Tarrawingee – Hagan’s poem

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Tarrawingee

I came across this poem my son, Hagan, wrote some time ago. It is about overnight stays at his grandparent’s place in rural Victoria. It is quite lovely.

at night cars on the highway whisper distance

we are so far from anything

a collection of warm souls

glowing like an ember of the burnt out day

 

the cars breathe wordless thoughts

the sound of loneliness

is the sound of something passing

but we stay

 

grandma and grandpa asleep in the one room I have never explored

young famililes in the back room

single males or older siblings alongside

in a lounge room sealed with folding doors

 

every move a quiet one

from quiet good night to good morning

breakfast a thief’s meal

the day’s plans discussed in conspirator’s tones

 

the house so still

the closing of cupboards in the kitchen a rough sigh

the carpet in the hall soft and relaxed

becoming cool kitchen lino underfoot

 

and here’s Ruth, any Ruth

whispering hello with a laugh

as if she’s either not used to whispering

or she’s sorry for waking me

 

while Nutri-Grain sing their deliciousness into the bowl

the first in a day of pleasures rare and reliable

reminders of things I have always known

that I will belong somewhere, that I am happy

 

happy now, in a house warm and never stifling

allowing the comfortable movement

of elements between its walls:

air and light, peace and love, enough for all

Ashes

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“We brought her ashes here.”

Someone could have said this

That someone could not have been me

Because I wasn’t there

Not in mind, not in spirit, not in body

I was absent on every level

In fact, I think I went to school

Did I really go to school?

For want of something better to do

That must have been weird for the teachers

Their dead colleague’s son returns to school

Instead of attending their dead colleague’s funeral

I wonder if it hurt? (Me? Them?)

I didn’t wonder at the time

I just didn’t want to go

Didn’t want to know

I saw the dead when death was done

No need to attend a funeral rerun

Clear and simple

That was the way I saw it

 

“We brought her ashes here because …..”

I can tell you I have no idea why

I wasn’t there I tell you

I wasn’t involved

Not in the slightest

Not for the sightfest

I guess it was because standards were everything

I guess it was convenience if anything

 

“We took her ashes elsewhere”

I mean

It would have made more sense don’t you think?

Well, with hindsight anyway

I wonder now where that elsewhere might have been?

I imagine there was a place somewhere distant to the mass ash repository

Somewhere that had more meaning?

To her

To Dad

To us

To me?

I wonder where that place might have been?

It bothers me that I have no idea about this

Instead of being encapsulated

Did she think about where her ashes might be cast?

She had time

So much time for dying

Was there time for thinking about this as well?

Thinking about the special places

The places that meant something

The places where her ashen cloud

Could manifest as transient shroud

One last act of giving

One finale to living

 

“Here lie her ashes”

I still don’t know where

I still don’t want to know

I haven’t been there

Don’t want to be shown

Wherever there is

And I won’t go

Because there is a neutral and meaningless place

At least, I don’t know what it means

Elsewhere might have been easier

Somewhere I could understand

Where she could still lend a hand

A place for her to show

Somewhere I might want to go

 

 

Australian Crawl – Sirocco (S2 Reviews)

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sirocco

EMI Records 1981 Vinyl

The cover outside:

Six very clean cut young men grace the gatefold black and white cover. They are generously spread across front and rear panels. The nice thing about this is you have to open the cover fully to appreciate the photograph. It is a grand image, on a truly large scale, in a way only an LP cover can deliver. They look so comfortable with each other. A relaxed confidence and bonhomie smiles out from the sleeve. They are a pretty handsome looking crew as well. Only front man James Reyne stands apart, challenging the cameraman with a look of veiled menace. Somebody in this band has to represent the rock ethos.

The cover inside:

Black and white once again features across the interior. Six portraits from the same shoot as the front hang across the centre top of the display, only this time it is Simon Binks doing the meaningful look into the camera. The potrait shots are placed across a greyscale muted sun, shining down onto the yacht Sirocco (it does look like the actual yacht). The yacht is sailing a calm sea. White on black gives the lyrics definition. They wrap themselves around the sides and base, parting just enough in the middle to encourage our eyes to track reflected sunlight up to the silhouetted boat.

 

Side 2: Track by track

Trusting you (Bill McDonough, Guy McDonough)

This song immediately sets a frantic, choppy pace with Reyne’s similarly choppy vocals requiring a familiar (to the previously initiated) bit of concentration if you want to catch all the lyrics. The sentiment revolves around a relationship from which trust has fled. But it doesn’t appear to be a romantic relationship. Maybe it was with management.

