Malcom Brodie: poet, a lover of cemeteries and a "poemteller" By Catherine Watson
MALCOLM Brodie liked cemeteries. They are the settings for many of his poems. His funeral notice includes a photo of him at the San Remo Cemetery, sitting contentedly with his little dog by the graveside of his mother Florence.
On Friday he was buried close to Florence, his frequent muse.
A poet, a prodigious reader, a letter writer and a storyteller, Malcolm was of an older bardic tradition. He mistrusted the orthodoxies of the modern world.
I encountered his name long before I met him. Back in 2004, when Gill Heal, editor of The Current, invited locals to nominate their favourite buildings, Malcolm replied:
MALCOLM Brodie liked cemeteries. They are the settings for many of his poems. His funeral notice includes a photo of him at the San Remo Cemetery, sitting contentedly with his little dog by the graveside of his mother Florence.
On Friday he was buried close to Florence, his frequent muse.
A poet, a prodigious reader, a letter writer and a storyteller, Malcolm was of an older bardic tradition. He mistrusted the orthodoxies of the modern world.
I encountered his name long before I met him. Back in 2004, when Gill Heal, editor of The Current, invited locals to nominate their favourite buildings, Malcolm replied:
"Buildings don't mean much to me. It's people who are important. I'd choose the mobile library. It takes knowledge around the Shire; it creates opportunities, leads to expansion of the intellect, breadth of the imagination. Now that's a good building!"
That response stuck in my head and I finally met the man in 2019. I was one of the judges for the inaugural Bass Coast Prize for Non-Fiction when Malcolm’s poem suite arrived in the mail. We had not envisaged a poetic entry so the judges held a confab. It was clearly autobiographical and there was nothing in the rules against verse. By two votes to one, we ruled it in.
A collection of 56 poems, Alzheimer Sufferer/Carer Suite covers the period from when Malcolm’s mother Florence was first diagnosed with Alzheimer's until her death 14 years later. The author described it as a non-sequential memoir since it moves backwards and forwards in time with his mother’s thoughts and his own memories of her.
There was no denying the quality of the work: colloquial, amusing, honest, lyrical, adding up to a work of great power and tenderness. We awarded it third prize.
That response stuck in my head and I finally met the man in 2019. I was one of the judges for the inaugural Bass Coast Prize for Non-Fiction when Malcolm’s poem suite arrived in the mail. We had not envisaged a poetic entry so the judges held a confab. It was clearly autobiographical and there was nothing in the rules against verse. By two votes to one, we ruled it in.
A collection of 56 poems, Alzheimer Sufferer/Carer Suite covers the period from when Malcolm’s mother Florence was first diagnosed with Alzheimer's until her death 14 years later. The author described it as a non-sequential memoir since it moves backwards and forwards in time with his mother’s thoughts and his own memories of her.
There was no denying the quality of the work: colloquial, amusing, honest, lyrical, adding up to a work of great power and tenderness. We awarded it third prize.
Malcom Brodie, left, following the announcement of the inaugural Bass Coast Prize for Non-Fiction at The Gurdies winery, 2020. He’s pictured with guest speaker Don Watson, prize winners Julie Constable and Christine Grayden and prize sponsor Phyllis Papps.
Malcolm was delighted with the prize but publication was another matter. The competition rules required the winning entries to appear in the Bass Coast Post, but he didn’t want to let the poems go public, especially on this weird thing called “the internet”. Eventually he reluctantly agreed.
There was no electronic copy, only 56 typed poems in a plastic folder. I spent days scanning every page and painstakingly correcting the text. The layout mattered. Even now I occasionally spot a missing letter or word.
Still I'm glad it’s there. What's a poem without a reader or listener?
There was no electronic copy, only 56 typed poems in a plastic folder. I spent days scanning every page and painstakingly correcting the text. The layout mattered. Even now I occasionally spot a missing letter or word.
Still I'm glad it’s there. What's a poem without a reader or listener?
*****
After that, Malcom occasionally summoned me to meet him in the Wonthaggi library on his regular shopping trips into town. He had an old-fashioned courtly manner. He called me “Dear”, which didn’t seem offensive from him. The conversation was always interesting but you had to stay alert – partly because his ideas were often challenging but also because he was easily offended. Once offended, he did not forgive.
He lived in a little house at Cape Woolamai jam packed with books and decades of bachelor life. The grass was rarely cut. Wildlife wandered in and out. A large chook came to visit and never left. Occasional visitors to the house might hear an unexpected sound as they approached the front door - the clickety clack of the portable typewriter he wrote on until the end.
