Comments on: Remembrance of things past – an extract from Michael Gawenda’s “Rocky and Gawenda” http://galusaustralis.com/2009/10/2054/remembrance-of-things-past/ Just another WordPress weblog Fri, 30 Jul 2010 07:18:13 +0000 hourly 1 http://wordpress.org/?v=3.0 By: Galus Australis » Anti-Semitism and the Media – an Interview with Michael Gawenda http://galusaustralis.com/2009/10/2054/remembrance-of-things-past/#comment-4565 Galus Australis » Anti-Semitism and the Media – an Interview with Michael Gawenda Wed, 04 Nov 2009 08:34:33 +0000 http://galusaustralis.com/?p=2054#comment-4565 [...] break from the high pressure of the newsroom, instead turning his talents to writing his well-received book, and to his appointment as Director of the University of Melbourne’s Centre for the Advanced [...] [...] break from the high pressure of the newsroom, instead turning his talents to writing his well-received book, and to his appointment as Director of the University of Melbourne’s Centre for the Advanced [...]

]]> By: Leo Braun http://galusaustralis.com/2009/10/2054/remembrance-of-things-past/#comment-4446 Leo Braun Tue, 27 Oct 2009 02:54:01 +0000 http://galusaustralis.com/?p=2054#comment-4446 "I remember my first day at the Age, back then considered one of the world's great English-language newspapers! By me anyway. We sat, a group of young men and women, in the editor's office, squeezed together in awkward silence on two couches. Exactly what Graham Perkin, by then already a legendary editor, said to us I cannot recall, but I remember that he looked like a hawk, fierce-eyed, unsmiling, severe, as if to suggest that this was the start of a consequential life for us. During that day, I thought about my mother, and I wondered what she would have made of this, me sitting there telling Graham Perkin that I thought journalism and writing could change the world". <a href="http://blogs.crikey.com.au/gawenda/2009/04/29/remembrance-of-things-past" rel="nofollow">"I did say that, I am sure"!</a> "I think he raised an eyebrow in response, and for a moment I thought he was wondering why the hell I had been hired. My mother, while my father had taught her to sign her name and even read a little Yiddish-simple things like children's stories-was illiterate. She had never been to school, which was not unusual for women her age, born at the turn of last century, in a small town in Poland. Jewish boys were sent to cheder to learn Torah until their bar mitzvah, after which most of them were sent off to do apprenticeships, in my father's case as a weaver, but girls needed no education, for they were destined to be wives and mothers, balabustas-homemakers. My mother could barely speak Polish, let alone read and write it, and her Yiddish in the main was the Yiddish of domesticity and familial love (what would she have made of this son of hers, talking about writing and changing the world)" [<a href="http://galusaustralis.com/2009/10/remembrance-of-things-past" rel="nofollow">Michael Gawenda</a>]. • Reminisced kind-hearted author who became a figure of some notoriety in Melbourne's Jewish community. Unlike some unaffiliated, independent Jew such as myself, morally differing from Zionist canon. As a result to end-up on the unemployable's heap, just for speaking my mind for the better Australia. Not before having relinquished an awesome unfinished career, serving as Chief Electrical Officer on the most modern, fully automated vessels. Attracting majestic regard while criss-crossing the world and being greatly rewarded for professionally rendered services. With ample recreational and socialising time, anyone could have dreamed of, ultimately reaching faraway land down-under. Where having finally migrated early in 1974, with me so sincerely, wholeheartedly hoping to settle successfully with a large family prospective on mind. To prosper, while genuinely contributing my goodwill and vast expertise within the civilised, democratic society. If not for the faced tall poppy syndrome, as a major deterrent to excellence in Australia. Overwhelmed by the greatest tribe of the knockers in the world. Notorious to shoot anything moving and chop anything growing. Yet, if obstructionists had put as much effort into being constructive while condoning independent Jews way of life, instead of knocking, there would be no nation equal Oz! “I remember my first day at the Age, back then considered one of the world’s great English-language newspapers! By me anyway. We sat, a group of young men and women, in the editor’s office, squeezed together in awkward silence on two couches. Exactly what Graham Perkin, by then already a legendary editor, said to us I cannot recall, but I remember that he looked like a hawk, fierce-eyed, unsmiling, severe, as if to suggest that this was the start of a consequential life for us. During that day, I thought about my mother, and I wondered what she would have made of this, me sitting there telling Graham Perkin that I thought journalism and writing could change the world”.

“I did say that, I am sure”!

“I think he raised an eyebrow in response, and for a moment I thought he was wondering why the hell I had been hired. My mother, while my father had taught her to sign her name and even read a little Yiddish-simple things like children’s stories-was illiterate. She had never been to school, which was not unusual for women her age, born at the turn of last century, in a small town in Poland. Jewish boys were sent to cheder to learn Torah until their bar mitzvah, after which most of them were sent off to do apprenticeships, in my father’s case as a weaver, but girls needed no education, for they were destined to be wives and mothers, balabustas-homemakers. My mother could barely speak Polish, let alone read and write it, and her Yiddish in the main was the Yiddish of domesticity and familial love (what would she have made of this son of hers, talking about writing and changing the world)” [Michael Gawenda].

• Reminisced kind-hearted author who became a figure of some notoriety in Melbourne’s Jewish community. Unlike some unaffiliated, independent Jew such as myself, morally differing from Zionist canon. As a result to end-up on the unemployable’s heap, just for speaking my mind for the better Australia. Not before having relinquished an awesome unfinished career, serving as Chief Electrical Officer on the most modern, fully automated vessels. Attracting majestic regard while criss-crossing the world and being greatly rewarded for professionally rendered services. With ample recreational and socialising time, anyone could have dreamed of, ultimately reaching faraway land down-under.

Where having finally migrated early in 1974, with me so sincerely, wholeheartedly hoping to settle successfully with a large family prospective on mind. To prosper, while genuinely contributing my goodwill and vast expertise within the civilised, democratic society. If not for the faced tall poppy syndrome, as a major deterrent to excellence in Australia. Overwhelmed by the greatest tribe of the knockers in the world. Notorious to shoot anything moving and chop anything growing. Yet, if obstructionists had put as much effort into being constructive while condoning independent Jews way of life, instead of knocking, there would be no nation equal Oz!

]]> By: frosh http://galusaustralis.com/2009/10/2054/remembrance-of-things-past/#comment-4390 frosh Thu, 22 Oct 2009 06:03:05 +0000 http://galusaustralis.com/?p=2054#comment-4390 “…a collection of essays celebrating the love between a dog and his human friend.” This reminds me of the Neil Young song <em>Old King</em>, that Young wrote to come to terms with the passing of his beloved dog. The song can be found on Young’s 1992 Album <em>Harvest Moon</em>. The whole album is excellent, but always leaves me feeling very melancholy after listening to it. <blockquote>"...I had a dog and his name was King I told the dog about everything Old King sure meant a lot to me But that hound dog is history..."</blockquote> “…a collection of essays celebrating the love between a dog and his human friend.”

This reminds me of the Neil Young song Old King, that Young wrote to come to terms with the passing of his beloved dog. The song can be found on Young’s 1992 Album Harvest Moon. The whole album is excellent, but always leaves me feeling very melancholy after listening to it.

“…I had a dog and his name was King
I told the dog about everything
Old King sure meant a lot to me
But that hound dog is history…”

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