 

Errol (James Reyne, Guy McDonough)

Errol is based on a genuinely infectious pop bass run that gets straight into your head. This was a big hit for the band and I have fond memories of belting it out at dances and parties along with the rest of the off your face masses (wistful sigh). It is an expert paraphrasing of the great Errol Flynn’s bio. A song that not only makes you want to dance, but also know more.

 

Can I be sure (Simon Binks)

I think you could describe this as a bit of a lyrically sophisticated, musical plodder, of the dah de dah bass line variety. In a fairly analytical way, the lyric once again is questioning trust. My guess is that being in a highly successful band meant coming across all sorts of fakers and people so image conscious you would never be quite sure who was real. It is a worthy piece of reflection.

 

Easy on your own (Kerry Armstrong, Brad Robinson, Simon Binks)

The ringing guitar solos and a cute reggae break are features here. James’ voice invites you in by challenging your capacity to understand what he is singing, so you tend to concentrate on what is going on. This is not a bad thing. Actress Kerry Armstrong was partner to Brad Robinson, so writing lyrics about how much easier to be on your own was a surprise to me. Maybe the song is saying it is tough being partner to someone often on the road – and this could have referred to either of them.

 

Love boys (Bill McDonough)

Something a bit musically heavier. This song would have gone down well live. It is topically a pretty heavy song as well. I mean the characters are tattooed, bent, bash their women and heading for prison. I don’t know who the Love Boys were (are?), but they sure sound nasty. I only ever went to King’s Cross a few times. I am glad we never met.

 

Resort girls (Guy McDonough)

Here’s one that pricks up your ears as initially the lead guitar follows the vocal nicely and closely. However, it also has an air of desperation from the get go as women, young and older, head for resorts looking for love and finding something less.

 

Summary

This second Aussie Crawl album was a huge hit for the band. Sitting at the top of the charts for 6 weeks and only bested by John Lennon’s “Double Fantasy” for the year, it remains a keeper. Side 2 is no slacker, hosting one of the three single releases, “Errol”. The lyrics hold much more interest than your average pop/rock album. For this feature in particular, I rate it highly. Full of memories and just as fresh to hear again today. I still enjoy it.

Diary of a Retiree: Day 281

 

My Dad’s Legacy – Mary’s haiku

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my dad's legacy

My Dad’s Legacy – Mary’s haiku

My Dad’s legacy

Love of words, delight in birds

Precious gift to me

 

Diary of a Retiree: Day 273

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Mt Wombat Road

Fitness

While walking along the Goulburn River a couple of days ago, I realised I was getting a bit short of breath going up hills. I haven’t been doing much strenuous exercise in recent months and I think it is telling. So, I got on the bike for a 10k tester to see where I was at. I need to get the cardiovascular system pumping again! The legs felt heavy and I was puffing away on inclines that have never bothered me before. My conclusion is that walking is a wonderful form of exercise for keeping you active, the joints mobile and getting some fresh air into your lungs, but you most certainly need to get the heart rate up on a regular basis as well.

Getting back on the bike mid-winter around here is something of a challenge though. Even on this sunny afternoon, the chill factor on the downhill cruise was quite uncomfortable across my chest. I will need to pick my times and use the resistance trainer in between. Still, these are good options and I think I am in the right frame of mind for regular cycling again.

I also started a Quigong class a couple of months ago. This is an ancient form of Chinese martial art practiced in a fluid, slow motion, somewhat like Tai Chi. It is excellent for coordination, balance, mind / muscle control and range of motion. I am yet to remember the 64 sequential movements necessary to take myself to the most basic level of fluidity, but that will come in time.

Company

There have been quite a few visitors lately. The most recent, a lovely visit from Lyn, an old school friend. This weekend brother Keir and nephew Caleb are arriving for some riding and bushwalking. It has been wonderful to see so many friends and family make the effort to come here. We really value and appreciate their stays. Interestingly, I don’t always know the people that come. Recently we had a visit from Mitch (who used to work for Mary) and his wife Jacqui. In their mid 20s, I had only briefly met them at their engagement party a while ago.  What a delight to have such vital, intelligent, young visitors in the mix. They were great company and I really hope to see them again.

