Friday, December 05, 2003
Hello! to everyone who hasn't received my email, this blog will not be updated for the next three weeks. this is because I'm in Africa, travelling around Kenya and Tanzania, and I have a travel blog: http://piokiwi.fotopages.com - enjoy! email me: piokiwi@yahoo.com.au
Piokiwi 1:26 am
Sunday, November 16, 2003
How depressing...this afternoon I went off to work in the Children's Emergency Dept smartly dressed in the All Black jersey, and ....we lost the World Cup semifinal against our archrivals Australia. I won't even mention the score, it was so depressing. And all this when NZ are supposed to be their strongest ever.
Of course what made it worse was, as I was proudly displaying my national allegiance in a foreign (enemy :)) country I kept being disturbed by nurses poking their head in to gloat over the latest score (someone had brought a video projector in, connected it to the TV and set it up on an iv trolley to beam onto the nearest X-ray screen. The parents didn't mind - they were watching it too.) In the end I had to resort to the good old "go away, I'm busy saving lives" strategem.
Arrgh. what went wrong??!!!
email me: piokiwi@yahoo.com.au
Piokiwi 2:56 am
Wednesday, November 12, 2003
For some reason, for the last few nights I've been getting home, switching on the computer, and just going for it. Must have a lot of things on my mind.
Quirky
“you’re quirky” she said,
“I like that.” Quirky?
Quer-key?
Cuer-kwey?
does that mean I’m weird,
a oddball?
it is true
I tend to wormhole
my conversations,
burrow into the fertile soil
of my mind
to emerge somewhere
entirely different.
But wormholes can span galaxies
and so I combine
philosophy and science
(once the same thing)
in one sentence
conversants running to catch
the tail end of thoughts.
There are days
I sprint home
from responsible work
to indulge in an orgy of poetry
days when I wear red pigtails
(just for the hell of it)
spend long evenings
luxuriating in solitude
a symphony of thoughts
warbling my life’s song
and yes, I have a Kiwi
named Pio.
Do such things make me quirky?
For once
my mind is silent
on such matters
for what is ordinary to me
may be extraordinary in the minds of others
who is better to judge,
from within
or without?
email me: piokiwi@yahoo.com.au
Piokiwi 3:30 am
Tuesday, November 11, 2003
Fresh from another lonely musing drive home, I hit the computer and wrote another poem.
Passing
driving home tonight
the moon is hung like a big bronze gong
over the city of scurrying people
it beats away the golden hours
drawing slowly towards its zenith
and the moon sings
I stand edged on a precipice
searching again for your face
some glimpse you once existed
beyond footprints in a photo
a song arcing against sky
favourite blue bowls
squat unused in a cupboard
your hands wrapped them
in paper cocoons
I cannot undo
reaching all beyond to herself
my computer sighs incessantly
unyielding of files
you created,
images pulled
from a tangled Web
a shadow passes like a cloud
a green watch
honourably scarred in travel
lies broken on my dresser:
another gift
I can not bury in a wastebin
the moon howls outside my window
and I can not bury you
not yet.
and then I logged onto my email and found out that another very dear friend of mine had died this morning. How strange life is: how strange and yet so beautiful. It gives with both hands and then it takes away, leaving us staring and wondering "why?".
I have a feeling of us all standing on the edge of a cliff, our hands linked. One by one we fall backwards over the cliff, pulling the next person with us. But the air beneath us flows and pulsates in different patterns, and it seems gentler to be falling than perhaps it seems from the top of the cliff. But I can't see any more. I go to bed feeling very wistful and inevitable.
email me: piokiwi@yahoo.com.au
Piokiwi 1:48 am
Sunday, November 09, 2003
Yesterday was spent constructing Xmas cards....I must be more organised than usual, to get it done this early! In keeping with the tradition of using a new art "form" to create the card (over the years I've used cartoons, embossing foil, wrapping foil, "stained glass", photoshopped images, poetry and computer blended cartoons and photos), this year, I have created a painting - with the above sketch from a "live" subject sitting as basis. As usual, I have flogged my printer and guillotine hard to complete the hand-production.
I think I've been sending out handmade Xmas cards for over ten years now. It's become a tradition with me - an annual "hello" by traditional post to friends around the world. Of course, with the volume - over a hundred people are now on my "definitely have to send a card" list! - I have to take the time to make each card into account!!
