Reversals

Time to leave Alice Springs. Everyone has their reasons.

They are all on the train.

Arthur has paid for a ticket with money he got from the gig. He leans back in his comfy red overnighter. But it isn't that comfy. What's that under his leg?

He sticks his hand in his pocket. Not the one with the milk that has turned into cheese, and the scraper. The other one. It's a hole. He pokes further down into the hole with his finger. He reaches a gap in the hem of his shorts where the stitching has ripped. There is something in there. It's the zircon. He winkles it out. It's asleep. He drops it into a waste bin, behind an empty seat.

Behind him sit Vello and David.

Vello is not talking to Arthur, because of the vowels. He is determined not to say one word to him until he explains. O after U. How frustrating that even with his great intellectual capacity he can't work out why for himself.

David is thinking about getting home and seeing his mother. Mrs Hume has been sending him anxious texts. Her car has been squeaking whenever she reverses. She has taken it to the garage a number of times and they still haven't fixed it. It is getting embarrassing now. David wonders what he can do. Perhaps it's the brakes, or the rotors. Or a mouse. David knows nothing about cars.

Ageless is in a bit of a pickle. He is one seat in front of Arthur, on the floor in a basket. It was the only way to get on. It is the basket of his arch enemy Mr Spin-ooza, who invited him into the basket. It is always irritating when your arch enemy does you a favour.

Ageless is thinking about Kobo. No doubt she will want to know what he thought about the Arabian Nights. What will she say when he has to admit that he lost it, and has come home with The Great Philosophers instead? Travelling in the picnic basket of one of them. Mr Spin-ooza. The biggest determinist of the lot.

And where is Gaius? He is sitting on his own a few seats behind the others, his middle sized claws balanced on each of his knees, making copious notes for a planned dissertation which will include annotated comments on everything that he has observed in the last week.

Was it really only a week? It seems longer.

I Red U Green O Blue

The concert is over. Nearly everyone has gone. Gaius remains sitting on the grass in the moonlight, humming snatches of song.

Hmm hmm hmm.....it's all over you, electric blue.... hmm hmm hmm....  on my KNEES.... hmmm hmm hmm ... just a vision of you, electric blue......

A good song, thinks Gaius. They don't write them like that any more.

Then there was Arthur. Whatever was that nonsense he'd performed? Ridiculous. Vowels having colours. And U before O. Whatever next? And no proper tune.

He wonders where Arthur is now.

Arthur is in a pub with Iva and the rest of the band. They are trying to talk him into coming on tour.

Arthur is saying No.

Iva is saying Just tell us why.

Arthur is saying Because I have to go surfing and furthermore...

And Iva is interrupting and saying You know you could become  a cult figure

But Arthur is continuing And I have been promised a meeting with Farky the dog.

And Iva is surprised into saying Farky! I think I've met him.

Which is very unlikely, Arthur thinks.

Then David and Vello walk into the pub.

Well done Arthur, says David. I did like your song.

So did I, agrees Vello. Interesting subject, synesthesia. Though I would not have said A was black. And I'm wondering why you put U before O.

Well, if you don't know....says Arthur.

Vello is miffed. He doesn't know.

Meanwhile Emma and Irma, festooned with Glo-sticks, are walking back to their hotel with mum and dad.

That concert was MEGA! says Irma. 'Specially ARTHUR.

I LOVE Arthur, says Emma. He's RAD!

Rad? says Mum. I haven't heard that word in ages. But he is rather cute.

The girls dance ahead chanting Arthur! Arthur ! We Love You! A Black E White I Red U Green O Blue!

Why U before O? wonders Dad.

But even mum doesn't know the answer.

Wild For Arthur Rimbaud

Rumours are rife at the Masters. Who is the surprise guest performing with Icehouse tonight? Some think it's Bob Dylan. Someone guesses Jim Morrison, never mind that he's dead. There is talk of a philosopher. Wittgenstein possibly, or Kant.

Arthur is unaware of the speculation. But he thinks he'll do a good show. He polishes one of his poems into song. A poem that everyone liked once. Voyelles.

.............

It is evening. A crowd has gathered on the grass in front of the stage.Children are already dancing. There is an ATMOSPHERE here.

Icehouse comes on. They play Crazy and Great Southern Land. The crowd loves these songs.