I love it when we have people of all ages come. Mary’s Melbourne book group is a case in point. 10 of them, half in their late 20s / early 30s, half in their 60s, are a highly entertaining bunch. I am lucky to be able to sit in when they meet at our place. Their birthday book club lunch meeting celebrating Darren’s 30th and Mary’s 60th was a real hoot. There was lots of laughter, perceptive book talk and conversations all over the place. I was sorry to see them go.

It is also great to see people arrive with their baggage and begin to leave some cares behind as they settle into the groove of just being here, no pressure to do anything, time to talk and walk, to look around, become part of the landscape and change down a cog, to begin to match the pace of the place. At least, this is the way I see it and I hope this is the way they find it to be.

 

Sean

In Molesworth

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James Reyne plays the Molesworth Hotel

(On the night of this photo, from this very microstage, it might not look possible, but it is true, true, true! The man above caused the mayhem below)

I come upon a fawning crowd
Of ferals
Bogan fresh and proud
Straight from the shower 
And into the pub
Girls glistening with glitter 
Post hot water scrub
Their stretch jeans too tight
Their muffin tops showing
Breasts fixed just right
Pancake face glowing
The boys in their utes
Polished for showing
All looking cute
With product hair woven
They come in their droves
From asbestos laced shedding
From acreage homes
Town houses with cladding
They gather in cliques
Or large social groups
The drinks go down nicely
The talk turns to hoots
And bold statements of fact
And alcohol hugs
The bravado act
As beer goes in chugs
The girls are a twitter
Who did what to whom?
They flit hither thither
Across the filling room
The singles are looking 
For a match for the night
All out there hooking
Their catch to hold tight
The couples are clingy
Not risking detachment
While the bully boys prowl
Asking “What that meant?”
The lonely boys savour
Their chances tonight
And if they’re not lucky
There’s always a fight

We’re packed in the room
As the lights slowly fade
There’s noise in the gloom
It comes from the stage
A postage stamp corner
Two metres by three
Can it be enough
For a man such as he?
Hushed anticipation
A God almighty roar
An explosive oration
James Reyne’s through the door
They know every word
For every single beat
They’re a seething horde
A mob on its feet
The mob moves as one
Rolling in great waves
And it sings as one
Waking cemeteries of graves
Glasses held aloft
Drinks slosh with abandon
Dancers mash and mosh
Bodies bounce and cannon
Reyne looks astonished
With worry in his eye
They won’t be admonished
They’re living the lie
So he charms them 
And he works them
The favourites are all here
He sings every hit
Everyone holds dear
Delivers with great fervour
Stokes their every passion
They sway and rock and quiver
Out of their heads and thrashing
The pace increases
Momentum builds
They’re here to get
Rock dreams fulfilled
He massages their egos
He caresses their zones
He tickles their fancies
He shakes their bones
He works them to ecstatic climax
As one collective lover
The building shakes
The room erupts
Foundations quake
…..
But it’s not enough

They cry loud, “More, more!”
But James is through the kitchen
Quickly out the door
To quit while you’re ahead
In Molesworth that’s for sure

Together, the mob bows its collective head
They pause in the afterglow
They know tonight went red
They know how to put on a show
In Molesworth

Winter forager

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female white-naped honeyeater

Photographed at the edge of the Tableland in a stand of flowering manna gums, this acrobatic female white-naped honeyeater was one of dozens foraging for nectar. Nowhere near as colouful as her male counterpart, she was just as noisy with her husky throated sqwawk and musical whistle. When her beak wasn’t deeply inserted into one of the thousands of bright yellow sprays of bloom it was furtively seeking insects.

Crossing the developmental line

Aside

Humankind must understand that we have crossed a retrograde developmental line when our use of technology is based on faith that it will work rather than understanding of how and why it will work. SM

Bogart shopfront work in progress: an update

Gallery

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This gallery contains 13 photos.

The Bogart shopfront pop up studio in Euroa hosting Katie van Nooten’s Geelong Hospital mosaic commission has seen intense activity as the deadline approaches. See the images in the gallery below for an update on the amazing progress being made … Continue reading →

for eternity

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image

A poem for thine eyes to see
Words that speak of love for thee
A verse from where my head doth rest
Upon thy softly rising chest
A breath
A gentle tender plea
To bind our hearts eternally
To state our love is rich and rare
An intimacy that none can share
I’ll stay with you through eternal life
My friend my lover my eternal wife

The Death of Miss Richards

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Unknown

Did you read A S Patric’s Black Rock White City? “The Death of Miss Richards” stands alone as a poem, but read the book to meet the character properly. Highly recommended.

