Purlapa

Nyaratja was short
and close to stout
by the standards
of local males.

He was
a happy man,
always smiling,
often laughing.

Some piranpa
just considered him
a likeable and
helpful clown.

One night
I was invited
to attend
a purlapa.

The singing
and dancing
went on
all night.

Just on dawn
the singers
became
more excited.

Out of the dawn
two figures appeared
dancing -
… advance …
… pause …
… stamp …
… turn to face …
… turn to front …
… advance …

Now lit
by the rising sun,
the dancers towered closer,
under enormous headdresses -
… advance …
… pause …
… stamp …
… turn to face …
… turn to front …
… advance …

A scream went up
from the women
and children,
then ritual flight.

Singing ceased abruptly,
for quiet conversation,
as the dancers
were disrobed.

Headdresses were removed,
sacred items dispatched
to the sacred valley
behind the nearby hill.

Nyaratja was one of the dancers,
a towering primordial hunter -
a man of significance
in his own culture.

"Purlapa" is a dance of Aboriginal people of northern and central Australia.
"Piranpa" are non-Aboriginal "whitefellas".
"Nyaratja" means "this one". I use it rather than a real name, in respect for privacy of the individual and because of the custom of changing names  whenever someone with the same name dies.

 

ME - IN ONE HUNDRED WORDS

The following was written for a Campbelltown U3A Writers' group. The task was to write "Me" in only one hundred words. It is a quite daunting task actually. Groupings of the stanzas tend to reflect the various periods of my life.

In a sense

we are each

a product

of the places

where we have lived.

My story?

Born at Prospect,

baby at Quorn.

Three years at Swan Reach,

then Nepabunna in the Flinders

and back to Prospect.

Gerard in the Riverland,

Eden Hills,

Oodnadatta.

Prospect again,

Kilburn,

Hampstead,

Magill,

Maylands.

An old "family home" at Grange.

Married while back at Nepabunna.

Hillcrest,

Grange,

Lameroo.

Amata APY Lands,

Orroroo.

Fulham Gardens,

Henley Beach,

Blackwood,

Eden Hills.

Port Augusta,

Quorn,

Sydney.

Unley,

Bellevue Heights,

Burra and Iwantja APY Lands,

Athelstone,

Lightsview and Laura.

Mmm… I wonder.

Mount Remarkable

It isn't the highest peak in the range

but somehow it has a presence -

an outline against the sky,

that distinguishes it

from the other hills.

You see it from miles away,

on the horizon

of the surrounding plateau,

with its farmland, brown or green,

according to season.

First glimpses are fleeting,

almost mystical,

but coming closer, it dominates -

dark faced and steep sided,

almost lowering.

A small town

nestles

at its foot,

forever subject

to its late afternoon shade.

The approaching road

seems confronted

with an impassable barrier,

until a sudden turn northwards

follows the range.

Any wonder

that an early explorer

charted its presence

and named it

Mount Remarkable.

One day in a far off city

I caught a cab at the airport

and, in the Australian way,

sat in the front

and talked to the driver.

He told me

how he had once

driven across the continent

and remembered this little town

at the foot of a mountain.

He was tired

and had rested overnight

at an hotel where he received

warm hospitality and friendship,

but had forgotten the name.

“Melrose”, I replied

“At the foot of Mount Remarkable.

I drove through there on my way south this morning.”

He was overjoyed and went home, happily,

to tell his wife.

Waiting in Line

The smell

from the wine-making

lies a memory

on the crisp July air.

Straight rows

of leafless vines

march parallel

over the hill.

A heap of

pomace

awaits its future

as compost.

Oak aging barrels

lie racked

end to end

row on row.

Pallets

of bottles

neatly stacked

await delivery.

Vintage

on vintage

full of promise

waiting in line.

This was written, some months after a winter visit to the Adelaide Hills wine-making area with a Campbelltown University of the Third Age (U3A) Photo-shoot.