Already in my mother’s womb

I was restless to be away.

The fault was in her blood,

neither mine nor hers the blame

for the upheaval in my brain

that has ever kept me

on my feet and all at sea.
 

And then towering Ilios

sore tried my wits and heart

(though I strove not to show it).

And I felt like a sword too keenly

drawn, soiled with incredible carnage,

utterly disgusted by vainglory,

needing Ithaca and Penelope,

longing to embrace her again

and sleep secure beside her,

so longingly loved,

so long neglected.

How stand our affairs, so grievously prorogued?

She bade me farewell. Will she welcome me home?

Have old suitors settled on our hearth, her hand?

Will she care or dare to renew our bond?

Will I be able to settle down,

with a decade of delay to set to rights?

Or re-embark upon my travels,

To harry that pirate Aneas,

no less a refugee than he,

and equally dog tired

of strife and striving?
 

Wayward we steer by the constant stars,

Praying the wanders above

For celestial counsel

As we likewise roam.

---

Dr David Faber is an Australian labour historian and published poet who majored at Somerset Primary School in pirates, wild colonial boys, British monarchy and imperialism. He began writing poetry at Burnie High School. He emigrated to Adelaide in 1977, fell under the spell of a Milanese admirer of Machiavelli, and moved with her to Italy in 1985, where he was a local official of the Partito Comunista Italiano. He now lives in Adelaide again, and visits Tasmanian family, friends, colleagues, libraries and archives annually. His next project is a co-authored life of Depression era Premier Albert Ogilvie.