Why did miss richards die

Jump in front of the train

Without learning to fly

She broke her wrists and her ankles

Before the Hallam train hit

For the briefest of moments

She hurt a bit

Although and however

She may have been hurting

Previously forever

 

Why didn’t miss richards cry

Let out her feelings

Sob, weep and sigh

 

Miss Richards always looked so content

Nose in a book

Mind being sent

Not a woman in pain

Not a lass to complain

Of a heart broken or rent

And she ate vegetarian food

For the soul

It looked good

It makes you wonder how should

What actually could

Make miss richards want to die

 

Miss Richards looked serene

Like one in a dream

Thoughtful and peaceful

Quiet as a mouse

I note she loved music

And the capacity to choose it

Her playlists sashay lists

Of walls without bridges

As we on the ridges

Played miss richards I spy

 

I never said hi miss richards

Nor hello now goodbye

So she sat by herself until lunchtime went by

Miss richards headphones and book

Ne’er one to sook

Ne’er a wet eye

As she kept to herself

Alone on her shelf

Self sufficient as one cloud in a blue blue sky

Oh why oh why

Did miss richards have to die

Hedge End Lane

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Hedge End Lane

we took a walk down Hedgend Lane

squeezed it in ‘tween showers of rain

a short walk from the bogie road

walking to an end unknown

 

with us walking we took the whippet

keen as mustard leashed and at it

we set off into an icy grind

tempting fate against winter’s mind

 

the road was dirt puddles like scales

the wind was cold sharp as nails

the sky was grey and overcast

prophesising an arctic blast

 

we met two cockies one unwell

the other uted name of Neville

we chewed the fat for a moment or two

then nev went off to feed his ewes

 

he knew our house and seller’s name

said she fell victim to a scam

he asked about the other cock

down the road about a block

 

we said we saw its damaged wing

we couldn’t get close to do a thing

nev had been asked by his lovely wife

to mercy kill it take its life

 

as we waved farewell to nev and ute

we thought the man was quite astute

a life at bogie on a farm

a laconic style of rural charm

 

the next instalment was a procession of lambs

from biggest to smallest dashing for dams

such cute and playful snow white children

it’s quite a flock old nev’s a building

 

then we came to the farm homestead

work dogs wagging tethered to sheds

at the front gate there’s a dead bloated sheep

the one nev warned us about to go deep

 

onward we walked into more open space

where grazing occurs at a slow country pace

a hereford watched our brisk passage past

as it chewed on cud made of wet winter grass

 

at the end of the road there’s a pleasant surprise

a tableland drop off topped by glowering skies

the gap between hills is not very wide

but big enough to see down the hillside

 

it’s a break in the mountain to a view of great grace

we can see to the plains and expansive green space

to the base of the tableland looking down is a thrill

from our throne like position at the top of the hills

Robin on the fence – Mary’s haiku

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Robin on the fence

Robin on the fence

Flaming, flitting, just ahead

Leads a cheeky dance

Where Have I been?

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Diary of a Retiree: Day 247

181 days since my last diary specific entry.

Where have I been?

I have had this question a few times. Maybe it is time to answer it. I have been in a headspace called preoccupied. A week or two ago, I had a realisation. I realised that I may have finally arrived somewhere else. Where? Well, I think I arrived at some sort of understanding or reconciliation with the fact that I no longer need to be preoccupied with the concept of working under the instruction of others. It has taken eight months.

Admittedly, particularly in the last five years or so, I enjoyed a significant degree of autonomy in my work – a very fortunate and often rewarding circumstance. On the other hand, I found plenty of reasons to be dissatisfied, especially when I felt outcomes could have been better. Instead of settling systems into place, I have seen widespread and rapid change with poorly considered impacts on work groups become the norm. The recurring, patronising platitudes and executive level incompetence I have seen offered up in approaches to radical change management have been gob smacking. I have felt stymied by management incumbents and structures that do little other than promote power plays, churn and corporate memory loss. I have seen stabilising, value adding loyalty between employees and employers evaporate.

I have worked with some brilliant people. I miss and take my hat off to so many of my ICU and HITH nursing colleagues for their enormous depth of experience, their vast reservoir of knowledge, their diverse skill sets, their advanced professionalism, their teamwork and individual initiative, their collegiality and their highly-developed sense of empathy and compassion. How blessed to work with such people! I have been Supervisor, ANUM and Educator working with some outstanding Nurse Unit Mangers and fellow Educators. Very sadly, after 36 years of working in healthcare I can’t make the same observations about the medical profession. I have worked with some good medicos, but as a generalisation, I would have to say self-serving and arrogant are still the words that come to mind. The medical culture is toxic to efficient and cooperative healthcare institutions.