GREAT SOUTHERN LAND..... la, la-la, laah!

Now Iva introduces his special guest, Arthur Rimbaud.

People look at one another in puzzlement. Who is Arthur Rimbaud?

Arthur comes onto the stage, in his dirty shorts and with bare scabby knees. He sits down at the piano and starts to play. Voyelles.

That is, in English, VOWELS.

Plang plang!!!

Arthur can't play but it doesn't matter. He's deconstructing sounds with his poem. He half speaks, half sings:

A Black! E White! I Red! U Green! O Blue!!! VOWELS.

Pling! Plangggg!  ( that's the piano )

A
One day I'll say where you come from
Black hairy jacket of brilliant flies
buzzing around a stink  

E
white steam and tents
shards of glaciers, white kings, and milkweed

I
purples, spat blood,
angry beautiful lips

U
viridian seas, fields spread with animals,
furrows on agonised faces

O
bellowing trumpet of strange
silences crossed by [ Worlds and by Angels ]
the Omega, violet ray of [His] Eyes.

Planggg! Pling! ( the piano again )

Arthur stops.

A spotlight shines obliquely into his strange pale blue eyes. It captures the flop of his hair on a giant screen that everyone can see.

Iva strikes up Electric Blue.

The crowd goes wild for Arthur Rimbaud

Arthur Sets Himself A Challenge

What are you doing at the Alice Springs Masters Games? asks Iva. You're too young to be competing.

It's a long story, says Arthur. Too long.

Iva nods sagely. His story is also too long.

Arthur wants to ask about YouTube, but doesn't want to seem foolish.

He says nothing and waits.

It's so cool you're here, says Iva.

Why is it cool that he's here? asks Ageless.

Good, Ageless has asked. Maybe now he'll find out.

He's been inspirational to us songwriters since .... I don't know..... the sixties... says Iva. Yeah, James Morrison, Patti Smith, Bob Dylan........

Arthur wonders who they are.

Who are they? asks Ageless, on cue.

Famous songwriters, says Iva, like me. Here. Grab hold of this cable for me while I stick this plug into this socket.

Arthur grabs hold of the cable. Iva sticks the plug into a socket.

You'd make a good roadie, says Iva. But hey, Arthur, can you sing?

I can play the piano, says Arthur. I learned from a barman in London.

How about doing a guest spot with us tonight? asks Iva. That would be brilliant.

Alright, says Arthur.

Ha ha! Our friends'll get a surprise, says Ageless.

Who are your friends? asks Iva. Lobsters, or poets?

No, says Arthur. Philosophers mainly.

Woah! says Iva. I'm into philosophy. Who?

The VeloDrone, says Arthur, aka Voltaire. And Le Bon David. That's David Hume.

I know them, says Iva. They edit that online cycling magazine Velosophy. I always read that. Except it hasn't come out for a while..

You left out Mr Spin-ooza, says Ageless. And Pliny the Elder.

And them, says Arthur.

Gee! says Iva. I bet you get to hear some interesting conversations. I'd like to meet them!

You will tonight, says Ageless. Won't he, Arthur?

Arthur doesn't reply. He is miles away. Thinking about his guest spot with Icehouse. What will he play? It's a long time since he played the piano.

Are You Hiding Somewhere Behind Those Eyes?

A good poem, Arthur, says Spinoza, as poems go. But it is very easy to set out a series of unrelated ideas as though they mean something important.

No it isn't, says Arthur. It's hard.

Not as hard as mathematical theorems, says Spinoza.

Just as hard, says Arthur. Possibly even harder.

Now you are just being silly, says Spinoza.

No, no, says The Velodrone. You two agree fundamentally. You both seek full knowledge of the essential nature of things, one through philosophical analysis and the other through poetry.......

But Arthur isn't listening. He is bored. He stands up.

I'm going to look for Ageless, says Arthur.

I didn't know he'd left, says Gaius, looking around.

But he has.

Arthur follows the lobstery trail that Ageless has made through the red dust. He walks for ages and ages.

Eventually he comes upon Ageless sitting in front of a stage which is under construction.

Ageless is talking to a man. The man has spiky grey hair and is holding a cable.

Hello Ageless, says Arthur, looking at the man.

Hello, says Ageless.

Hello! says the man. Hey,  haven't I seen you before? Yeah.... but it can't be. You look exactly like Arthur Rimbaud!

