No One Told Us It Would Be Like This
A Collection of Writing by
Wesley Gleeson
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First published by English Street Press, January 2011
English Street Press
PO Box 7025
Wagga Wagga NSW 2650
http://englishst.com
Copyright © 2011 Wesley Gleeson.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage or retrieval system without permission in writing from the publisher.
Cover photograph - Arthur's Pass, New Zealand. Wesley Gleeson
National Library of Australia Cataloguing-in-Publication entry
Author: Gleeson, Wesley.
Title: No one told us it would be like this : a collection of writing by Wesley Gleeson / Wesley Gleeson.
Edition: 1st ed.
ISBN: 9780987065209 (pbk.) 9780987065216 (e-book)
Subjects: Duncum, W. A. Wesley, Charles, 1707-1788. Mental illness. Christianity. Australia--Social life and customs.
Dewey Number: A828.4
Preface
I gave myself a vague challenge to publish my first book before I turned 30. As I stare down the milestone with steely determination, or perhaps some great inevitability, I have bitten the proverbial bullet. I’ve regularly put the project off, deciding for one reason or another that it lacked merit. I wanted to make some sort of meaningful contribution, a ground-breaking tome which would be consulted as a master-text for years to come. The eternal problem was, what subject to base my text on.
I confess to being a master of no trade, and although I am an enthusiast of many worthy topics and pursuits, I have not the knowledge, nor the insights to produce my required grand opus. There is time yet.
Alas, I present a more humble collection. I will not guarantee the quality of the contents of this publication. What follows is a collection of my writing: good, bad and ugly. The very ugly, and there are volumes, has been tucked away, hopefully never to be seen again, but what is here is a representation of 15 or so years of writing in various forms (sorry for the cussing, Mum!).
If you are reading this, and you are not me, then I sincerely hope that you will excuse my self-indulgence and that you enjoy my small collection. If I know you, and you are not mentioned anywhere in this collection, it’s not necessarily because I don’t like you.
Since the middle of 2005, I have been, along with approximately four million Australians, living with depression. These five years have often been dark and challenging, not only for me, but also for my family. Most of the work that follows was composed during this period of my life, and therefore many of the themes seem quite morbid and dark. I cannot, and will not apologise for this, it is a chapter in my life that I’ve done my best to hide in reality, but not here.
This stage of my life has seen many great changes. When diagnosed, I was training for Christian ministry and have at many times felt betrayed by my church. I have lost faith in the idea of church, and cling tentatively, yet desperately to faith in God.
I’m sure I’ve come across to people who have met and worked with me during this time as a little distant and unengaging, a little inconsistent and rarely sociable; at least this is how I have felt. Holding on to any enthusiasm and passion in the workplace for longer than a month or two has been almost impossible and shared hobbies and social interaction has been virtually non-existent.
The ‘revolutionary’ social networking tool Twitter has allowed me to build up some electronic friendships without the awkward expectations of being reliable and cheerful necessary for face-to-face relationships, while being addictive enough to ensure that I do communicate with those who I am not related to! A heartfelt thanks to my persistent ‘followers’! I promise, I have tried to use proper grammar and spelling at all times...
To the love of my life, my wife, Susie, I am deeply indebted. She loves me, and although I don't think she always understands me or what is going on, she shows patience and generosity well beyond what I deserve. I honestly can't believe she still talks to me!
I do look forward to being healthy again, to riding my bike, to spending Saturday afternoons with a bunch of smelly blokes on a cricket pitch, to caring about how the garden looks, and how I look for that matter. I look forward to being a better husband, son, brother, uncle and perhaps, one day, father. I look forward to being able to properly recognise the beauty in myself and in others and to appreciate and use the gifts I have more enjoyably.
Wesley Gleeson
October, 2010
Part 1: The Shorter Form
Unconscious
So much to do
So much to say
Life yet begun
Innocence yet undone
Expectations exceeding
Life, boy, is for succeeding
Unborn brain could explode
Under this overload
So much to do
So much to say
Bright lights of birth
the noise, it all hurts
Unconscious Reprise
So much to do
So much to say
No time to spend
but bills still to pay
So much to do
So much to say
You’re too long retired
to get your arse fired
Expectations always exceeding
life – your wounds are still bleeding
common brains would explode
under all the load
BANG
So much to do
So much to say
What was it worth?
1915
Tell Mum I won't be home for Christmas
Whatever happens, it won't take long
Troop ship is out tomorrow
We're finally off to see the world
We are setting up camp somewhere in Egypt
Start off friendly fighting between our ranks
I'll bring you back part of the pyramids
& I'll skim a stone across the Nile
Been told to prepare for battle
Sea landing, Turkey, Palestine?
I'm not feeling the best, don't tell Mum
The market girls gave me something to remember
There was fire in the hills
Movement to my left and right
Jack didn't make it off the boat
Tell Mum I'm alive, some cuts that's all
The light in our eyes was extinguished that day
No one told us it would be like this
Love and hate forged in bloody sacrifice
I'm coming home
They’re pulling us off Gallipoli
Four bloody months and we’ve barely made an inch
Reassigned to fight on the Western Front
Not back to the promised land.
I don't know what we are fighting for
Not for the motherland
But bonded each to the other
We plunge into no-mans-land
Born Corowa, 1898
Killed in action, Pozieres, 1916
Lest We Forget
Lest... We... Forget...
Quiet Streets
We went to war in 1915
She was barely a girl back then
She was baptised on ANZAC Day
As troops died at Gallipoli
40,000 Australians died
As she started the fight of her life
In the quiet streets of Granville
He worked a dropforge
Moved metal in industrial Clyde
He rode his bike for hours to work
But he had on his mind
Spending some time
With a girl from Membrey St
In the quiet streets of Granville
They starved through the depression
His family lived in a cave
But soon enough they were married
And moved to Leylands Parade
They started their small family
& served the Methodist Church