So, where have I been? Coming to terms with the haunting of my working past. Lifting the weight of working to protect colleagues and patients from harm at the hands of my employers.

The frustration is fading. I am beginning to look ahead, toward the possibilities of the future. The new question is, where am I going? It feels like an optimistic one.

 

Ni’ ni’ sweetie pie

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Ni’ ni’ sweetie pie

I’m going to leepy la

To the land where the dream tree grows …..

Once I’m settled and curled

And my heart has unfurled

I’ll be ready to witness the show

I’ll beam all beatific at the wonders terrific

Of the whorls and the heat and the snow

I’ll meander with candour

Past sweet treats and wander

To the rooms where they play with a bow

Sweet music will render

My soul to surrender

To the passions of love’s inner glow

And I’ll put all at stake

On the heroes I’ll make

As I stand up preparing to go

Back to the darkness

To the bedroom soft harkness

Of the breathing of sleep low low low

Summer meditation

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At first it is the light you become aware of

The golden hue of a summer evening sun

The surreal enhancement of every vista

An enriching highlight to the end of the day

Take a deep breath

Sigh it out through an open mouth

Cleanse

Then the sounds reach into you

A rippling cascade of water

A wind gently rustling leaves

A magpie carolling

Find your position of comfort

Melt your body into the earth

Unwind

Your skin responds to the air around you

Its featherlight touch, gossamer weight

Soothing, reassuring, fresh and clean

Smooth your brow

Part your lips

Drop your shoulders

Let your hands and feet fall where they will

Relax

Close your eyes

Meditate

The world around you fades

You pacify it, clear your mind

Letting everything that was today go

Focus your mind’s eye between your eyebrows

Know your breathing

Breathe in

Breathe out

Breathe in

Breathe out

Float

Be

What you see

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Koala at Smith's BridgeIt isn’t the best shot of one of the local koalas, but it is the only one we saw on this evenings walk along Bridge to Bridge. There will be better shots to come. If you take your time, the wildlife exposure up here is something really special.

We stopped at the Seven Creeks site of the Goulburn Valley Water Treatment Plant akong the way. I will be meeting GV Water reps there in a couple of weeks to show them the state of the area. Hopefully, I can recruit them to the clean up cause in cooperation with our Strathbogie Tableland Landcare Group. I have a vision for extending the Landcare managed Bridge to Bridge bushwalk into a celebrated 12 – 15km experience that encircles the town. So far, various agencies have been supportive and collaboration with GV Water at this site would be grand!

 

 

Walking the Tableland

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Kibbles RdWe are on a journey here. I mean, we are on all kinds of journeys of course, but this one is quite specific. This is a physical journey, one for travelling together. We have tasked ourselves with walking the roads, tracks and trails of the Strathbogie Tableland. Sometimes 4km, sometimes 15, every time something new to experience. Even when we repeat a path there will be a seasonal difference, something that has changed in the landscape surrounding us or something that has changed about ourselves that we take to each place.

33 kinds of rain

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The misting rain as light as being

The pitter patter rain of anticipation

The sun shower rain of joyfulness

The dawn lit rain of new awakenings

The driving rain of persistent harassment

The piercing rain of pain and hurt

The bleak rain of uncertainty

The saturating rain of grief

The pounding rain of anger

The cold rain of fear and loathing

The persistent rain of melancholy

The drought breaking rain of celebration

The tropical rain of surprise and relief

The tin roof rain of night time snuggles

The slanting rain of getting under your skin

The fat wet rain of things to come

The dull rain of misery

The easing rain of hope for a day

The sheeting rain of washing your sins away

The aerosol rain that never settles

The eddying rain of indefinite endings

The ominous rain of growing darkness

The thunder laden rain of shock and fear

The storm driven rain of nature’s authority

The drenching rain of no escape

The floating rain of disproportionate outcomes

The harrowing rain of oppression and spite

The lightning flash rain of vision burned

The unexpected rain of scrambling for shelter

The flooding rain of tears

The icy rain of an unknown future

The sleety rain of chilled to the bone

The sunlit rain of clarity of purpose

The dancing rain of swirling possibilities

The evening rain of contemplation

The elemental rain of fundamental outcomes

The cloaking rain of secrecy

The wispy rain of dissipation

The hard rain of death

The transparent rain of release

The soft rain of peace