The Blue Nib reviews Hildegard of Bingen by Colleen Keating

Seeing the world through childrens’ eyes

 

 

 

Seeing the world through children’s eyes. 

When the tide recedes beyond the horizon
and the underbelly of the sea is exposed
for little adventurers, Edison and Darcy
the rock platform is a necklace of pools
shimmering like emeralds and full of treasure.

Worry of slipping and falling is not their concern
they hop from rock to rock                                                    
clamber about down on their tummies
their shining eyes
reflected in the mirrored sea.

Everything is magical and extraordinary
Come here, quick Grandma 
the crabs are humongous. 
a scuttle of creatures disappear in our shadow
making us wait quietly
pretending we’re not here
as the rocks curl with camouflaged
crustaceans creeping out
and pincers like boxing gloves
point up at us.                                                    

In their eyes there is wonder
as red anemones sway the waves
as the molluscs trail into patterns
as starfish wash up like gift
as a sting ray glides past their toes
as these curious boys
learn to be respectful of the living world

Seeing the world through children’s eyes
makes me happy to be alive
as we steal out to the edge of the sea
and look for whales
as we dig in the sand on the edge of the beach
as we allow gentle laps of waves
to fill our canals and tunnels
and moats to protect our castles
until Darcy sees more fun in jumping
on them as quick as we can  mould the sand
seeing the world through children’s eyes

Colleen

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Elephants by Tyler Jack Little

Elephants

for Ellie

 

Elephants     by Tyler

 

Elephants are humongous.

They are light, silvery-grey.

They use their trunks

to eat and drink .

In water they like to play.

Their tusks are very strong

And they use them to crunch boulders

 

My elephant is very gentle

when he snuggles on my shoulders

My elephant is soft and small

 I always sleep with him at night

He keeps me warm  and protected

And always makes me feel right

Tyler Jack Little  (8 year old)

Eureka Street Publication

It is very exciting to have my poem Code Red published in Eureka Street. Our words are our sabre . We need to listen to our earth.

Fire poems

Selected poems

Apocalypse

It’s as though it’s suddenly turned winter,

the way the earth is covered over and the grey stretch of ash

is drawn up to its chin like a blanket.

And though it’s day, the bird-less quiet is a kind of night,

and everything we ever thought we knew has been turned upside down,

the first now last, and the last first.

— Bill Rush

 

landscape

This blackness

of landscape

as if a fire had

passed through

with no echo of water

in the dumb silence

there is though the fear

a sun, a ball of glow

just above a horizon

waiting for a breath

waiting for a change of wind

waiting for a cool voice

just to say something

— Rory Harris

 

Code red

when the sun like a cyclops rages fiery red

divots the sky in a coven of camouflage

It has no voice to plead ‘enough’

it warns us to listen …

 

in the myth Odysseus gathers forces

to ram the glaring monster

but be warned

this sun is not the enemy

it is air thick with ash that chokes ‘help’

amidst ember attacks and dust storms

 

when fish like shimmering naiads surface slimy green

float dead in display of disaster

they have no voice to gulp ‘stop’

they rely on us to think …

 

in the myth Naiads shine silver

in springs and streams and brooks

be warned

dead fish are not the enemy

it is our river’s way of weeping ‘save me’

over-used and desecrated

 

when the earth our mother is parched

her body dried and cracked

she has no voice to lament ‘code red ‘

it depends on us to act …

 

in the myth our mother-earth

cries for care for respect

but be warned

cracked earth is not the enemy

it is a strangled cry ‘no more to give’

exhausted and depleted

 

when the sea like clotted blood chokes with plastics

angry Thor thunders floods the land

it has no voice to say ‘greed does not pay’

it counts on us for action …

 

yet still in our great city people walk about

heads down in an eerie silence

eyes weep from the smoke

behind fake masks that filter reality

 

they walk unbeknown like frogs

and like frogs in the myththey are being slowly boiled alive.

— Colleen Keating

 

 

 

Topic tags: poetry, Bill Rush, Rory Harris, Colleen Keating

 

Hildegard of Bingen in the Christmas edition of Good Oil Journal

‘Search out the house of your heart. Hope lies within,’ writes Colleen Keating. 

It is 1178, the year before Hildegard of Bingen dies. The Bishop has silenced the music in their Abbey as punishment and some of the Sisters are feeling discouraged; however, Hildegard still crossed the Rhine to visit her second convent every week and encouraged her Sisters in their work and prayer.By Colleen Keating

Struggle in Exile

Advent
casts deep sorrow.
It is cold, dark, silent.
Hildegard hears mumblings.
She reassures her Sisters
with her presence at Rupertsberg,
her visits to Eibingen.The darkest nights of the year
anticipate the fledgling Christ Light.
In the Chapel candlelight
resolve flickers in her eyes.
Listen, listen, listen.

