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Witches, Women & Words by Beatriz Copello

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I am proud to have a part in the affirmation of this wonderful newly realeased book by  Dr. Beatriz  Copello and published by Ginninderra Press. It was successfully launched last Friday evening and let’s hope the word spreads this is a collection of poetry not to be missed. 

“Beatriz Copello’s words take us on a profound journey through the perilous life we all find ourselves leading, where hope is hidden and ancestral anguish drives us to seek meaning and hope”

Anne Summers, journalist

These extraordinary poems in Witches Women and Words have our hearts beating with rage. This powerfully evocative collection speaks frankly of the twists and turns, pains, despair and hopes of the woman, the human, the poet, the abused earth, her trees and seas and biodiversity. 

In a world where “soldiers march blindfolded and mute” and of “wounds that never heal” It takes us on a journey: a witch’s broom, protection of a coven, and a cauldron of life’s struggles, to become free to allow the poem of woman to be created: “the poem born the poet a god”

She will have a voice, choose her destiny. You will be spellbound as you navigate these sensuous and imaginative poems where, “the persistent Southerly is a foreigner on this piece of soil” and “senses are like a tree in winter.”

This is not meant to be a peaceful read. This powerful collection of poetry by Beatriz Copello disturbs like her muse Neruda, with “words of fire, steel and hope. ” even as she writes “hope is hidden like a miser hides his riches.”

Colleen Keating, poet

Can we conjure a better world with the magic of words?  Can women, in particular, escape the cruel prison of history?  Beatriz Copello believes so.  Though she is “scared she learns to walk again” and “lets her blood run wild” in her new book, Witches Women and Words.  Even as the horrors of history reassert themselves, even when she is blindsided by the familiarity of death and haunted by lingering wounds in an atmosphere heavy with unspoken guilt, she “chooses life”.  With wit, passion and grace, and above all infinite empathy for the pains we all share, she chooses it for all of us.

Richard James Allen, poet.

An exciting launch for Decima Wraxall by Colleen Keating.

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An exciting launch, not of one book, not of two books, but a launch of three books by Decima Wraxall. And I was honoured to be oart of this afternoon.

Poetry books: Flame, and Glimmers of Light and  a memoir Stolen Fruit.

Thank you to Ginninderra Press for the beautiful books .

This can be called a back log due to a pandemic or it can be called passion, dedication and determination to writing. We called it the latter . Congratulations on a wonderful, warm and writer-enthused afternoon. As I said at the launch.

“This for sure is a monentous occasion. Finally, we are here to celebrate. We are gathered and rightly so Decima , for you have not allowed anything like pandemic or lockdowns  to stop your writing. You have transcendented inertia to be here today with three books to launch. We have looked forwardd for so long to this bubbly celebration.

Chorus of the Hebrew Slaves . . . . and iconography by Colleen Keating

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Listening to  Verdi’s Chorus of the Hebrew Slaves
my heart weeps
tears fall
my body stills
paused for the people
those without a warm bed and a home tonight.
Yes victims of war
and today victims of disasters
especially todays flood victims here

And so the war in Ukraine continues.

To see the people leaving their homes

leaving their husbands, fathers, sons behind,

leaving their homeland in the thousands,

now up to 4 million women and children

displaced is  horrible

a  tragedy.

Who could imagine this would happen again

in the 21st century.

My heart and love go out to the people of Ukraine

 and to the many people of Russia

who have the courage

to stand up and oppose this brutal invasion.

Former U.S president Barack Obama’s 2011 speech before the British Parliament said:

‘the longing for freedom or human dignity is not English, American, or Western,
but universal, and beats in every heart’.

I say it again:

We are all Ukrainians.  

Our destinies are intertwined

with the destines of all others on the planet 

as monk and social activist Thomas Merton once observed:

“we do not exist for ourselves alone’.”

 

“Creation of the World” by Ukrainian iconographer Lyuba Yatskiv.

(Thank you to my Hildegardian friend Amanda Dillon for sourcing these sensitive icons by Ukraine iconologists.)

It is incredible to me that within 3 months of COP26 in Glasgow, a war was launched at the other end of Europe with the explicit threat of the use of nuclear weapons or the explosion of a nuclear energy facility. Beyond its implications for human beings, the environment impact would be catastrophic.
How do these 2 possibilities exist side-by-side in our culture? Why is there always staggering amounts of money readily available for the purchase of death technology, but it’s so difficult to find the will – let alone the money – to solve our environmental problems?
Where is all the toxic waste material, the rubble of the bombed out, burnt-to-a-cinder cities, like Mariupol, going to go? The environmental impact is part of the long term human impact, but it is never discussed. Maybe we need an international court for war crimes against nature? Lord have mercy. 🙏🏼💙🇺🇦💛🙏🏼

 

 

“Archangel Michael. The defeat of satan” by Ukrainian iconographer, Kateryna Kuziv.