Malcolm distrusted almost everything electronic. I don’t know if he ever had a driver’s licence but he didn’t own a car. He travelled by bus. For a time he owned an electric vehicle – not a mobility scooter, more like a kid’s bike. He was a big man and he overflowed the bike’s circumference. Occasionally he used to ride it from Cape Woolamai into Cowes.
An acquaintance recalls seeing him puttering along Phillip Island Road on this vehicle. It must have been before the shared pathway was built. Taking up a fair width of roadway, he was blissfully unaware of the long queue of cars and utes behind him. If he had been aware he probably wouldn’t have cared.
The Malcolm I knew was anything but an ordinary Aussie bloke and I was surprised to hear he had played football for the Melbourne Under 19s.
He spent a lot of time in RSLs, not that he was ever a soldier but he had an academic interest in wars. The Second World War, in which his father Billy had played his part, didn’t seem to interest him. It was the First World War that fascinated him, in particular Gallipoli.
He was also heavily involved with organising the Robbie Burns night held at St Phillips Anglican Church in Cowes 2009 to mark the 250th anniversary of Burns’ birth.
Which is where Annie Bain got to know him as she read with him. Annie is from Aberdeen and Malcolm's father Billy was too.
"Robbie Burns meant everything to Malcolm," Annie said. "He had a resonant voice for poetry and, of course, the right accent."
He lived in a little house at Cape Woolamai jam packed with books and decades of bachelor life. The grass was rarely cut. Wildlife wandered in and out. A large chook came to visit and never left. Occasional visitors to the house might hear an unexpected sound as they approached the front door - the clickety clack of the portable typewriter he wrote on until the end.
Malcolm distrusted almost everything electronic. I don’t know if he ever had a driver’s licence but he didn’t own a car. He travelled by bus. For a time he owned an electric vehicle – not a mobility scooter, more like a kid’s bike. He was a big man and he overflowed the bike’s circumference. Occasionally he used to ride it from Cape Woolamai into Cowes.
An acquaintance recalls seeing him puttering along Phillip Island Road on this vehicle. It must have been before the shared pathway was built. Taking up a fair width of roadway, he was blissfully unaware of the long queue of cars and utes behind him. If he had been aware he probably wouldn’t have cared.
The Malcolm I knew was anything but an ordinary Aussie bloke and I was surprised to hear he had played football for the Melbourne Under 19s.
He spent a lot of time in RSLs, not that he was ever a soldier but he had an academic interest in wars. The Second World War, in which his father Billy had played his part, didn’t seem to interest him. It was the First World War that fascinated him, in particular Gallipoli.
He was also heavily involved with organising the Robbie Burns night held at St Phillips Anglican Church in Cowes 2009 to mark the 250th anniversary of Burns’ birth.
Which is where Annie Bain got to know him as she read with him. Annie is from Aberdeen and Malcolm's father Billy was too.
"Robbie Burns meant everything to Malcolm," Annie said. "He had a resonant voice for poetry and, of course, the right accent."
*****
From time to time people contacted the Post asking if Malcolm was still alive. One was a Turkish man who had met him at Gallipoli. They had stayed in touch by letter for many years but lost contact as both moved. He asked me to forward the email to Malcolm. I had to print out the email and post it to him.
I don’t know what Malcolm did for a living but in later years he set up in business as a “poemteller”. He would escort small groups of people around Cowes, stopping at strategic points to recite poems. I’m not sure if they were his poems, or whether he was doing cover versions of the classics, and how much call there was for his services. I do know that he never doubted the worth of his own poetic craft.
Perhaps it's fitting that the last words should go to Malcolm’s beloved Robbie Burns:
The best laid schemes o’ Mice an’ Men
Gang aft agley,
O wad some Pow’r the giftie Gie us
To see oursel’s as other see us
Nae man can tether time or tide.
I don’t know what Malcolm did for a living but in later years he set up in business as a “poemteller”. He would escort small groups of people around Cowes, stopping at strategic points to recite poems. I’m not sure if they were his poems, or whether he was doing cover versions of the classics, and how much call there was for his services. I do know that he never doubted the worth of his own poetic craft.
Perhaps it's fitting that the last words should go to Malcolm’s beloved Robbie Burns:
The best laid schemes o’ Mice an’ Men
Gang aft agley,
O wad some Pow’r the giftie Gie us
To see oursel’s as other see us
Nae man can tether time or tide.