My Sisters this is our time to listen.
As we pray the words,
listen to their song in your hearts,
she continues,
The Bishop cannot forbid us to listen.                
Silencing the outer sound
does not silence us.
Search out the house of your heart.
Hope lies within.

She points to the fallowed gardens
blanketed by white-sleeted hay.
Contemplate its promise.
As silence in absence of bird-song
reminds us, music will return.

While the interdict diminishes them,
meal time together brings nourishment:
hot spelt bread, garden broths, teas
and from their harvest of stored foods,
bottled quince, the warmth of
herbs and hot berry wines.
They listen to the Nativity story.
Conversation swirls over the tables.

When the postulants, last season,
singing joyfully, picked purple sloes
and red hawthorn berries in the woods,
to brew and bottle,
little did they know the comfort,
their warm wines would be,
how perfect for this dark time.

Colleen Keating

Colleen Keating is a Sydney-based poet and writer. Through her work she “explores the paradox and wonder of nature, the harsh realities of life, of inequality, injustice and increasing threat to our natural environment”. In November 2017 Colleen published her second book of poetry, “Fire on Water” (Ginninderra Press), which recently won a silver Nautilus Book Award. Colleen’s website is colleenkeatingpoet.com

If you would like to republish this article, please contact the editor.

White Pebbles Haiku Group – Summer

 

 

Our seasonal walk for Summer was held on the 14th December.  It is our fourth seasonal walk for the year. We call these walks a ginko from the Japanese idea of a reflective seasonal walk and writing of haiku.

On Saturday the 14th of December the White Pebbles Haiku Group met at the Gosford/Edogawa Commemorative Gardens for a summer ginko and lunch.

Seven White Pebbles’ members attended. Beverley George convened the meeting and welcomed Maire Glacken, Colleen Keating, Verna Rieschild, Gwen Bitti, Samantha Sirimanne Hyde and Kent Robinson.

 

We met in the café at the Gosford Regional Gallery for refreshment, then proceeded into the garden for our ginko. As per usual, the garden was manicured immaculately. We wandered, quietly jotting images and composing haiku. Through gardenia scent, we became aware of the sound of a cascading waterfall, the melody of which was accompanied by cicada song. Ducks and koi carp that animated the garden’s pond, birthed inspiration for several haiku. The laughter of children pervaded the scene.

After our ginko, we retired to the small lunchroom, which had been reserved for us, thanks to the kindness of The Gosford Regional Gallery, for a post ginko meeting at our customary round table.

A week before, Beverley had supplied us with a work sheet. Each of us shared haiku inspired by this work sheet and found that it was a fine catalyst with which to start our meeting. We then moved on to focus on the results of our ginko. There was a wealth of imagery and inspiring haiku offered. As we sat together in our snug, we worked on images and haiku that needed a little polish. All in all, our rewarding time together was one of camaraderie and learning.

We returned to the café for lunch. A fine time was had by all and with the festive season upon us, we ate, drank and were merry! The consensus was that everyone had immensely enjoyed our summer ginko and all looked forward to meeting again in autumn.

Report by Kent Robinson

Bowerbird tanka Workshop at Pearl beach Arboretum

Report on Bowerbird Tanka Workshop No. 21 –

by

Colleen Keating

 

Congratulations. The Bowerbird Tanka group, which convenes at Pearl Beach, has come of age. This is the 21st Tanka workshop. Thank you to Beverley for her constancy and dedication. I am a fairly newcomer but am amazed at her focus in the midst of so many other activities. 

The tanka date on our calendar is very special. And thanks to the delegates some of whom traveled from as from Tamworth, Canberra, Newcastle and Bathurst to share in the love of tanka.

Of course the drive to Pearl Beach is a journey in itself. One can notice the burdens being left behind as you drive down into its calm repose, cradled between forest and sea. When I arrived, there was already a buzz of friends meeting at Crommelin Cottage in the sanctuary of the Pearl Beach Arboretum. The tankaists so gathered were Beverley George, Michael Thorley, Carole Harrison, Beatrice Yell, Catherine Smith, Julie Thorndyke, Kent Robinson, Anne Benjamin, Dy Andreasen and Colleen Keating. Unable to attend – Marilyn Humbert, Hazel Hall, Kathy Kituai, Gail Hennessy, Samantha Hyde, Carmel Summers, Margaret Grace and Yvonne Hales .