Praying for the defeat of the evil of war.

A friend has researched and shared Ukrainians icons

that are very touching and I would like to share them here 

Thank you Amanda for giving me permission to share

 

When war kills the dreams of the future – by Colleen Keating

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Sending spirit of peace,  of bright starlight over fields of barley 

These are horrible, tragic times and my heart and love go out to the people of Ukraine,
and to the many people of Russia who have the courage to stand up and oppose this brutal invasion.

The  tragic  and unnecessary invasion, which has already displaced more than 2 million people that have fled across Ukraine’s borders with neighbouring countries, is not only killing and wounding the lives of so many -but also attempting to kill the dreams of a future that so many hold dearly. 

Former U.S president Barack Obama’s 2011 speech before the British Parliament said:

‘the longing for freedom or human dignity is not English, American, or Western,
but universal, and beats in every heart’.

 

We are all Ukrainians.  Our destinies are intertwined with the destines of all others on the planet 

as monk and social activist Thomas Merton once observed:

“we do not exist for ourselves alone’.”

A friend has researched and shared Ukrainians icons that are very touching and I would like to share them here 

‘Nativity’ by Ukrainian  iconographer Ulyana Tomkevych

Sending love and hope to all the pregnant women and mothers caught up in the atrocities of war

* * * * * * * * * *

‘Crossing the Red Sea’ by Ukrainian iconographer Ivank Demchuk.

Sending safe passage to all those trying to find safe passage through
and out of Ukraine  May you be sheltered in this exodus. 

* * * * * * * * * *

The Visitation  by Ulayana Tomkevych 

Sending love to all women in Ukraine who are looking after older parents
and young children and having to make decisions of staying or leaving their beloved war-torn homeland.

* * * * * * * * * *

 

“The Protection of the Mother of God”

by Ukrainian iconographer Ulyana Tomkevych . How can we imagine what it would be like to live in a n ancient and beloved and beautiful city and be told it is going to be bombed and destroyed for no reason. How does one cope with this?

 

* * * * * * * * * *

 

 

 

Vale haiku by Colleen Keating

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Vale Grandma and GGPat

a few new haiku
of loss and sadness while
nature continues to sing

a dim empty room
fragrance of the mock orange
leans in to the space

summer’s golden light
shines from red tips of trees
thawing our winter hearts

spanning a great age
the fallen rock is softened
lush with moss and lichen

shell of a cicada
it chose the blue flower
for its last song

thank you
i believe in angels
nurses and carers

 

Thank you Grandma for your love and care
all over our growing years.
We knew you always had our back
We will miss that

Now we can only hope
somehow your prayer wheel
will carry on to pray
and you are still there for us
but just in another way

Windfall issue 10 2022 Review by Simon Hanson

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Windfall: Australian Haiku, Issue 10, 2022 – Review

Simon Hanson

The 10th and final issue of the much-loved journal, Windfall: Australian Haiku, was released in January 2022.

Windfall is an annual journal edited by Beverley George and published by Peter Macrow at Blue Giraffe Press. The cover artwork is by Ron C. Moss, with design and layout by Matthew C. George.

Originating in Japan, the popularity of this short poetic genre has spread widely around the globe. Australian interest in haiku dates as far back as 1899 when an Australian haiku competition was conducted(1). Subsequently, in the 1970s, Janice Bostok produced Australia’s first haiku magazine, Tweed(2).

More recently, the Australian journal, paper wasp, ran for 20 years until ceasing publication in 2016 and, with the internet leading to growing interest in the genre, other print and online journals have encouraged and supported the writing of haiku.

For the past ten years, Windfall has focused solely on haiku about Australian urban and rural life, written by Australian residents. These poems have incorporated many elements of our landscapes, seasons, flora and fauna into the haiku form.

spring equinox
over the moonlit creek
a pobblebonk chorus

Mark Miller

leading
into sundown
dingo tracks

Tom Staudt

virgin rainforest
ninety-four rings
on a fresh cut stump

Andrew Hede

Nature haiku such as these enable Australians and others to appreciate images and sounds associated with the birds, animals and plants of this country.

waning moon
in the mangroves
fireflies stir

Maureen Sexton

rising heat
a jabiru crosses
the sun

Cynthia Rowe

winter afternoon —
golden wattle glows
on black sky canvas

Sheryl Hemphill

Windfall has chronicled some of the best Australian haiku for a decade. Issue 10 presents haiku by 63 poets. By my count, 20 of these poets also appeared in Issue 1, which suggests around 40 of the current Windfall poets have emerged in the intervening period. The growing Australian haiku community certainly includes a healthy influx of fresh voices and fresh ideas.

