Headlights in the dark: “Why I write’ by George Orwell

Words matter.  They can have work to do, or not.   But why write?  What, exactly – if exactness may be found here, is going on when we write?   In his essay, “Why I write”, George Orwell gave four reasons why he writes, and I’ve extracted them below.  I agree with him, particularly his comments afterwards about how they may vary over time, including this one: “Looking back through the last page or two, I... Read More

What would the boy say?

The boy, maybe 6, pushed the bike up the steep steps towards where I stood on the road. The girl was next, about 4. But it’s hard to know the age of the poor, they age differently. A heavy bag drooped with weight either side of the bike’s middle bar. Their haul. Maybe sand from the creek running into the beach just a hundred meters off, or mud, or rubbish. Their faces became complete smiles in return for mine. “Salamat sori”, I said. Two soft... Read More

Native bee hive coming to Pine street

The native bee hive will be delivered and installed at Pine Street Creative Arts Centre next week.   Here is the email from Sophie Golding at Sydney Council which is providing them; please only contact Sophie at Council, or Thais from Sustainable Chippendale – please do not contact me – thanks. If, for example, you wish to do the bee keeping workshop contact Sophie. Bzzzzz . . . . : “Sophie Golding <sgolding@cityofsydney.nsw.gov.au> Hi... Read More

When poetry and beauty speak

Bali & Ganung Batur (1717m) from Lombok – Villa Quncy, Bar Qua   Bali obscured by trade wind clouds, Bar Qua• Photos Diane Somerton   Digging BY SEAMUS HEANEY   Between my finger and my thumb The squat pen rests; snug as a gun.   Under my window, a clean rasping sound When the spade sinks into gravelly ground: My father, digging. I look down   Till his straining rump among the flowerbeds Bends low, comes up twenty... Read More

Listening

Ten to five am. The call to prayer amplified from the temples fills the dawn air. Beautiful to some. Disliked by most Westerner’s I speak to, mainly Aussies.  Barely noticed, it seems, tho’, by most of their children who go to school here. The call is music in the dark to me, very primitive, some mornings achingly beautiful.  Other mornings, just a plea to be ok by folks reaching for the light.  (Count me in.) Mirrors, then, for how each... Read More