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Year 10 Poetry - St Dominic’s Priory College
Earlier in the year, St Dominic’s Priory College year 10 English students engaged in the examination of poetry written in response to works of art (ekphrasis). A focus of the unit was to examine First Nation poets, using works of art for inspiration. Students then wrote their own ekphrastic poem in response to works of art by First Nation artists, as a result of an excursion to AGSA.
- Abbey Norman, Secondary Teacher
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Judy Watson, Waanyi people, Queensland, born Mundubbera, Queensland 1959, string over water (alkurrji kingkarri wanami), 2019, Brisbane, synthetic polymer paint, graphite, pastel, watercolour pencil on canvas, 261.0 x 180.5 cm; Acquisition through Tarnanthi: Festival of Contemporary Aboriginal & Torres Strait Islander Art supported by BHP 2019, Art Gallery of South Australia, Adelaide, © Judy Watson/Copyright Agency, photo: Carl Warner.
Sparkling specks of light groove on the water’s body.
Sun smiling over the ocean, embracing as the sky swells and blushes blue,
Wading in the body of the sea, bathed in the splitting sun beams,
Cradled lovingly and healed from the rushing stream,
The veins of mothers run through their daughters,
who wind and twist bark to roots and vines,
Roots running through the riverbanks,
Roots running through the collapsing waves.
Ancestors dance on the horizon, inviting the sun to soothe the waters
Ancestors dance through the minds of their kin
Blessing their kin, kissing skin as they wade through the ocean
Healing grazes and scars, A mother tending to their child.
Violent currents ripple through, as tides draw out to the moon,
Yet their hand twisted roots remain ingrained.
Their roots run about country,
About sands slept on
About the thundering waves
About the ever long waters
About us.
By Amelie Peach Winner of the 2023 SAETA Spring Poetry Budding Poet Prize
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Iluwanti Ken, Pitjantjatjara people, South Australia, born Watarru, Aṉangu Pitjantjatjara Yankunytjatjara Lands, South Australia c.1944, Walawulu ngunytju kukaku ananyi (Mother eagles going hunting), 2020, Amata, Aṉangu Pitjantjatjara Yankunytjatjara Lands, South Australia, pigmented ink on paper, 122.0 x 152.0 cm; Acquisition through Tarnanthi: Festival of Contemporary Aboriginal & Torres Strait Islander Art supported by BHP 2021, Art Gallery of South Australia, © Iluwanti Ken/Tjala Arts/Copyright Agency, photo: Grant Hancock.
Mother Warrior
Home is heavy with dry, barren land.
Cracks and old truths threaten
to split family in two.
Red, brown, gold, orange,
lost beneath layers of
strange crowds, strange people.
Food is scarce and the youth
grow weak with foreign blood
pumping through their veins.
- mothers can only worry.
Air is thick, tension is climbing.
The wiltjas quake with what
little strength they use to stay standing.
These shelters, their once safeguard,
now vulnerable to ugly, unwelcome change.
Danger is near, fear is apparent.
Brooded darkness woven within the people
- all for nothing,
for the skies are bright
with taunts of power.
Time lapses, an ongoing loop of
pain, sleep, repeat.
When seasons change, home grows colder.
Could this be a sign?
Could this be the time?
Thunder whips, presence announced.
Colour - life - emerge from the clouds.
They blend, they blur, they chase bad dreams
in clashes of ashen and onyx, pearly and jet.
A pleasant chill replenishes familiarity,
spirits are lifted with the changing tides.
Grins are shared among Anangu,
as winged shadows come into view.
Walawurur
who teach to care for one’s children,
who share their stories of wisdom.
Walawurur
who hunt fairly, sparingly,
who build families of love, compassion.
By Lyana Huynh, published in the 2023 SAETA Spring Poetry collection.
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Rover Thomas, Kukatja/Wangkatjunga people, Western Australia, born Yalda Soak, Kunawarritji (Well 33), Western Australia 1926, died Warmun (Turkey Creek), Western Australia 1998, The Story of Owl (Dumbiny), 1988, Turkey Creek, east Kimberley, Western Australia, earth pigments on canvas, 139.0 x 99.0 cm, 143.0 x 103.0 x 5.0 cm (Travel); A.M. and A.R. Ragless Bequest Funds 1988, Art Gallery of South Australia, Adelaide, © Artist's estate, Courtesy Warmun Art Centre.
Disregarded feathers
Just an owl is what he sees.
I stand lonely, violently shivering in my tree
Despite the warm midnight air.
Time stands still and
Fear encapsulates me as I meet the eye
Of this tall human.
