignified but could not hide the pain as she responded to the barrage of insults she copped from Ramsay at the weekend.
"I'm not going to pretend that his comments didn't hurt. I was absolutely miserable when I found out," Grimshaw said on air last night.
"He says it was a joke - well not to me or to anyone who truly cares about me," she said.
"Truly, I wonder how many people would laugh if they were effectively described as 'an old ugly pig'. How is that funny, exactly?"
Ramsay couldn't help himself yesterday, having another crack at Grimshaw.
He told the crowd at the Good Food & Wine Show that he and Grimshaw had been long-time lovers.
"We were secret lovers for 20 years," he said before dismissing it as a joke. "No, I didn't go there . . . I didn't stoop that low, for God's sake."
An emotional Grimshaw took aim at Ramsay for commenting on her private life at his cooking shows after stipulating that he couldn't be interviewed about his private life on A Current Affair.
"Obviously Gordon thinks that any woman who doesn't find him attractive must be gay. For the record, I don't and I'm not," she said.
Ramsay opened yesterday's cooking demonstration with a declaration of love for the television host.
"I think she's gorgeous, sexy, vibrant, stunning, natural, talented, articulate, beautiful and just stunning," he said to hoots of laughter from the crowd.
The now infamous pig woman flashed up on the big screen again.
Grimshaw admitted she had spent most of Sunday debating whether to respond but had finally decided to air her feelings because "we all know bullies thrive when no one takes them on".
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