Hi Dave, this was a lovely read. Full of nostalgia and all the feelings that emerge in the remembering. And I have to say I love the fact that the story has a train and a knife in it! 😆… “this long metal exclamation mark drawn like a knife across the land”
There are so many ways to look at life, both as it happens and when we gaze backwards.
I don't want to get lost in the latter, but looking over my shoulder helps me see the present more clearly - as a constantly changing crossroads. I know that some of the things happening now will gain new meaning over time as currently hidden connections and parallels are revealed.
Two days after I wrote my South Coast line post Meg and I met, by accident, another writer, in the regional town we depend upon for services of various kinds. In 10 years here by the river I have not met - at least knowingly - a single other writer. A very lovely man, I think he was equally surprised to meet me - it was like two hermits bumping into each other on a remote mountain trail. The conversation that ensued was all about strange connections and linkages - not because I steered it that way but because that was just the topic that arose.
It was Meg - a better conversationalist than I am - who spilled the beans (I was staying quiet about my writing), and she mentioned a literary award I won many years ago, sponsored by and named after a major Australian Poet. Our new writer friend turned out to be a relative of that same Poet.
Officially, this was all just chance, but it didn't feel that way...
Seriously Dave I think that’s an amazing bit of synchronicity! And so happy you met a fellow writer. We really do navigate this calling alone don’t we!
What a touching story, Dave. I could sit with you and listen to your stories all day long. Love the poem. I can't imagine what Deb must have felt after reading it. I have two boys and I cannot bring to put myself in her shoes. Life is quirky and beautiful.
Oh, dear Naz, Life is indeed quirky and beautiful, sad and joyful. That I would lose touch with my friend Deb, and that she would then end up a close friend and mentor of my lover from the desert...
Dear Naz, I am but one player in Dave’s circle of life though I can assure you I’ve listened to his stories ‘all day long’ for twenty five years now …. and I never get tired of them. At the parting with his former lover from central Australia she had said, apparently, you won’t die lonely and single. And she was right! He’s one good human.
Massively moved by this, Dave. It has everything that tells us we are human. How poetry and prose give us the space to say it. It is the kind of piece that stays with you for a long time. - warmest of wishes - richard
Thank you Richard. This was... hard to write. Or rather - it was hard to decide to write it.
Once the decision was made, the words were easy.
I don't think many people are liking it, but I wrote it for myself as much as anything... and I am truly warmed by the thought that you did find it meaningful, my friend.
I am so pleased to have a window on the experience, Dave and how it comes full circle with people who have been in your lives. I find your writing inspirational.
Thank you. Some of the circles are strange, and some are very sad. Re-emerging into the (small) world of Australian poetry, I was truly shocked to discover that 4 Poet friends have died in the time I was away.
How wonderful! I love how things connect through time. When I was in high school, I took English from a teacher (who is likely the reason I became a writer). I am still in touch with her. When she was teaching me, she was getting her MA, and in our classes, she used the new composition techniques that were being taught to her by a professor whom I would later have for graduate-level classes, another teacher who changed my life.
Hey Dave, I found this a very moving story. I think the different elements of it are indicative of a full life lived and the way it turns in on itself is incredibly beautiful. It has a searing honesty that you don’t come across very often, thank you so much for sharing it, I feel honoured to have read it. Take care of yourself, mate,
I just read it again, myself. Aspects of this are... painful. When I started writing it my intention was just to publish the poem - maybe with just a few lines to explain the location. However, once I did that the wider context just came flooding back.
We are our stories and our history, and we can only recount those as best we are able - deciding what we can and cannot say and acknowledging that memory is in any case imperfect. The facts of this story are clear though, as recorded in my notebooks and in the letters and cards I have saved.
I imply a meaning to them which is my interpretation of those facts and each reader will have their own. I have certainly tried to present this history with honesty - as I have tried with the other works linked to this one. I owe that to those who were involved, and to myself.
I am profoundly glad that it has meaning for you, too.
I thoroughly enjoyed both the post and the South Coast Line. I particularly appreciated the rhythms within it - the shorter sentences evoking the rocking and perhaps station stops, then finally that long sentence epitomising for me those long stretches of rail travel that occur occasionally. And your choice of punctuation.
I too have spent some time in the red centre at remote communities - albeit not to the extent of your 13 years (one month volunteering per year over four years before COVID-19 intervened.) Atitjira, Yuendumu and Canteen Creek, specifically. Great learning experiences.
Thank you! I find it hard to see the poem clearly now, myself, because it is overlaid with such strong thoughts about my friend, Deb Westbury. Writing the rest of the story has reawakened some old sadnesses. The fact that you enjoyed it though, does lighten my heart.
