Woman and Boab

27 September 2013

Another poem from the ‘Planting the Seed’ writing sessions held in the Darwin botanic gardens, with thanks to Helen Hansen. Helen was one of four writers who were artists in residence for the Northern Territory Wildlife Park in 2013. http://www.territorywildlifepark.com.au/artist_inpark/index.shtml

Read more of her poems in ‘Wild Words’ — an anthology produced as a result of the wildlife park residency.

Woman and Boab

What happens when a woman walks up a Boab,

touches it with the palm of her hand,

turns her head

and presses her ear to its grotesque trunk?

What happens when she stands back just a little

to look above;

seeing a sporadic splatter of compound leaves

dotting strange spastic limbs?

With no sign of flower or fruit yet

her shadow shades a measure of its mighty shaft

as inspiration rises like the sun behind them both.

What happens to her?

Does she feel something welling inside,

that gives truth to this moment?

Does she write poetic words

that no-one else has said or thought?

Does she think of its Latin name:

Adansonia gregor -

or wonder for whom it’s so-called?

Does she wonder its age?

That the sap mixed with water quenches the thirst,

that its fibrous wood makes good twine and nets?

Does she ponder the upside-down legend?

Does she ponder a prison?

Helen Hansen©2013

African trees

20 September 2013

This morning was the second of four en plein air writing sessions, Planting the Seed, in the George Brown Darwin Botanic Gardens. We are meeting under the George Brown Eco House which is in the Snakebean Community Gardens near the Orientation Centre, Geranium Street entrance. We start at 7.30am walk to a writing space, tomorrow the rainforest and write for half an hour then share our writing with the group. Bring a light chair for real comfort. Afterwards there is a possibility of tea or coffee. It is free. Everyone welcome. Ring or text me if you have any questions 0439 990 862.

Today we met in the African baobab collection, a dry part of the gardens.

African trees

 I have to stop trying to remember

 The poem I forgot

 And concentrate on now,

 This ‘dry spot’ set aside for African trees.

 A dusty rust-coloured road cuts past

 But the grass is damp straw,

 Not lush, but not arid either.

 African trees would dream of a place like this,

 Hurl their seed at the boats

 And hope they’re coming here.

 I wonder if they would let a Boab

 Grow in a detention centre?

 Dr Seuss must have travelled

 To Madagascar –

I’m sure the fox in sox

 Flew past trees

 Just like these.

 I’ve lost the poem I woke with.

 It was perfect,

 As dreams often are,

 Written and mentally edited,

 Polished between thoughts of moving house and lists,

 Big things I need to buy

 (Fridge, washing machine, couch)

 And weekend plans to drive 600 kilometres

 Instead of packing,

 To spend a weekend amongst women.

 With Abbott at the helm it feels subversive -

 Maybe that's what my poem was about?

Kaye Hall

bare branches except for a bird

baobab water filled trunk

green ants nest

the baobab plus poets

Helen using a tree for back rest

the fallen