Month: April 2016

ormiston pound

colleen Poetry , , , , ,

The Vincent Lingiari Memorial Lecture for 2015 caught my attention recently. It is called ” Custodianship in the Twentieth-first Century given by Jeff McMullen. Most of you would realise it is in memory of the Wave Hill walk off in August 1966. It is a valuable read, can be found on line and it reminds us we still have a lot of work to do to be the Nation we can be proud to call ours. Anyway it begins with these words:
“The great power of the Vincent Lingiari story is that it teaches us how this land sings to us all, how it holds us and nurtures us. This is the common ground we all share.” And I thought wow. . . I did hear it sing that day out on the Larapinta Trail west of Alice Springs and here is the poem of that day. Enjoy

ormiston pound

we climb an ancient path
to the rattle of our tin mugs
and the chinkle of boots disturbing stones
as they shift awkwardly underfoot

quartzite
flanks each side
and summons up rough sharp spurs

serrated edges
like bread knives
cutting the sky
give direction

flints of mica catch the light
blinding and brooding black rocks watch
as menacing phantoms

at the top
we sit breathless
and hot
the wide expanse of ormiston pound
like an enormous bunker
lies below
air drifts with heat and layers of cool
we listen to white man’s story

while an acacia bush nearby
growing from a rocky outcrop
sings to me another story
on the dreaming wind

we are but travellers here

colleen Poetry , , , ,

This stellar autumnal morning reminds me of the walking and writing course I did for  a week along The Larapinta Trail out side Alice Springs.It was led by Jan Cornell and there were about 20 of us in the group. It was a rewarding experience and the following poem was written at a humbling moment along the way.
The quote “We are but travellers here”  is on a poster I had framed many years ago.It is claimed as a quote from the great Australian Josephite Sister,  Mary MacKillop.

It is a reminder we are finite beings.  Therefore live your life to the fullest now and secondly it is a  reminded we are but stewards not owners.

I love the thought in my poem the land is my teacher

we are but travellers here

in desert country
outside alice springs
richly red rock rusted fiery
bruised and brush-worked to indigo
shimmers through hot air

a track like an ancient song line
marks a way
frisks intruders

needle spinifex claw
roots of river-gums
bulbous siphons plunge defiantly
deep into dry river beds

we trudge heavily
sand shifts unevenly

bones picked clean
washed up caught against tree trunks
from the last big wet
a warning this land is merciless
nemesis
teacher

at the end of each day
a truck delivers swags
food water
reminding us we are but travellers here*

*we are but travellers here – Mary McKillop

milky way dreaming

colleen Poetry , , ,

This poem was written from a memory at Alice Springs after  meeting Norah Jurrah Nelson in 2006 and my cousin, seeing I had fallen in love with it buying me her painting of The Seven Sisters, a canvas spread out on the earth held down by four stones . I like to think it still has some red dirt on it. Now framed on my wall.

milky way dreaming

sun ablaze

dark skin

shines with sweat

her eyes look up   catch me

 

she sits on the earth

a red sandy space

at the edge of the alice springs mall

her canvas held down

by four small rocks

 

milky way dreaming

 

a sash of silver gossamer

arches across the black canvas

in a brilliance of stars

to the side seven dotted circles

she points

names the seven sisters

 

only desert eyes know this sky

paint this song of stars

didgeridoo dancing stars

brimming

fiery-white and deep

 

now on my wall

framed

A Review of A Call to Listen

colleen General , ,

 

calltolistenFullSizeRender copy

Call to Listen

by Colleen Keating

Published by Ginninderra Press
Reviewed by Judith O’Connor
This stylishly produced collection of some eighty poems,
with a particularly tasteful and pleasing cover, is just what it says – a plea to stop
our activities and busyness and start looking, listening and observing the world around us. The poet supplies us with any number of simple examples:

it’s a hard thing to love a rock
you need to receive it as a gift
spend time
commune
gaze . . . (‘How to Love a Rock’)

and:

. . . a fallen water tank; rusted blood red . . .

(‘Abandoned’)

But we quickly see that the range of topics and inspiration,
is far wider and deeper than what at first may appear incidental.
The collection is cleverly arranged into eight separate categories,
taking in a wide sweep of the poet’s life and experiences.
I particularly enjoyed the verses inspired by outback Australia
for which the poet has borrowed (and referenced) the words of Mary McKillop
‘We are but Travellers Here’. Having trekked to the summit of Mt. Sondar and hiked in many of the poet’s footsteps (‘Ormiston Pound’), I was surprised and delighted to read her award winning ‘Daybreak over Mt. Sondar’ and its moving description of the dawn:

…in the beginning
air static as a nylon petticoat pulled over my hair
fingerprints of red ruby . . . (‘Daybreak over MT. Sondar’)

Every page brings fresh and, at times, challenging verses on a range of human emotions from ‘Almost Dawn’ with its sensuality:

… he turns
arms cocoon me
in an aura of warmth
his breath tingles
in the dip of my neck . . .  (‘Almost Dawn’)

to ‘At the Nursing Home’:

… I fill the foot bath
my elbow checks the tepid water … (‘At the Nursing Home’)

Another of my favourites, ‘Sisters’:

… we lunch together
we celebrate
the milestone of another decade
and that word ‘remission’ a green shoot springing
from the scarred black earth…

But from being a poem full of depression and sorrow, it ends magnificently:

….we splurge
with our lust for life
toast with a glass of bubbly
Joie de vivre (‘Sisters’)

The poets voice changes to anger and outrage in other poems such as ‘Guantanamo Bay’ ( . . . this is a poem not to be read aloud; for it speaks of solitaire confinement …) and ‘War on Terror’ ( … it’s coming; through a hole in the air) along with poems reflecting visits to Japan and Fromelles.

Whatever the reader’s mood, quest or interest, these poems are sure to satisfy, surprise and inspire.

darginyung 1st poem in A Call to Listen

colleen Poetry , , , ,

calltolisten

 

This is  the beginning poems in my Poetry collection. It refers to the traditional language of the first peoples and recognises them as first inhabitants of the area around The Entrance, Tuggerah Lakes where many of my poem are set. (Sometimes spelt darginjung)

darginyung

welcome to country drones
the didgeridoo its spirit
circles the hollowed wood

sings the darkness into dawn
and in its dancing rhythm
the dreaming drifts in