Poetry helps me see life in its reality. Or maybe my reality helps me see a poem.
To follow is one I wrote in the seventies –
PLEASURE
Fifteen minutes more in bed
on a cold and wintry morning
Face inhumed in soft white pillows
Conjuring breakfast
Breakfast in a leisurely way
at my seasoned country table facing north
Toast with Vegemite
A second piece with marmalade
Coffee brewed and steaming
Crossword puzzle waking up my brain
A Sunday lunch with friends of wholesome talk
An Eden Valley Riesling biting cold
The sound at dusk of blackbirds
Kookaburras by the river
Listening to a gum tree drink
The surprise of early crocuses
their plump moist heads robust and self-assured
Mushrooms in a soft warm field
Evenings in my heirloom chair
A friendly fire
A glass of red
Some mellow jazz and time to hatch a poem
Country towns with post and wire fences
Their narrow dusty streets with soursobs
Rusty galvo sheds and gnarly almond trees
Assorted chooks in sag-wired citadels
Old shop windows
Heavy glass in painted painted timber frames
Worn pine floors with Persian rugs
Antique Australian furniture
the smell of it
Old gates
Playing with our cats and dogs
named Judith Robert Lola Snip
Picnics in the hills of soft green grass
in sheltering rocks where She-oaks wail
Walking in good shoes
A big Shiraz
A triple brie
Some vintage cheddar
Crusty bread
My country house all clean and sparkling
Candlelight
Fresh flowers in a vase
Mangoes
Crayfish
Dreaming dreams
I came across some profound words written by Salvador Dali. While the above poem was written by a much younger me, it still reflects the type of person I am today. The older me can relate to Dali’s words.
‘Wretched was he (Faust) who, having acquired the supreme science of old age, sold his soul to unwrinkle his brow and recapture the unconscious youth of his flesh. Let the labyrinth of wrinkles be furrowed in my brow with the red hot iron of my own life. Let my hair whiten and my step become vacillating, on condition that I can save the intelligence of my soul. Let my unformed childhood soul, as it ages, assume the rational and aesthetic forms of an architecture. Let me learn just everything that others cannot teach me – what only life would be capable of marking deeply in my skin.’ – Salvador Dali