And you have worked up in the desert too! It doesn't matter how long. I know Atitjera - I had students there. I never visited Canteen Creek. Yuendumu, however, I knew very well indeed and visited often. The current Council President there, Ned Hargreaves Jampijinpa, was a friend of mine when we both lived at Lajamanu. He would take me out hunting with his wife and young child.
There are other stories I could tell, but it's hard to do them justice in short form. Having spent time up there yourself you can appreciate the incredible complexity of those experiences, and the difficulty of writing about them...
Thank you! I am, truly, delighted that you took the time to read this (twice!) and that it was meaningful for you.
The stats tell me it is trending well below my usual average, which is interesting, and there has been minimal comment so far. I'm not sure why.
The story probably does require the kind of careful attention you have given it, in order to understand how strange it was for me, when I read the Dedication in that book.
The full story simply is all a bit complicated. It requires following the hyperlinks to my Spinifex poem and to my Half Life poem. And there are other optional links as well.
Many of us are time poor. I know sometimes I have to make myself slow down on Substack, and really read and consider.
It is also .... deeply personal. Possibly some of the story is uncomfortable for some readers who have had a tidier life than I have. )Although Spinifex and Half Life - which reveal some of the untidiness, chaos - and utter passion of love - are actually amongst my most read and most liked Posts).
Anyway... I could choose to have hidden it all, but I feel we should all write what we most need to write, and that is what I do. For even a single reader to find meaning in it - and beauty - eases my heart.
Thank you, dear Stephanie. I have had this post - as a thought only - for a long time. I was unsure how to write it or whether I should write it at all.
Yesterday my thought crystallised, and the words came. Even if no-one else were to like it, your wonderful comment has eased my anxious heart.
This was simply STUNNING and it made me think about how poetry is so intimately related to the many deep and beautiful mysteries of our world. I was trying to put words to that in a comment here and then I encountered the words below, which said it so much better than I could, as did you in this gorgeous piece Dave, so grateful for your poetic voice.
"The Irish word for poet is file (pronounced like FILL-a), which shares etymology with the verb “to see”. So to see is to poem. To see is to make. To make is to be made back. This is all true." ~ Pádraig Ó Tuama from Poetry Unbound
Hi Dave, this was a lovely read. Full of nostalgia and all the feelings that emerge in the remembering. And I have to say I love the fact that the story has a train and a knife in it! 😆… “this long metal exclamation mark drawn like a knife across the land”
Hi dear Susan
There are so many ways to look at life, both as it happens and when we gaze backwards.
I don't want to get lost in the latter, but looking over my shoulder helps me see the present more clearly - as a constantly changing crossroads. I know that some of the things happening now will gain new meaning over time as currently hidden connections and parallels are revealed.
Two days after I wrote my South Coast line post Meg and I met, by accident, another writer, in the regional town we depend upon for services of various kinds. In 10 years here by the river I have not met - at least knowingly - a single other writer. A very lovely man, I think he was equally surprised to meet me - it was like two hermits bumping into each other on a remote mountain trail. The conversation that ensued was all about strange connections and linkages - not because I steered it that way but because that was just the topic that arose.
It was Meg - a better conversationalist than I am - who spilled the beans (I was staying quiet about my writing), and she mentioned a literary award I won many years ago, sponsored by and named after a major Australian Poet. Our new writer friend turned out to be a relative of that same Poet.
Officially, this was all just chance, but it didn't feel that way...
Best Wishes - Dave :)
Seriously Dave I think that’s an amazing bit of synchronicity! And so happy you met a fellow writer. We really do navigate this calling alone don’t we!
What a touching story, Dave. I could sit with you and listen to your stories all day long. Love the poem. I can't imagine what Deb must have felt after reading it. I have two boys and I cannot bring to put myself in her shoes. Life is quirky and beautiful.
Oh, dear Naz, Life is indeed quirky and beautiful, sad and joyful. That I would lose touch with my friend Deb, and that she would then end up a close friend and mentor of my lover from the desert...
It would seem an unlikely script in a film.
But in life? Well, these things happen...
Best Wishes - Dave
Dear Naz, I am but one player in Dave’s circle of life though I can assure you I’ve listened to his stories ‘all day long’ for twenty five years now …. and I never get tired of them. At the parting with his former lover from central Australia she had said, apparently, you won’t die lonely and single. And she was right! He’s one good human.
Massively moved by this, Dave. It has everything that tells us we are human. How poetry and prose give us the space to say it. It is the kind of piece that stays with you for a long time. - warmest of wishes - richard
Thank you Richard. This was... hard to write. Or rather - it was hard to decide to write it.
Once the decision was made, the words were easy.
I don't think many people are liking it, but I wrote it for myself as much as anything... and I am truly warmed by the thought that you did find it meaningful, my friend.
Best Wishes - Dave
I am so pleased to have a window on the experience, Dave and how it comes full circle with people who have been in your lives. I find your writing inspirational.