Despite the pall of smoke that covered most of NSW,  the Arboretum continued to have its own ambience with a brush turkey that scratched through the leaf litter for its insects and bugs, mostly nearby the cottage as if it was eavesdropping on us. 

The first session on the programme – Share a favourite tanka written by someone you have never met but which had an influence on how you came to tanka. The presenters were Julie Thorndyke on a most appropriate tanka for the fire haze and acrid air we have been breathing, written by Debbie Strange, Canada.

Carole Harrison appraised a tanka by Sandi Pray [USA]

Kent Robinson appraised a tanka by Claire Everett. [UK]

Taking the time to focus on a tanka and listen to  the insights of one who has pondered on it for some time is a valuable and enriching exercise.

These sharings are available on the Eucalypt website under Bowerbird.

In the second session everyone then had the opportunity to share ‘a tanka which lingers.’ 

For this, each of us stands and shares a tanka without comment. The silence between each, is like the silence between breaths.  A moment of time to let the tanka resonate and become part of you. For me the power is like the collected wisdom of a group doubled, as we read and reflect on what another has reflected on and written.

.  pastedGraphic.png

The next hour we were really spoilt with the presence of Tomoko Oka, a Japanese Calligraphy Artist.  Tomoko-san gave us a very gentle introduction to Calligraphy which was a practical exercise in brushing several kanji. It was an honour for all of us to be in her presence.  We all entered into the spirit of the exercise, which was centering and some of us found ourselves in a meditative state. This is one of the many arts that is done as only the Japanese know how.

pastedGraphic_1.png

To finish off our morning, a local artist and musician Philip Rich played his guitar and sang a song he wrote and composed himself.  It was inspired by an acknowledgement to country he once heard. The refrain was ‘If you’re a friend of mother earth you tread softly on this land’. During our lunch it was time to share with each other and be serenaded by Phillip singing for us some of the work of Nobel winning poet, Bob Dylan and our own Casey Chambers.

pastedGraphic_2.png

A highlight for all of us was the afternoon workshop given by Michael Thorley. 

The title of his workshop was  shasei – Where Tankaists Fear to Tread? Let’s Go There’.  

And go there we did, lead by Michael’s skilful presentation. For some of us, ‘shasei’ was a 

new term, a new concept and a very interesting style of writing Tanka.  It originated withwhose home some of us have had the honour of visiting in Matsuyama City on Shikoku Island, Japan.

It is a style of writing tanka where you emphasis ‘a sketch from life’ – writing of what one observes however mundane, so that the reader also experiences the scene and understands what has moved them. We had the sanctuary of the Arboretum to walk around and find our moment to try out writing our idea of shasei. We gathered again and shared our thoughts and words. 

The day ended with several reports from other tanka groups and our plan to regather in the Autumn of 2020.

Colleen Keating

The Glad Tomorrow Oodgeroo’s poetry put to music and sang by Katie Noonan

THE GLAD TOMORROW

For the first time ever, powerhouse will be joined by the acclaimed Australian String Quartet for a national tour of their new project ‘The Glad Tomorrow’.

 

To our fathers’ fathers
The pain, the sorrow:
To our children’s children
The glad tomorrow.

The new album sees Katie set the uniquely Australian poetry of Queenslander and First Nations icon Oodgeroo Noonuccal to music, commissioning ten stellar Australian contemporary composers to create a song cycle based on Oodgeroo’s poetry, bringing together 4 distinct worlds – Contemporary Australian and Queensland Composers, the searing poetry of Queenslander, Oodgeroo Noonuccal, the Australian String Quartet and Katie Noonan’s unique voice and innate musicality. For me the most spine-tingling part was hearing the language of Oodgeroo’s homeland spoken by her  great-granddaughter, Kaleenah Edwards who read each poem in the Stradbroke language of her homeland Minjerriba.

This unique combination of creative powerhouses will deliver a spectacular and spine-tingling live performance.

 

Jandamarra – Sing for the Country by Colleen Keating

Jandamarra  – Sing for the Country  by Colleen Keating

 

It amazes me how a word or a story that comes to your attention, and that was not consciously known by you previously, comes to meet you often after that. This happened a few years back with the word segue. Maybe, well it was in my reading but I had never recognised it. Maybe it was spoken but I had never heard anyone speak it, until, there was an instant where it came to my attention and then it was frequently heard and seen.

Jandamarra is another such word . . .Jandamarra was like an unknown planet,  never heard, never spoken, and then it came into my orbit and I realised it is one of the rich historical sounds of Australia.

This happened on our trip to north western Australia.

We took a tour from Broom in Western Australia along the iconic Gibb Road past the now notorious Derby Prison Boab Tree into the Bunuba.

