TANGLED TWINE
TANGLED TWINE
John Camillo 2014
EXCUSES, EXCUSES
It all had to wait because circumstances only now allow quiet mind-time. The observation is that we are all exposed to inspirational moments that seem to come from nowhere. I do not think they come from nowhere but that is how it looks. I wonder if it might just be true that those flashes we have, are generated in the suite of products that emanate from the ultimate source of life, light and everything else - the nearest star to us, our sun. Could there be waves of energy that sweep across our planet on the way to the edge of the system? Could such energy stimulate moments of inspiration and enormous potential for clarity about our existence?
I have listened to interviews of song writers and poets and often heard them deny credit for the inspirations they have had.
What they do, however, is catch the thoughts that go passed and apply craft in the relentless pursuit of clarity. Depending on the effort applied, the song or poem, painting or story will achieve that goal.
My dear auntie Lou used to walk me to school but did not enjoy the relentless questions I had for her. “Wait till your father comes home, ask him.” It has been a while since those days and the questions persist. It has been a revelation that bliss is discovered in the pondering of questions rather than in answers. I am open to persuasion of course.
It has been a most fortunate accident to have been part of a family brimming with stimulation in the most ordinary of ways. My claim is to be the one nearest mediocre. I stand in awe at the technical and artistic talents harboured in my siblings. This is not about them although they make appearances here and elsewhere. It is about my attempts at catching some of the moments that have occurred. I offer them to you for what you might see. The poems that follow should be taken for what you think they are worth. They do mean a lot to me and it is quite OK if that is where it stops. It is possible too that I may have botched the craft I have adopted so don’t feel too guilty.
You will or will not, find your own ways to deal with those flashes you surely experience. The special moments I have tried to grasp went by my attention between 2008 and 2014.
HELLO COCKY
Broadcast cocky screech stifled in streetscape
Proud birds gymnasts flash through our trees
Balanced on light poles scrounging by drains
Where are the plains, the frost bitten mornings to see
Where the ten mile creek beds, willows and hide logs free
My Leunig heart soars futile feeling full for them
Hello cocky, hello.
THEY WENT THERE
Pete and I were part of a convoy that was heading to Birdsville, the long way, and across the Simpson. I was not happy at the time to take my ute across on that punishing drive – next time I will. He and I headed home via the Birdsville Track and down through the Adelaide Hills back to Victoria. For those days when we were in the convoy the group adjusted well to the dynamics. It was a great trip.
THEY WENT THERE
For Mat and Albi, Denny and Kerry, Karen and Jim and Ails and PK and Tony and Lorraine and Dicko and Louise and my good mate Pete.
City folk in fact they are
But that skin falls tonight
The bush has called them
Come it says
And I will take you in
Forget for a time
All the things that you do
You are mine for now
I will show you and get to know you
For who and what you are
I will chill you to your bones
You will thirst like never before
And you will rise to love
The feelings you’ve come to me for
You will sit for hours along the track
Before you begin to know
I’m not a place without a face
But a place to face what’s in you
You cannot reach me, know me or teach me
At best you’ll get to glimpse me
Your cameras blink and you might think
You’ve caught me unaware
An emu, camel, eagle, dingo
Such stories you will tell
But is it all about what you see
Is that all I can mean
No, I see inside you
You cannot hide out here
When you gasp at the star shot night sky
And stare at infinity
Is it just another snapshot
To look at over tea
Look at me, damn it, look real close
Before you retire to your tent
Ponder carefully before you forget
Because forget you surely will
And when you stand with your back to the fire
Coffee in chilled hands
And you stare at the day born horizon
Does miracle leap to mind
Do you turn to your partner
And hold your hands
Do your hearts meet in that place
Because that is what you are here for
I’m not just a pretty face.