Someone came up with the idea of briefly infecting Facebook with a little poetry instead of photos or other memes. (This is similar to the art challenge a week or so ago). The rules are simple: when you press like on this you are assigned a poet by me and all you have to do is upload a poem by that poet onto your wall. Then, for anybody who likes your post, you continue the process. I got Oodgeroo Noonuccal, who when I went to school was known as Kath Walker but them adopted her Aboriginal name in about 1988. She has written some wonderful poems and it was hard to choose which one to post here. The choice was sort of made for me because many of them couldnt be copied without paying a royalty....and this wasnt one of them! We Are Going by Oodgeroo Noonuccal They came in to the little town A semi-naked band subdued and silent All that remained of their tribe. They came here to the place of their old bora ground Where now the many white men hurry about like ants. Notice of the estate agent reads: Rubbish May Be Tipped Here. Now it half covers the traces of the old bora ring. We are as strangers here now, but the white tribe are the strangers. We belong here, we are of the old ways. We are the corroboree and the bora ground, We are the old ceremonies, the laws of the elders. We are the wonder tales of Dream Time, the tribal legends told. We are the past, the hunts and the laughing games, the wandering camp fires. We are the lightening bolt over Gaphembah Hill Quick and terrible, And the Thunderer after him, that loud fellow. We are the quiet daybreak paling the dark lagoon. We are the shadow-ghosts creeping back as the camp fires burn low. We are nature and the past, all the old ways Gone now and scattered. The scrubs are gone, the hunting and the laughter. The eagle is gone, the emu and the kangaroo are gone from this place. The bora ring is gone. The corroboree is gone. And we are going.
Posted on: Mon, 20 Jan 2014 13:35:46 +0000
Trending Topics
Recently Viewed Topics
© 2015