In this time of personal sorrow and distress, where the rawness of the hurt deters me from deep thinking, I shall once more leave the metaphors to you and stick with the tangible and the visual. Today – The Fences of this World.
THE FENCE AT BOMBO BEACH. I think it is meant to stop people falling over the edge of the cliff.
Some fences stop people falling over the edge of the cliff . Not the one in the poem below. It is one of Australia’s shames and disgraces.
The wire is 1, 2, 3, 4, 5
1 is the wire for closure
2 is the coiled barbed wire
3 is the protection for 1 and 2
4 is the razor wire on the top of 3
5 is the high fenceThe higher fence
Which stops birds coming inside
Stops thoughts and imagination
Which stops the world outside
The higher fence which becomes
The border between me and AustraliaAngel Boujbiha 2002
One day. maybe, Angel will see the other fences of Australia. The post n rail, and the solar powered electric fence we have here for critters. Maybe Angel will see the places of radical beauty which have fences only to keep us from falling over. I have a fence here. Old wooden posts with green mossy stuff growing on them and wire, 5 strands of wire strung between them. Its to keep the horses and the cattle from coming a’visiting too closely as they are prone to do, given a slight chance.
Up in Ulmarra on the Clarence River, there are fine post ‘n rail fences and there is also a LEVEE. I am rather impressed by levees. The Ulmarra Levee stopped the Mighty Clarence from truly trashing us in 2009 when the floods came. Lets see what else I can find about FENCES.
I love the ancient boundary-fence,
That mouldering chock-and-log.
When I go ride the boundary
I let the old horse jog
And take his pleasure in and out
Where the sandalwood grows dense,
And tender pines clasp hands across
The log that tops the fence.
AUSTRALIAN FENCES.
THE WHITE PICKET FENCE AT BILAMBIL |
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AN ARMIDALE FENCE. |
ON THE ROAD FROM BILAMBIL TO TUMBULGUM ON THE TWEED RIVER. |
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ARMIDALE GRAVE FENCE |
AN ARMIDALE HOUSE FENCE |
You might have to be Aussie or Irish or a combination to take a fancy to this one. I’m not sure why it charms me but it does. Written by John O’Brien.
A POEM OF THE WEST FENCES OF THE EAST THE ROAD TO DANAHEY’S
The rambling road to Danahey’s it goes by hill and plain,
It wanders in among the trees and wanders out again.
It does a lap around the map just as it feels inclined,
And through the West they all confessed that road was
hard to find.
So when the man himself I met enthroned upon his dray,
I sought the salient facts to get about that winding way.
“Now briefly show me where to go, ” said I to Danahey,
He waved a hand around the land and thus directed me..
“You go down past the Catholic church and round be
Mrs Flynn’s,
Then keep on straight for twenty perch to where the road
begins”.
And lest I might not grasp aright the landmarks thus
discussed
He did a reel across the wheel and drew it in the dust.
“This here,” said he, “‘s the Catholic church, that there is
Mrs Flynn’s,
Down here along, say forty perch, is where the road begins.
Ye folly that, ’twill land you at Mrs Brady’s little store,
You’ll know it be a pepper-tree she have outside the door.
“Now carry her upon your right and go on straight along,
Keep goin’ till at last you sight a milepost pointin’ wrong;
The peg has been uprooted clean, it’s leanin’ be a tree
Two miles from there, but this is where the beggarin’
thing should be.
“Then make for old MacPherson’s pub; there’s no pub
there, you know,
But Mac he had one in the scrub some twenty year ago.
Now run a line to where the pine is growin’ pretty dense,
Go straight along, you can’t go wrong, until you hit a fence.
“Now run that fence down twenty chain to where the wires
is cut,
‘Twill let you out in Kelly’s lane not four mile from me hut.
At any rate you’ll strike the gate; the house is pretty poor –
You’ll know it be a pepper-tree that grows outside the door.
And then my noble Danahey rose slowly to his feet,
He lit his pipe triumphantly – the lesson was complete:
A maze of lines and cryptic signs and leads and runner-ups,
Like visions high imagined by a spider in his cups.
He gripped me warmly by the hand and friendship lit
his eye.
Said he, ‘I hope you’ll understand, before I say good-bye,
That when you stray along that way, you’re always welcome
quite
If bushed ye be, five miles from me, to stop there for the
night.
“John O’Brien”