Arthur is surprised. Not that he looks like Arthur Rimbaud, but that this man should think so.

I am Arthur Rimbaud, says Arthur. How did you know? Did Ageless tell you?

No, says the man. I've seen you on loads of  video clips posted on YouTube. That face. That hair. Those eyes. Electric blue.

The man starts to hum a familiar sounding song.

Electric Blue! says Ageless. An oldie but a goodie!

Arthur thinks he may have seen the man before as well.

And you...? says Arthur.

Iva Davies, says Iva. This is mental! And awesome. Wait till I tell the boys.....

As Simple As a Musical Phrase

Arthur stands up.

Cough! Cough!

That's not Arthur.

Excuse me, says Baruch Spinoza. Can't stop coughing. It's all this red dust.

And the nuts, says Gaius, sympathetically. Have some water. Wasn't there some in your picnic basket?

It smells of bad fish, says Spinoza. Is there any milk?

No one has any milk.

Arthur feels deep down in the pockets of his shorts. Bandages, scraper.....a bottle!

He opens the bottle.

This used to be milk, he says, tipping the bottle. Now it looks more like cheese. D'you want it?

No, thank you, says Spinoza. Say your poem.

Guerre, says Arthur.

Better give it to us in English, says The VeloDrone. Or Baruch and Gaius won't get it.

War, says Arthur. It's not easy to translate into English.

That seemed quite easy, says David.

No, the rest, says Arthur. But I'll try.

WAR ( recites Arthur)
As a child certain skies defined my perspective: their characters showed in my face.
The Phenomena were roused.
Now, the eternal inflection of moments and the infinity of mathematics
Drives me through this world where I meet civil honours,
Respected by strange children and huge affections.
I dream of a War of right against might, of unlooked-for logic.
It's as simple as a musical phrase.

Arthur sits down.

Very good, says The VeloDrone. What is the musical phrase?

Umm..... says Arthur.

A simple one indeed, says The VeloDrone. Umm.

That wasn't it, says Arthur. I told you it was hard to translate.

Well, I'm very impressed, says David.  The eternal inflection of moments. The infinity of mathematics. Unlooked-for logic. All that.

Anyone would think you'd read Russell, says Gaius. But tell me, who are these strange children? Are they Baby Pierre and his friends?

Arthur says he doesn't think so, since he wrote it before meeting them.

He wonders what Spinoza makes of it.

Cough ! Cough!

Is Spinoza about to say something?

Getting Round To Arthur's Poem About Maths

Spinoza spins round.

Stop it at once, you lobster! he cries. Stop scratching my lens!

Ageless stops, and climbs down off the lens grinder.

Sorry, couldn't help myself, he says. It's my nature.

Spinoza is furious.

You did that on purpose, you monster! he cries.

Just proving you right, Mr Spin-ooza, says Ageless. Thought you'd be pleased.

Gaius tries a helpful diversion.

You say it's all about maths? he says to Spinoza.

What? Humph! Yes, says Spinoza.

But what if maths is not based on  logic? says Gaius, who is now up to Bertrand Russell in The Great Philosophers. You have no basis for your argument but intuition.

Spinoza calms down, and begins to think about this.

He takes a packet of mixed nuts out of his picnic basket and hands them around.

I wrote a poem about maths once, says Arthur, biting into a nut.

A poem, says Spinoza.

Yes, says Arthur. It was also about intuition.

Spinoza begins to cough. Cough! Cough!

A Brazil nut, he says apologetically. I didn't know you were a poet.

Arthur Rimbaud, says Arthur.

A man comes up wheeling a bicycle.

My bicycle! says The VeloDrone. Thanks for bringing it back. Did you go in the road race?

Yes, says the man. It was slow. No drugs. Everyone far too friendly. Give me archery any day. How did you go?

Oh, you know, says The VeloDrone. So-so. Here's your bow back.

Going to the Closing Ceremony? asks the man.

Don't know, says The VeloDrone. Who's on?

Icehouse, says the man. You've heard of  Icehouse?

A cool new band? asks Le Bon David.

The man laughs and walks off.

Give us your poem, Arthur, says Gaius. The one about maths.

Alright, says Arthur. Since you asked for it. It's called WAR.

That gets everyone's attention.