Outside of my own little world, here where I live, the greater world always calls me.
Last weekend with my two similarly adventurous girlfriends, I found myself amongst jazz lovers at the South Coast Jazz Festival. We’d booked a lovely beach house at Port Elliot – a few metres from a pounding sea. Huge waves crashed onto the shore and boomed through the night for the first two days. I am not a lover of the sea but I am of beaches and coastal towns. That vast blue grey rippling expanse is not our domain. It doesn’t welcome. It belongs to fish and sea creatures – its landscape seen only by them. I understand there are those who have a deep affinity with it – surfers, fishermen, sailors, but it always feels like a foreign environment to me.
While I have never been on a cruise, the idea doesn’t appeal to me. I’d much rather have my feet on solid ground and glean evermore and more thumbprint pictures of what constitutes the beautiful land we live on. I have built quite a picture in my lifetime.
Anyway back to the jazz. I noticed that this year there were more young musicians than at the last festival. These are conservatorium of music students and graduates who have developed a passion for this old genre – the genre of happy music I call it. My own love of music covers a broad spectrum but jazz has always been at the core. Happy childhood memories.
Yesterday I went to an Adelaide Film Festival documentary of the life of Joan Baez, titled ‘I am a Noise.’ It was showing at the beautiful old Odeon Theatre in Semaphore. Not as good as anything Martin Scorcese would have put together, but I learned so much more about the singer/human rights activist I had passionately listened to through the seventies. There was a very dark side to her life that I hadn’t known about. To get through the rigors of fame, life on the road, producing albums, fighting for the freedom and rights of the black people in America, and her own demons of being sexually abused as a child must have been horrendously difficult. The ones who survive that kind of lifestyle within the music industry must have true grit.
Kris Kristoffersen – American Country Music singer was another whose music was loved during the seventies. I bring him up because there was some fake news out there about him recently. It was reported that Kris had died. I was searching for further news of him and as I went down this rabbit hole learned about ‘Click Bait.’ This is where malicious people post false news of this kind to drive page views on websites, whether for their own purpose or to increase online advertising revenue. It’s a cruel practice.
My next little jaunt will be to Kangaroo Island. Staying in a comfortable little beach house on Island Beach. There will be walks in the bush, on the beaches, relaxing with friends over a biting cold Riesling – fresh fish the fare, maybe a decent red or two in the evenings, or a recently discovered De Kuyper Butterscotch Schnapps. Delicious. What sounds will I hear from my bedroom on this little piece of an island? Will tell you about it next time.
Meanwhile another poem – (If you’re reading on your IPhone, turn it sideways)
BROLGA MORNING
Brolga morning waking
Ripples spell out stick legs’ wading
Sun’s first rays and fade of greyness gild the lake
for day’s renewal
Daylight’s vigil vastly spreading
Rawboned embers freshly stoked
Thread of smoke newly curling
Hidden calls of bushland stirring
Sun defeats long shadows dwindling
Murmur
movement
light increasing
Rippling necks plunge beaks below
the silvered surface
Thrashing catch is guarded
dangling
tempting others
Brolga clumsy
running flapping
eating guarding
Brolga gangling leaves the lake
Bulky body
Great wings spreading
Dangling legs bring up the rear
Soundless music
Wordless poem
Prehistoric grace and form
. . . . and God said
‘Let the waters bring forth abundantly
the moving creature that hath life
and fowl that may fly above the earth
in the open firmament of Heaven.’
Vision rising
Mind exploding
Ancient voice through eons whisp’ring
Seconds lagging
Life expanding
Sun’s first rays
kiss Brolga morning
Looking forward to my next poets’ gathering – a cosy afternoon of graphic words shared in an intimate space.
Take care,
Warmly,
Sue
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