On my
little poem ‛Tongue-tied’ (1987, published in The
Well-Scrubbed Desert, 1996):
What do I say
Having a tongue
Silent as a road through Tallaganda
With a fire of desire
Rising on the wind?
Tallaganda …
recalled from years
ago
when it was recalled
from years ago:
now a memorial to
the dead,
but the bloody road
is probably still going strong
(and somewhere
inside the desire is still smouldering too).
Tallaganda, that road, served as a trigger for me, those remote lonely roads. Reading your poems makes writing easier.
ReplyDeleteThanks Anna — I'm happy that they do! The memory of that road in Tallaganda (and even the name itself) still has a trigger effect for me too. (I went there years ago with my father — he was a botanist, and collecting plants. But it's not just the personal associations that do it.)
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