Some poems in Windfall relate to the interaction between nature and the human environment.

opera house steps
a long-nosed fur seal
soaks up the sunshine

Vanessa Proctor

rainforest glade
an empty packet of Smith’s
catches the sun

Nathan Sidney

While others use local flora and fauna to portray aspects of Australian behaviour and culture.

black cockatoos
in tree shadows
he stops treatment

Earl Livings

beachside walk
the roughness of
banksia pods

Nathalie Buckland

dunny
without a door . . .
the Milky Way

Leanne Mumford


Credit for Windfall’s success must go to editor, Beverley George, and to publisher, Peter Macrow. Beverley’s deep knowledge of the haiku form has enabled her to assemble a marvellous selection of Australian haiku for each edition of Windfall, while Peter has supported the journal throughout its life.

Beverley George selected the following haiku to conclude the 10th issue of Windfall. It was a wonderful choice, with the poem capturing a quintessentially Australian scene. But, more than that, the poem does not despair about ending. Rather, the poem celebrates the vitality of birth and renewal.

sheltered paddock
the udder punch
of a newborn

Glenys Ferguson

For ten years, Windfall has made an important contribution in recording the work of Australian haiku poets. Now, we all look to the future.

Review by Gregory Piko

A limited number of back issues of Windfall (No. 4 to No. 9) and of the final issue (No. 10) are available for $10 per copy, postage included. Cash or stamps are welcome, as are cheques payable to Peter Macrow. Please address to:

Peter Macrow
6/16 Osborne Street
Sandy Bay TAS 7005

1) Scott, Rob, “The History of Australian Haiku and the Emergence of a Local Accent,” The Haiku Foundation Digital Library, accessed January 22, 2022

2) Dean, Sharon Elyse , “White Heron: The Authorised Biography of Australia’s Pioneering Haiku Writer Janice M Bostok,” The Haiku Foundation Digital Library, accessed January 22, 2022

Up Crackneck Mountain by Colleen Keating

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 Up Crackneck Mountain

sometimes it takes sadness loss an empty room
to painfully be aware of presence

sometimes it takes stillness of breath
to remind us to breathe deeply
consciously with gratitude

sometimes it takes silence
to remind us to sing

 

and find
presence
breath
song

we did today

our first bush walk since our world changed
and we take time to adjust
to a new life without Pat in our world

an amazing eucalypt stopped us in our tracks
a grand old lady holding forth
fully present
from each angle she commandeered our attention

the light played beautifully along her trunk
adding to her starling presence

colours and tones of nature
naturalness
messiness
especially the scruffy banksia men
trunks, bark, brambles decay
ant-eating bores seed pods
humus of leaf litter
were catching my eye
with a chaotic beauty that satisfied me
still feeling close to the out of control
and sense of rawness that is reality
when we experience the threshold of transition
for it takes time to find
ways to close off and re-protect ourselves

yet the music of birds
the baby wren that flew out
on a branch to greet us
the kookaburras,
the goanna that stayed for a photo
the blue and stunning black butterfly that didn’t stay
a few straggler flannel flowers
reminding us of our lockdown spring walks
where we marvelled at their abundance
and their star-light quality

At the top of Crackneck Mountain
we stopped to have a cuppa and muesli bar
marvelled at the grandeur of the ocean spread out
in all its glory
never ceasing to amaze and delight

we walked down the mountain
taking the outer less worn track
where we were reminded of new life
as fresh lime-green candles of banksia
brightly shone


and young callow sprigs of Xanthorrhoea *
their flounce like ballerinas in their grass shirts
the first breath of wind will have them dancing.

 

 

 

 

*’Xanthorrhoea’  is the name for what we mostly call the grass tree. It means ‘yellow flow’ in ancient Greek and refers to its resin. This resin was much prized by Aboriginal people, being used as a glue or as a coating/waterproofing material. The early settlers also found it extremely useful, as a glue, a varnish, polish and a coating of tin materials. It was used in the sizing of paper, in soap and perfumery and even in the manufacture of early gramophone records.

Society of Women Writers NSW and Poetry by Colleen Keating

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The Society of Women Writers enjoyed a festive dayl face to face
(for the first time for months as the meetings have been held by zoom)
A fun workshop on humour in our writing.
Two great speakers  including poet and close friend Pip Griffin giving the authors talk as she told us of the three latest publications which I have spoken of before in more detail.

