Wednesday, 1 June 2011

A poem from the ABC website: On the Devastating Fallout of the War Against Climate Waged by Humans Around the Earth as Witnessed in the Chittering Valley, by John Kinsella

1 JUNE 2011


On the Devastating Fallout of the War Against Climate Waged by Humans Around the Earth as Witnessed in the Chittering Valley


JOHN KINSELLA

- for Cate Blanchett




In a dry place, the dry out of reason

and testing all cases of precedent

should pull us up short, drop jaws,

have us staggering bewildered in dis-

belief, or better still standing up

and taking notice, quick action.

Whole valleys whole hills entire regions

of dead trees. It seems the scale

cannot be registered, the weight

of foliage emptied of moisture.

And the veins of dry have bled

into city streets where old trees

die and shower passers-by, autumn

leaves of the deciduous show-ponies

fall one last time, and evergreens

too let down their leaves. They'll

never perform this trick again.

Not sure what to do, the passers-by

rustle the leaves, kick them aside.

In this greedy State of Entrepreneurs,

dead surface means living rock to hack away,

flesh to cut from the bone, anatomy

jokes in medical school, desensitising

as 'survival': this body we share,

these organs, these evasive 'souls':

they familiarise then over-familiarise,

under writing death to pleasure

and wealth. But tree-life is their

life also. Blood, largely water,

is their sap. Soon, they will search

out sap donors. Healthy trees

will be harvested for their organs.

Trees will return to the top of the tree

of life. They will re-become archetypes.

And the Chittering Valley, easy

on the eye angst-soother tour

locus and lifestyle absolver,

convenient stone from the city

(bauxite miners are trying

to move in), for food dabblers

and wine-imbibers, orchard lovers

and weekend retreaters: all in

the crinkling shade of dead leaves,

shining under the sky's bright silver

lining, the domed overhead we build.

So, we forget the names of trees

outside nurseries, and leaves

are but pages we remember on.



John Kinsella

1 comment:

  1. I like it.
    Nothing is that dry here, but still, the deforestation thing is happening all around.

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