Western Walkabout: Song Of The Western Land
Richard Harris's poem celebrates the Eve who brought life to the Great South Land.
In Canning town where Yagan ran
His forebears’ lifestyle to pursue,
Where Swan the ancient river’s span
Gave hunting rights to older man
Down to the sunlit sea.
From jarrah range to ocean green
Sandplain and swamp were all around.
Bright creeks and lakes with life were filled.
Dript-nectar trees engaged the bees
In bushland larders clean and full,
Each dell a pristine paradise.
This ancient land’s a holy place
Worthy of great deeds, no less;
But guardian spirits hide their face
And wail for men killed long ago
In vain defence of waterholes;
For women and children fled to trees
To escape the settlers’ wrath
Then potshot down like nameless crows;
For severed heads, speared colonists,
Stolen stock, poisoned flour and
Requisitioned children.
A black girl with a coolamon
In a vision once I saw
Did aid a starving settler.
From her breasts she gave him milk.
With seed and reed corms from the lake
She baked him loaves of damper bread.
Could I revive the song she sang,
Drying his tears with her hair
‘Twould bear me on to rapture deep,
For the Beeliar maid’s our Western Eve,
Her womb our source of life,
Her music loud and summer long
Of birds and bees and singing frogs
On the western rim of the Great South Land
Where slashing winter rains sheet down
The thirsty land to slake
And a slow hot sun
In bright white light
Marks countless summer days.
“You must learn to share my riches,”
Is the maiden’s cautioning call.
“My teeming wealth is meant for all
Who plan and toil and strive,
With enough to spare for those who care
For the poor and sick and old.
To be well and wealthy and live alone
Is an unworthy load to bear.”
**
To read more of Richard's words please click on http://www.openwriting.com/archives/western_walkabout/