This little owl,
Traumatised, vulnerable, and also
The perfect victim.
Out walking, and what should I find but an owl?
Oh, the things that those feathers could become.
It is not a want, but a necessity,
Surely.
My own feathers.
Picked off and fallen to the ground.
That tall being, monster even
Leaving me stripped bare on the dusty brown earth.
I am surrounded
By things so beautiful,
Only able to be described; something as delicate as nature
And yet, here I am, a part of Mother Nature, destroyed,
Harmed, damaged,
At the pleasure of a mere being
Known as a human.
The sights and pleasures generously given to those humans,
Yet they lack the ability to appreciate anything so free and magnificent,
Rather, they would like the world to be under their control,
Their way of life.
Carrying my clump of feathers,
Some escape, landing in the brown dry dust that creates the land I stand on.
It’s okay, plenty more where that came from, right?
These feathers will make perfect necklaces.
However, plucking the feathers from that owl,
I saw the pleading in its eyes.
I ignored it, but it still existed there.
And as I left that creature there, cold, traumatised, and ugly,
I realised I had taken away its true beauty.
The beautiful feathers, now bundled in my coolamon.
The owl’s gift from nature, stolen away in a glimpse.
And who was responsible for that?
I was responsible.
I was responsible.
By Matilda Prouza, the theme for the poem is ‘Mistreatment of Nature’.
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Gail Mabo, Piadram clan, Mer (Murray Island), Torres Strait Islands, Queensland, born Townsville, Queensland 1965, Tagai, 2021, Townsville, Queensland, bamboo, cotton, shellac, plastic, 325.0 x 285.0 x 17.0 cm; Acquisition through Tarnanthi: Festival of Contemporary Aboriginal & Torres Strait Islander Art supported by BHP 2022, Art Gallery of South Australia, © Gail Mabo/Copyright Agency.
Wind howls through the forests of bamboo
as I stare into the distance,
waiting for you to come back with heavy nets
to fill the tables for our people.
The sun sinks below the horizon,
as streaks of crimson and coral
slowly paint the once blue sky.
Welcoming the chilling cold.
I hear a thunderous pounding on the shore.
The noise surrounds me.
Like the wind shaking the bamboo
during a ferocious storm.
Beneath the moon’s luminescent glow,
I collect the discarded shells of clams,
choosing only those with small holes.
These will become a necklace for my daughter.
The bamboo begins to stagger.
Bending in the wind,
but always coming back.
As you will too.
The sand is shaped like a starry sky,
Reflecting the darkness from above.
I shiver as I wait,
the salty air bringing me back home.
The bamboo poles stand tall.
Pointing up at the constellations,
each one a map of the skies.
I trust that they will guide you home.
The sand slowly stirs from its rest.
Stars blanket the sky above,
each one a diamond pinprick
on the smooth black night.
On your boat, you are looking at the same sky.
The crossed lines and lights guide you,
keeping you safe
on your way back home.
By Nihaal Muhammad-Tajdar
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Frewa Bardaluna, Kuninjku people, Northern Territory, born Maningrida, Northern Territory 1954, died Maningrida, Northern Territory 2019, Samantha Mulkudja, Kuninjku people, Northern Territory, born Maningrida, Northern Territory 1986, Alison Kuwanjguwanj, Kuninjku people, Northern Territory, born Maningrida, Northern Territory 1974, Nawali (pregnant stingray), 2019, Kakodbebuldi, Northern Territory, pandanus (Pandanus spiralis), natural dyes, 178.0 x 85.7 x 1.5 cm; Gift of Helen Bowden 2021, Art Gallery of South Australia, © the artists, Maningrida Arts & Culture/Copyright Agency, photo: Saul Steed.
Whispering Kangkuṟu
A loomed large moon beaming
ethereal radiance across the water,
womenfolk young and old by her
timeworn crystalline home,
recounting stories.
Shhh… the balmy breath of the
breeze advises.
Dancing by the edge of the water,
hoping she carries the gift of life.
Through the hush of the breeze, she
whispers secrets of womanhood
amid her sacred song. Timbre of the
evergreen stringybark wakes in the
night. Richness breaks the surface
of the water, she rises from the
depths, her belly carrying her alluvial
babies. Divine beauty
beyond comprehension,
unrecognisable to any mati. Her
long viscid hair, her brown
timeworn skin, a nature to shelter.
Rising, then silence. Understanding.
Her belly is a beacon. A beacon
whispering ancient secrets. Heard
in the breeze, from the hum of the
dragonfly, the rattle of the snake,
and seen in the eyes of the crocodile.