Thank you. Some of the circles are strange, and some are very sad. Re-emerging into the (small) world of Australian poetry, I was truly shocked to discover that 4 Poet friends have died in the time I was away.
I'm sure you have had similar experiences.
There are happier circles too, however.....
Best Wishes - Dave
How wonderful! I love how things connect through time. When I was in high school, I took English from a teacher (who is likely the reason I became a writer). I am still in touch with her. When she was teaching me, she was getting her MA, and in our classes, she used the new composition techniques that were being taught to her by a professor whom I would later have for graduate-level classes, another teacher who changed my life.
So many things connect. I had another example today.....
Life is an endless wonder!
Well - until it ends.
But it remains a wonder for those who follow.
D :)
Hey Dave, I found this a very moving story. I think the different elements of it are indicative of a full life lived and the way it turns in on itself is incredibly beautiful. It has a searing honesty that you don’t come across very often, thank you so much for sharing it, I feel honoured to have read it. Take care of yourself, mate,
UK Dave
Hey Dave.
I just read it again, myself. Aspects of this are... painful. When I started writing it my intention was just to publish the poem - maybe with just a few lines to explain the location. However, once I did that the wider context just came flooding back.
We are our stories and our history, and we can only recount those as best we are able - deciding what we can and cannot say and acknowledging that memory is in any case imperfect. The facts of this story are clear though, as recorded in my notebooks and in the letters and cards I have saved.
I imply a meaning to them which is my interpretation of those facts and each reader will have their own. I have certainly tried to present this history with honesty - as I have tried with the other works linked to this one. I owe that to those who were involved, and to myself.
I am profoundly glad that it has meaning for you, too.
Best Wishes - Dave
Hi Dave
I thoroughly enjoyed both the post and the South Coast Line. I particularly appreciated the rhythms within it - the shorter sentences evoking the rocking and perhaps station stops, then finally that long sentence epitomising for me those long stretches of rail travel that occur occasionally. And your choice of punctuation.
I too have spent some time in the red centre at remote communities - albeit not to the extent of your 13 years (one month volunteering per year over four years before COVID-19 intervened.) Atitjira, Yuendumu and Canteen Creek, specifically. Great learning experiences.
Hi Greg
Thank you! I find it hard to see the poem clearly now, myself, because it is overlaid with such strong thoughts about my friend, Deb Westbury. Writing the rest of the story has reawakened some old sadnesses. The fact that you enjoyed it though, does lighten my heart.
And you have worked up in the desert too! It doesn't matter how long. I know Atitjera - I had students there. I never visited Canteen Creek. Yuendumu, however, I knew very well indeed and visited often. The current Council President there, Ned Hargreaves Jampijinpa, was a friend of mine when we both lived at Lajamanu. He would take me out hunting with his wife and young child.
There are other stories I could tell, but it's hard to do them justice in short form. Having spent time up there yourself you can appreciate the incredible complexity of those experiences, and the difficulty of writing about them...
Thank you for your comment, my friend.
Best Wishes - Dave :)
Beautiful, evocative words. I read it twice just to savor the story.
Dear Karen
Thank you! I am, truly, delighted that you took the time to read this (twice!) and that it was meaningful for you.
The stats tell me it is trending well below my usual average, which is interesting, and there has been minimal comment so far. I'm not sure why.
The story probably does require the kind of careful attention you have given it, in order to understand how strange it was for me, when I read the Dedication in that book.
The full story simply is all a bit complicated. It requires following the hyperlinks to my Spinifex poem and to my Half Life poem. And there are other optional links as well.
Many of us are time poor. I know sometimes I have to make myself slow down on Substack, and really read and consider.
It is also .... deeply personal. Possibly some of the story is uncomfortable for some readers who have had a tidier life than I have. )Although Spinifex and Half Life - which reveal some of the untidiness, chaos - and utter passion of love - are actually amongst my most read and most liked Posts).
Anyway... I could choose to have hidden it all, but I feel we should all write what we most need to write, and that is what I do. For even a single reader to find meaning in it - and beauty - eases my heart.
Very best wishes to you
Dave
Thank you, dear Stephanie. I have had this post - as a thought only - for a long time. I was unsure how to write it or whether I should write it at all.
Yesterday my thought crystallised, and the words came. Even if no-one else were to like it, your wonderful comment has eased my anxious heart.
Very Best Wishes - Dave
This was simply STUNNING and it made me think about how poetry is so intimately related to the many deep and beautiful mysteries of our world. I was trying to put words to that in a comment here and then I encountered the words below, which said it so much better than I could, as did you in this gorgeous piece Dave, so grateful for your poetic voice.
"The Irish word for poet is file (pronounced like FILL-a), which shares etymology with the verb “to see”. So to see is to poem. To see is to make. To make is to be made back. This is all true." ~ Pádraig Ó Tuama from Poetry Unbound