THE LONER

[RonPrice]

I used to visit people in the evenings and at the weekend to cultivate their friendship, sew seeds or just seek out simple companionship. By the time I was in my forties this habit became less conspicuous. By my fifties it was nearly absent from my lifestyle. Occasionally, though, someone called me on the phone wanting to get together. I was usually quite responsive, for I sensed that they both wanted and needed my company. This happened about once a month. In addition to this personal social life there is the social life of my family with other families, my job and Baha’i community life. These aspects of the social are separate. In my private time, freed from my family, professional and social responsibilities, I have become a loner. -Ron Price, 11:55 pm, 30 December, 1995, Rivervale WA.

Poetry and religion each have their own purpose and value. But if we could search for the experiences which produced them...we might find ourselves exploring, if not the same ground, at least territories very close together. -Clive Sansom, Poetry and Religious Experience, 1948.


They have a nice garden here,
could be one of the better hotels,
but seeing everyone spaced out,
just a little over-ripe, over-done,
or so underdone they could be
sleep-walkers still in their dreams,
reminds me this is a place
for the burnt-out cases.
I’d been one myself several times
and one gets to know the signs:
the reasons are usually complicated.
Here I just say hello
and give people a lot of space.

The traffic humms not far off
just to remind me that normality
is not far away
even if one is burnt-out.
The tidy BBQ, benches and tables
tell me this is one of the smaller,
human spots for the mentally ill,
none of that institutional alienation
and paranoia of the big places.

We talk about: religion, the USA, TV, sex,
my poem, his piano playing, the routines here.
We have tea and donuts, sit on the swings,
go to his room, walk on the porch.

They give me stellazine. It’s pretty good,
but I go way down after lunch.
It’s like going to **** and back everyday.
He looks a little tired: try twenty years
of manic-depression and schizophrenia
off-and-on, to strain the facial muscles.

Been up now for 13 hours.

Have they tried lithium? I suppose your case
is so much more complicated.
I suppose they know what they’re doing.

The willow trees blow gently in the light breeze.
It’s a balmy evening in summer, late December.
The leaves caress the air.
An air-conditioner comes on
reminding me this is summer in Australia.

The nurse prepares Matthew’s small cocktail.
She has a warm vitality,
a pepsodent tooth-paste smile
and she plays the flute, of all things!
You have only 700,000 hours
to make the most of it, Ron.
And mine is 70% over,
if you’re figuring on an eighty year
lifetime, Matthew. I give him a big hug
at my car door and think about
the greatest journey in life--
to relieve the sorrow-laden heart.
I don’t make many of this sort of journey
these days, except when invited
and only when it’s convenient. I’ve become a loner.

Ron Price
30 December 1995