We reprint this lurid Victorian melodrama from The KURILPA CITIZEN,
A visit to the Depths of Brisbane’s Underground Poetry scene
As related to a Gentleman of the Cloth
A gibbous Moon loomed mournfully in the eldritch sky. As we approached the fog enshrouded gates of the Olde Croquet Club deep within the dark heart of Musgrave Park, a pack of wild dogs suddenly howled in the distance. But not distant enough for my companion.
“We should go back,” he shivered,” I’ve got a bad feeling about this.”
I was expecting this. My old chum Blassington was like a lot of people I know; they’d rather have a leg sawn off than attend a poetry reading.
“Non-sense, old boy!” I cried jovially, “the Kurilpa Poets are different from the usual sort of Poetry Group..they won’t hurt you like the Others,” I hastened to reassure him, ” Besides their sense of Hospitality is Legendary! Free Food! Free Wine! Free Verse!
And see! Here comes Jeffreys the Gate-keeper now to welcome us!”
As I spoke a diminutive, hunched figure loped up and held a flaming brand towards us. The hideous visage squinted uncertainly up at our faces and then broke into a toothless smile.
“Why, it’s the young Marrrster returned!”
“Yes Jeffreys, I have returned,” I replied affably as I tossed the dwarvish gatekeeper a gold coin, “and see..I have brought a visitor..my friend Blassington.”
At this the dwarf wheeled upon my friend and thrust a battered tin cup towards him..
“Five dollars!,” the creature demanded crudely.
“You’ll have to forgive Jeffreys manners,” I explained,
as my nervous friend hurriedly flung five dollars into the battered cup, “he’s been with us for a very long time.”
Having given the gate-keeper his due, he then consented to lead us down a long, dank, and winding passage into the earth. With the ubiquitous scurrying of Water-rats all around us we stumbled forward
the only illumination coming from the feeble, flickering, flames of the hunchbacks’ torch and a sort of, pallid, greenish fluorescence emanating from the loathsome fungi that everywhere infested the damp caverns we traversed.
We came at length to an ancient, sturdy door, upon which I knocked 3 times, than after a pause, once. A pair of blood-shot eyes was applied to the doors peep hole and surveyed us balefully. The eyes’ voice then croaked out their challenge;
“There is an Ancient Mariner!”
“He stoppeth One of Three,” I replied promptly.
At that the ancient door swung open and a wave of demented laughter and dissonant chanting swept over us.
“Good God Carruthers!,” Blassington cried out, “What is that Hellish sound!”
“Pull yourself together man!” I said, and grasped his shoulders firmly, “we’re just in time. The Open Mic is starting!”
To be continued..
Will Blassington & Carruthers return from the depths of Brisbane’s Underground Poetry Scene? Join us next issue of [insert publication name here] for their further adventures, or come down to the Kurilpa Poets and see for yourself yourself,
last Sunday of every Month, starting at 2pm.
at the Olde Croquet Club, 91 Cordelia Street, West End beneath the trees of Musgrave Park.
*Sunday June 26th, will see Fiona Privitera as Feature Poet, and Brisbane Jazz Giant Jeff Usher playing some cool tunes.
For further updates and details
as always tune into the Water-Rat Gazzette