Mark Mahemoff remembers Robert Gray (1945-2025)

Back at the turn of the century, the year 2000 that is, I was busy completing a Master of Arts in Creative Writing at the University of Technology in Sydney. I had already been publishing poetry for about 15 years since completing my undergraduate degree at the single building that has now morphed into what is known as Western Sydney University. I decided I wanted to return to academia, mainly to turn my first full-length poetry book I had been writing into a qualification. The late Martin Harrison, my supervisor and teacher, was trying to locate markers for my thesis. He told me he would try to secure two poets he knew who he thought might be sympathetic to my poetry. One was Kevin Hart. The other was Robert Gray.

I was shocked. They were eminent. I had been reading them for years. Robert was a particular favourite. Reading his poetry to me was like attending a poetry masterclass. I marvelled and envied his ability to nail down an image so accurately that he made any further attempt at a similar description completely pointless. Here is an example excerpted from his poem entitled The Dusk, “And the kangaroo settles down, pronged. /then lifts itself/carefully, like a package passed over from both arms…” (Coast Road, 2014) Like a package passed over from both arms! Ever since reading that I haven’t been able to see a kangaroo lifting itself without recalling that image. That is surely the mark of great poetry. And that is just one example amongst many.

As luck would have it, they both agreed to be my markers and thankfully I passed. This was the beginning of my long friendship with Robert and later with Dee, his warm, friendly and talented partner. It was a friendship which started slowly, with awe on my part and some aloofness on Robert’s. Maybe it was my awe that provoked his aloofness. In my experience Robert was always an amalgam of warmth, humility and distance, but over time the warmth increased and the distance lessened.

After finishing at UTS I began visiting Robert at Lesley McKay’s Bookshop in Double Bay where he worked for a number of years. I was newly married with my first child on the way, and my mother was extremely ill so I had very little time but would occasionally drop in to chat and get book recommendations. While having exiled myself to the inner west in my early twenties, my formative years were spent in Sydney’s Eastern Suburbs. Rushcutters Bay, Rose Bay and Watson’s Bay have always made me nostalgic. Not for the lifestyle but the coastline and landscape. I still treasure the collected poems of James Schuyler which Robert recommended along with numerous other collections Robert gave or loaned me over the years. Sometimes I even took time off from my full-time job as a psychotherapist to attended some of the regular poetry lunches held at The Hellenic Club with Judith Beveridge, Martin and many other poets who made cameo appearances.

After Robert and then Dee retired from work, I was meeting Robert alone or with Dee close to where I work in the city. Then, after reducing my working week to four days for several years, I would travel to their flat once a month. It was beautifully decorated by Dee with her own sculptures, paintings by Robert and their artist friends and Robert’s extensive book collection. The three of us would have a simple meal or a snack at their local shopping centre. Everyone knew them to say hello.

I remember once remarking to Robert, in reference to the ruthless editing and culling of his oeuvre, from one book to the next, that he would end up with a single poem which would be so polished and perfect it would shine too brightly to read. He laughed. But his perfectionism, humanity and modesty have left an indelible mark on me. I will miss you, Robert.

 – Mark Mahemoff 

 

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