 

and then 5 poets
including me enterained the group.

Below is  the well known poet and Haikuist, Beverley George and I dressed ready ready for our performance
which was a poem about a catch up of two friends reminiscing about by gone days. It was written by Beverley a few years back and won a FAW award.  We generated  plenty of laughter what we needed today.

Below is a collage of our Christmas celebration. from the Society’s website.

 

 Two of my poems read  as part of the performance. 

taking wings

if ever there were a summer day so perfect

so romantic under its mild autumn sun

constantly making love to the trees and flowers 

that it made you wish to tear at your shackles

rip off your yoke

feel exposed to its sharp pinion

and to give yourself over to brash colour

without an iota of worry

a day that made you pack a sandwich

and with a bottle of water to set out 

to walk quiet ways catching the song 

of tiny birds brimming in wild blackberry brambles 

and for a moment feel your heart sing

with even a quaver of gratitude

well today is just that kind of day 

from Fire on Water  by Colleen Keating pg.107

 

Scriptorium

Maybe it is the light

that illuminates jars

of coloured minerals, powders. 

Maybe the smell of curing skin, 

or sharp tang of vinegar.

It could be the plaited basket 

of moss and flower, blue woad dye 

or sharp smell of ink 

pestled down from bald-oak.

Maybe the sight of scrolls 

rolled into alcoves 

or shelved parchments,

or the elaborate books of saints

behind the monk Volmar,

enshrined on the cumdach.

Perhaps it’s the copy of Ptolemy’s Astronomy,

or the manuscripts

Volmar points out,

from all over the Christian and Arab world. 

Maybe just crossing the threshold

when Hildegard steps through the door,

inhales the air

and feels immediately at home

in a world that sharpens curiosity.

Hildegard knows,

she has found her calling.

She wants to be a maker of books. 

from Hildegard of Bingen: A poetic journey

Just for fun this is a photo of Beverley and me . It was taken at our performance of the same poem at the retreat a few years back.

 

Cultivating Curiousity by Colleen Keating.

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“Glance at the sun. See the moon and the stars. Gaze at the beauty of earth’s greenings. Now, think. What delight God gives to humankind with all these things . All nature is at the disposal of humankind.  We are to work with it.For without we cannot survive.” – Hildegard of Bingen

I love this quotation by Eleanor Roosevelt: 

“I think, at a child’s birth, if a mother could ask a fairy godmother to endow it with the most useful gift, that gift would be curiosity.” 

Curiosity is the precursor to scientific breakthroughs, to all great literature and art. Albert Einstein said, 

“I have no special talent, I am only passionately curious.” 

He also said, “Curiosity has its own reason for existing. One cannot help but be in awe when he contemplates the mysteries of eternity, of life, of the marvelous structure of reality. It is enough if one tries merely to comprehend a little of this mystery every day. Never lose a holy curiosity.”

That’s exactly what Hildegard possessed–a holy curiosity. She must have jumped out of bed every morning, eager to discover something new. She walked the earth with the fervent belief that God placed everything here for our discovery and enjoyment. In her science book Causae et Curae, Hildegard writes about topics as varied as medicine, human sexuality, astronomy, and theology. Her science wasn’t always spot on. “There are also the five planets….And as a human’s five senses hold the body together, so too these five planets hold the sun together and are its ornament” (Causae et Curae page 29, as translated by Margaret Berger). 

But the breadth and depth of her investigations into the world around her were truly staggering for a 12th century nun.

I’m sure if she were here today, Hildegard would tell you that curiosity, just like her 35 virtues, could be cultivated and enhanced with a little effort on our part. 

Sarah’s suggestions in her daily Living Hildegard blog are

Explore an old path and look at it with fresh eyes. Read a magazine you wouldn’t normally pick up. Learn something new. Make a new friend. Travel to a different place. Take a class. Pick up a new language or a musical instrument–proven ways to keep your brain sharp into old age. 

Hildegard may be the first and best example of a commitment to lifelong learning coupled with the courage to branch out into the unknown. 

It’s good for your heart, health and brain to step outside your comfort zone and explore something new.

 

Thank you to  the brilliant blogs Healthy Hildegard  and   the daily blog Living Hildegard with Sarah Rhiem

Explore an old path and look at it with fresh eyes.

Curiosity on our local walk today

The play of light on the Red Gum with the peeling of bark stoped me in my tracks.

Michael  enjoying the calm greeness of the stand of Red woods

The ferns in the forest today were very active. I love the way this koru has unfolded and now all the secondary korus are unfolding.  I have caught it in a moment of time.

