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

till it's gone

13 September 2013

‘You don’t know what you’ve got till it’s gone.’ 

Big Yellow Taxi’ Joni Mitchell

Spent yesterday writing answers to an interview. Question Number One — Over all, what purpose do you believe poetry serves in 2013? Is it speaking a language that finally will be heard?

‘Good grief,’ I mutter,’ Do the questions have to be so hard?! These are going to be questions I have to think about.‘ This might make my brain hurt.

So after much cross hatching and deleting, I think I said — in 2013 poetry holds actual conditions, the personal and political to the light for examination. Uses language to explore ideas, beliefs and experiences hoping to arouse the listener or the reader to a new level of understanding of themselves each other and the world we live in.

Is it speaking a language that finally will be heard?

‘Finally? Poetry is already heard’, I mutter.

At weddings, birthdays, funerals, in hospitals to facilitate healing, not to forget lovers to each other. Poems are written every day by ordinary people inspired by their niece’s 18^th birthday. It is the basic block of storytelling, the heart of a nursery rhyme, it was and still is one method to pass it on and on and on.

But there was more and I need to talk to someone I rang my friend and poet Zan Ross http://www.apinetwork.com/main/index.php?apply=reviews&webpage=api_reviews&flexedit=&flex_password=&menu_label=&menuID=homely&menubox=&Review=5352

‘Let’s just talk this one out’ I said, ‘What does language and expression, as a whole, represent to you?’

‘Freedom!’ she cried down the phone like a warrior, a foot soldier, a fighter.

‘Free to say what I want when I want however I want, free to express myself. Some poets don’t have that freedom some poets are jailed tortured and die seeking that freedom.’

I thought what it would be like to not be able to record how I thought or felt. What would my life be like if I could not express myself through my craft, if I couldn’t write this blog. Maybe those with freedom don’t think too often about such things. Maybe some things are taken for granted.

And then to add more drama to the day the twitterverse exploded with the breaking of the Australian poetry plagiarism scandal. Poets rang, texted, emailed, asking can this be true? Answer: Yes it is. 
http://www.smh.com.au/entertainment/books/plagiarism-the-word-that-cant-be-uttered-20130913-2tpha.html

Now my brain really did hurt.

What happened in the night?
I heard a voice saying: Can you find your way out? But it could have been a dream.