Now – this bench is at my place. It has come long ways within my family from Sydney and for the moment to rest here at my place. It is heavy. Made of oregon. Stable and solid. I have put it in front of the lounge on my front porch. I can use it as a footrest, as a table or as a sitting bench. It came courtesy of the IMM. I expect to do some sitting on that lounge with my feet up. I have already had a good long yaan on the phone with my brother in Sydney while using the Bench Rouge. Reckon its going to get a lot of use, so I do. A true yaaning bench.
Thought moves over the surface
of a windless reach
like the birth of a breath
What: You start writing with no real idea of where you’ll wind up.
This one looks promising. The technique sounds like me and the Topic is well suited to starting out with no idea of where I will end up. It’s a hot summery day here in Northern New South Wales and I’m taking a drive up the back road, North Bank, to Bello to pick up a mattress from Kati B’s and a desk and maybe go to Growers’ Markets and the Freemarket. I shall have my eyes out for swamps on the way through the rainforest and hills and farmlands and my my mind roaming through remembered swampy places.
We have a few good swamps hereabouts esp in a wet year like we have been having. “Windless reaches”. Down in Urunga is what they call the lagoon but its rather swampy. Once when I was teaching little children at Urunga Public School, one of them wrote that I had eyes the colour of Urunga Lagoon. I would feel better about that if the Sewage Treatment works didn’t feed into it. Nonetheless, I enjoyed that description.
“The birth of a breath” is there in a swamp. And brolgas that stand near as high as me.
I found these snippets of poetry by Andrew Taylor, an Australian poet I’ve not heard of before and as an Estuarine Woman they breathe life into my World.
Rivers are full of old men
the stumps of their jetties stick obstinate
and disfiguring from the shore
their sunk boats snag lines
slopes of lantana and looping couch
proclaim their delight in felling trees
That day escaped me. Barely a swamp in sight. House moving for the Kati B and IMM instead. I certainly had no idea of where I would end up and did the day using the M,AX BARRY TECHNIQUE NO 14. Didn’t write in that manner despite its being my accustomed way. Just headed through the day with the two swamp poems echoing behind my conscious thoughts. Met some of the lads I knew when they were kids. Now all in their 30s. Fathers themselves. Tradesmen. Partners. I lived way back in 1995 in a cottage on South Arm and the kids used to row across the river to Brierfield. One of those boys was there. Moving furniture. That was swampy up there on South Arm.
I liked to get up pre dawn and take the dog out in the canoe. At first I went fishing out there early in the day but one day as I floated along the surface, I swear a big silver bream looked at me and I have not been able to fish since. Been a bummer that, because I have been a fisherwoman since I was very little. probably have a picture here someplace from the 1060s. This picture doesn’t have a fish in it but I have one from about this time which does. I shall find it one day soon.
It hasn’t stopped me loving the rivers and swamps.
I live where I do actually see a cow every day. More than one most days and last week when we went to stay at a resort in Port Mac, right in the middle of town, we woke to 2 cows grazing just out the window on the left overs of a farm.
HOT. SUNNY. SUMMERY.