Curiosity:  Here we were amazed at the uncurling stage of the new fronds. I don’t think this photo does it justice but up close for Michael and I we were full of wonder at the unfurling of creation.

 

Wet and dry reflections.Beneath my feet. The ferns reflected.  It takes a moment for your eyes to see the play of light and silhouette.

 

What an amazing fungus. And the blood red colours of the trunk and play of light caught our attention for ages.
So lovely to be in our Cathedral of light and peace with the music of the tinkling creek backgrounded by bird song.

Reflections along the creek. We enjoyed the tinkling and bubbling sound of running water too.

Our monarch butterfly  danced for us a graceful beauitful performance.

Back home we were  still full of wonder and gratitude for a refreshing and healing walk. Our curiosity sated for today.

Walking two worlds by Colleen Keating

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“Walk as if we are kissing the earth with our feet” exhorts Thich Nhat Hanh 

A summer storm blew up just when I was about to take a walk and I waited an hour. Little did I know in some parts of Sydney trees were downed and much damage had been done . 

However It added to an interesting walk as the bush had experienced a wild storm. There was still a wail of wind in the upper echelons of trees.  The forest world had been disturbed  

Leaves were blown wild and ripped twigs and brambles scattered the ground. Bark from the many eucalypts stripped fallen like a garment discarded forcefully. 

The light played through thunderers grey cloud with a sudden dazzle of breakthrough, lighting up small pockets of bush and then crowding over. It was an eerie feeling. 

Yet the movement of walking slowly, brought back the rhythm of my mind in step with nature.  Washed clean by the storm there was a new green and the sparks of rare sunlight threw another dimension onto the scene.

The forest floor was alive –  the small world under my feet, writhing beyond sight, but the aroma was strong with roots, mycelia, decomposers, bacteria, protozoa, worms, grubs, beetles beyond counting, beyond knowing . . .   the living and the dead brushing together to create their own symphony of sound and activity.  

The small steps in evolution going on right before my eyes,
its own miracle.  And the constant reminder we are not needed here. 

Coloured algae rooting into the sandstone, fungi at work,  soft moss and lichen covering the rocks in this rainy weather . maybe they will receed into grooves, nooks and crannies in the dry.  Small ferns, bracken ferns breaking up the rock for soil for the tree ferns,  palms, trees, and towering eucalypt  – the evolving world of plants.  All here for the ,  curious to observe the whole evolutionary plan before us.

   

it seems to me modern life is happening faster than the speed of thought, thoughtfulness. there is no time to ponder an event before the next one comes tumbling in and like an ocean wave  drops it new story. So it is good to walk in kairos time rather than the every day khronological time.. . .well just for awhile. 

As i came across a quiet corner the light briefly broke thru the clouds . i felt dizzy.

I found myself in two worlds. I was present here in the echoes of coolness but sensed a whole world around me 

 I had a foot in two worlds . . . there was chatter, laughing, mourning birthing.  I realised this was an ancient popular indigenous place. I am prone to being in two worlds . Once arriving at Schofields to celebrate a new school opening, as I got out of the car and put my foot down onto the ground I was part of a massacre the thudding of the ground, the cries, the moans .The memory  has never gone away. It made me quite sick as no massacre had been acknowledged there, at the time. I believe acknowledgement is better now. 

Happier crossovers have been at Terramungamine Common where we camped many times outside Dubbo on the  Macquarie river bank. Sitting there around a fire once I was aware of stamping, dusty feet and knew on another level we were not the first here and not alone. These were ponderous activities to be mingled with. And another in the bush at Marg’s old place . I found I was in a bora ring . It was happy too and was a good reminder of our ancestors before us. And of course at Myall Creek I smelt the burnt flesh once but at least I knew this was a documented event.  

Not sure how I rambled onto this experience . The  sense of two worlds was gone as quickly as it came and the heavy clouds dulled the forest world into an ominous and enchanting place to be. 

A tiny bunny rabbit peeked up at me and then ran as fast was his little legs would go  and I called after it .  . . You stay well hidden or we will have signs up saying baits are set here . like in other places. 

I disturbed a brush turkey courtship ,. . .the female waiting below and the male preparing the nest for the next stage. I sneaked past and apologised for the disturbance. 

 I knew I was well off the normal track as I was wandering to see if there was an easier way to get Michael to the hugging tree . (didn’t find it)

The forest holds such wonder and by going slowly to savour it I find much to be grateful for. 

The intricate patterns of trees, the colours on rocks the pools and the circles I made by dropping in a pebble.

 

Having this time to stop and absorb my surroundings is a luxury I am grateful for. 

It is my air pocket, my lifeline  needed in the busy city of life with the crowed world of demands.