We explored the oasis of Windjana Gorge with its 350 year old mountain range , once a Devonian reef with its sheer 90 metre cliffs and its salt-water crocodiles and bird life and bush tucker and into the intricate system of Tunnel Creek, a most mossy sanctuary of this cool tranquil gorge.  Here we heard the story of Jandamarra from our local guide. 

The poet in me touched into the story’s sensibility  and then I found many  already knew this story and there was there was a movie, a book , songs and many writings.

It took this  awakening to have the word in my orbit.

I believe Jandamarra’s story is one every year 3/4 Australian child should know. And that is coming so more and more.

When I was at the Conservatorium for anther event I saw the add for Jandamarra the musical. Booking was lucky with some friends for it seemed a full house.

The world Premier of Jandamarra  – Sing for the Country (Ngalanybarra Muwayi.u)

was a breath-taking evening.

“ The story of a young man trapped between black and white worlds. 

Jandamarra’s story is told with traditional song woven

 into the texture of symphonic and choral forces.”

It was a packed house with a standing ovation at the conclusion  for the Bunuba people, the women’s choir,  the young choirs,  Orchestra and  Bunuba actors .

 

https://colleenkeatingpoet.com/jandamarra-sing-…colleen-keaating/

Suite for Jandamarra 

Tunnel Creek

Windjana Gorge fresh pristine
permanent water percolated
from ancient rains that deluged the land

slippery marbleised boulders
bluff the uninitiated
sustain mystery
deter and challenge efforts to go further
into the secret of Tunnel Creek

without hand or foot grip
trust plumbs the abyss
tumbles into coolness

a sombre space
deeply carved from Devonian times
salted with yellow light
its rays tinkling like tiny bells
decor of stalactites and stalagmites
pendants of bats and glint of eyes
timid fresh water crocs

in this sandy echoing amphitheatre
with long bare arm i scoop up spring water
and hear of Jandamarra

his spirit is here<
this was his last place to stand

Flash back

Tunnel Creek
the Kimberley outback
land of the Bunuba people
the time is late nineteenth century
the last stage of white invasion
being played out
herds of cattle trample the grasses
water holes gone

spirit is broken
faded sepia shots capture for history
naked black men neck and ankle chained
on a track to Derby lock-up
there to be packed
in a thousand year old hollow Boab tree<

powerless 

yet one warrior
Jandamarra takes a last stand
turns against his white masters
fights heroically
to save his people
and his country

a mythical figure he appeared fought
disappeared unable to be tracked
for years he held out
the one burning flame

betrayal and a bullet
a fight that died to a flicker
it was in his Tunnel Creek cave<
Jini his mother held him as life petered out<span
a Pietà on the rock of Golgotha

Bunuba Country

a city poet can not glean
the essence of the Bunuba people
their story is easily lost
in white history and chronological time
the plunge into Tunnel Creek<
further connects to mystery
it is about feeling<
rather then hearing stories told

and still today
documented as criminals
who died because they defied<
legitimate laws and white society<
redacts another history

by Colleen Keating

Our visit to the beautifully renovated Sydney Town Hall for the performance .

Story behind the poem The Gully, published in Mountain Secrets

Story behind the poem The Gully,  published in Mountain Secrets

 

 

The Gully  

the creek chatters with small rocks
as it slithers along    decanted
from a swamp    succulent
as ten thousand soaking sponges
fringed with ferns   lichens   mosses
sedges   with silver dew

the rustle of a lyre bird
singing the land back to healing
mimics a birdsong-world
and conceals a secret
a mountain secret  

there was a time in The Gully
when the lyrebird was silent
and the wind mimicked a deep howl
and the earth grieved and raged
for its evicted people
its ravaged concreted land 

today the lyre bird’s song rolls back
a many layered history
the Gundungurra and Darug people
lead us out of a amnesic fog
with a remember story –
               a redemptive pathway into now

by Colleen Keating

*The Gully, An Aboriginal Place in Katoomba. In the 50’s made into the Catalina Race track.

 

 

My poem The Gully is written on the history of an area in Katoomba which was a meeting ground for three Aborigine tribes before colonisation and after Warragamba Dam was build when their movement  was blocked many settled there on what was then the outskirts of the Katoomba town .  A Fun park was developed, a lake even a Catalina Plane was floated on the lake there and people were moved off from their homes  for a Race track which was built disturbing the head water of the Katoomba Fall that feeds the Jamison Valley . 

Now fortunately it has been returned to the and is very sacred to walk around and see and read  the history including remains of the track and where signs like Capstan Bend once hang.

The story is documented in a book called 

Sacred  Waters

 The story of the Blue Mountains Gully Aboriginal People 

        by 

Dianne Johnson