My father was Richard Packer. A poet and playwright.  He published at least four poetry books both in Australia and New Zealand and was passionate about his work.  He died at the age of fifty -three in a tiny little flat in Toorak Melbourne.  I had not seen my father since I was thirteen.  My memories of him are quite faded now but I do remember that he used to sing sea shanties to me and my two brothers.  He took me to the zoo once where I got bitten by a pelican and he turned up for a parents day at my primary school looking like a beatnik  ( Hippy Dude ) in a daggy old jumper and jeans.  All the other dads wore suits and I was mortified. He was given to rages due to alcohol and drugs and loved Indian sitar music.  He also worked in advertising so you could say he was one of the original ‘Mad Men’ just like in the series. My dad travelled extensively and never cease to question the world and the role of man and womankind in it.   Here then is one of his poems from ‘Prince Of The Plague Country’ written published in 1964.

‘Song Before Nightfall’ 

( By Richard Packer )

Elders that one faces

leaning over bars

scheme for moneyed places,

want the suavest cars.

A lonely tippler traces

wakes of fallen stars

O coming dark, be gentle with us all.

Such men sporting flowers

fresh in buttonholes

trust that kneeling hours

exonerate their souls,

then focus old desires

upon their usual goals.

O coming dark,be gentle with us all.

Their hands will make tomorrow

the stench of yesterday.

No amount of sorrow

strikes pity from their clay.

Even boozed they’re narrow:

Off the rainbow way.

O coming dark, be gentle with us all.

These once in their beauty

passed proud mountains by,

chose a padded duty

and the pampered eye.

Spirit dead completely,

their flesh grows slack and sly.

O coming dark, be gentle with us all.

Cheers Dad!

© Renee Dallow  ( Hybiscus Bloom ) 7/9/2014