This will be the page where I share some of my poetry. Private Conversations is the working title of a chapbook manuscript I’m dedicating the next couple of months to editing and, next year, trying to find a publisher for. Every now and then I’ll new poems at the end of the previous ones, so keep scrolling down. Thanks!
The poems that appear here, starting with these, will be at various stages of drafting. Sunset Birds was written while we were camped in our caravan in a paddock next to a pub–the Sandy Creek Hotel, if memory serves–about ten minutes out of Warwick, on the Darling Downs in Queensland. We were there for New Year’s Eve 2010. Henry Parkes was written as part of a Sydney triptych, during my visit there for the National Poetry Slam final in 2007. (I’ll publish the other two poems later.)
At every sunset here the violence of noise erupts
as the sulphur-crested cockies arrive—
although at times it’s as if they’ve never left—
They make their wall of sound, a million
competing syllables and screeches, marking
of territory, advertising of presence, their dominion
a kingdom of aural chaos.
At the same time, the other birds arrive
in utes and 4 wheel drives, dolled up and quiet—
their choir will sing later, joining in with the band,
swaying with the small crowd
on the sticky carpet
head smooth with
too many Bacardi Breezers
and a day off to recover
and to think about why
they keep landing on the same tree,
night after night.
On Viewing the House Once Occupied by Mr Henry Parkes, Grafton St, Balmain
Like the country he federated
this old pile’s been renovated
of its life.
© 2011 Cameron Hindrum
Two new poems October 29 2011
(‘Leaving an Island’ is actually about a year old, but this version represents a susbstantial rewrite that I completed today. ‘The Rope Swing’ is brand spankin’ new, as of today.)
Leaving an Island
Beyond the frame of my cabin window
the sea rolls endlessly out of the dark.
Behind me, unseen, my country draws back
into the unmarked silent horizon.
Exile begins with release from the land,
The fading of light into darkness.
New lives write themselves on the ocean,
new countries form in the mind
of heroes, martyrs and cowards alike,
borne on a tide of blood and belonging.
While I am cradled by unseen waves
I wait for the void to evolve into
shapes again, traced by careful morning light
on the other side of escape.
The Rope Swing
I have made myself a pendulum.
At once I am free and governed.
I trace an arc through a summer moment.
I have become
At momentum’s end I hang
in the height of the afternoon air
Before time, as it never will again
drifts into reverse.
© Cameron Hindrum 2011