Piokiwi 2:08 am
Piokiwi 1:57 am
Saturday, November 08, 2003
Just had a week off (well, sort of off - ended up doing some extra shifts) and have been trying to force myself to do some research project work, but (displacement, displacement) seem to have veered over into more writing and painting instead. Tonight was rhyming night, and am quite pleased with the resullts:
Transient Girl
What was that? A streak of light,
A super human being takes flight!
Boys and girls, do not despair
For Transient Girl is finally here!
Commitmentphobe? There’s no-one who
Transient Girl cannot outdo.
At first a man might catch her eye,
She hopes, she thinks, “the perfect guy?”
She likes his hair, she likes the grin,
She notes the strongly angled chin.
She ponders how he’ll be to kiss….
She even thinks, “eternal bliss?”
She meets his gaze…new love is sealed,
Or so the lucky bloke might feel.
They catch a drink, move on to dine,
The man is smug: “I’m doing fine!”
They talk of food, discuss biology,
Move on to in-depth ideology.
He holds her close, he thinks of passion,
Lulled in by her long long lashes.
Meanwhile Transient Girl’s a-flutter.
She thinks, OH-My-God he’s a nutter!!
As Ideal Guy moves in for the kill,
She gasps, “Perhaps we’ll get the bill?”
She wonders how she failed to spot
This guy’s not really quite so hot.
Now she sees he’s slightly podgy,
And his dress sense rather dodgy.
Super heroes have no fear:
For Transient Girl the answer’s clear
Once again she’ll neatly dodge
All contact from the poor male sod.
Phone calls soon will go unanswered,
All attempts at email countered.
For every dinner, she’s got two
Or twenty “pressing things to do!”
So if you never find the scene
And lead a loveless life pristine
Do not despair, it’s oh so true –
Transient Girl can outdo you!
Annandale 21/8/03, 7/11/03
The Kingdom of Nights
The hour is nigh, oh don’t be late!
Across the threshold lies your fate
On the board in letters bold
The future of your night foretold.
Here’s a baby, ailing quick
There a boy who’s very sick
In the corner, a small child
Whose heart beats still against the tide.
So start to run: from bed to bed
We look to find what others dread
Numbers, lines wand’ring low and high
Will offer insights into life.
Hear! From whence is that bell tolling?
The nurses have the resus rolling,
Monitors alarm and shriek
So one more goes from bad to bleak.
It’s hard to feel a superhero
The manual followed, blow-by-blow.
When in dire need, who can sleep?
Wake up the boss, from slumbers deep.
So all night we walk tightropes
Balance numbers, dish out hope.
There’s many queries, often doubt
The nurses hold our hands throughout.
A break can never come too fast
We fall into a chair at last
The time is short, so fight to glean
A little rest through troubled dreams.
But look! Is that the morning light?
Perhaps salvation is in sight.
And look – appearing like a vision…
The morning staff, so fresh and willing!
CHW 24/9/03, 7/11/03
I think "Transient Girl" flows better and is funnier than "The Kingdom of Nights" which I started writing while on nights and was starting to look a bit contrived in places. However, in others it almost gets across what I want it to say...... only thing to do is to throw it to the lions at a poetry workshop (spent 4 hours in a workshop at the Writer's Centre last night!).
email me: piokiwi@yahoo.com.au
watch for the sneak preview of this year's Xmas card (featuring Pio, of course) which I also designed this week!!
Piokiwi 1:34 am
Wednesday, November 05, 2003
On to sweeter things. This afternoon driving into work a weird, almost hysterical feeling struck me. It went something like this: HEE HEE I WILL SOON BE IN AFRICA HEEHEE IN SOUTH AMERICA HEE HEE I WILL BE UNEMPLOYED AGAIN YEE HA WHO CARES!
Well I guess it is more of a calculated periodic unemployment, and far less daring than last time when I tripped off to Europe to spend all my money unsure of what job I would land in England afterwards....but anyway, it's immensely emancipating, and worth trying more than once for the feeling of gay abandonment and utter irresponsibility.
email me: piokiwi@yahoo.com.au
Piokiwi 5:10 am
Driving home to bad pop music can do funny things to me. Amazing the number of times I’ve ended up blubbering on the way, and arriving home with half-connived song clichés in my head. Sometimes these are tossed aside in favour of much needed dreams (and rest), but occasionally they make it into my diary…..and even more occasionally, into my computer in the form of tuneless song lyrics. The opposite of a Song without Words….. Up to now, I’ve not been game to release these for public perusal, aiming to one day (whenever I magically become a genius guitar player I suppose) put in some attempt at a tune. However, seeing that’s not going to happen for some time, what the heck. Here are some of them.
The reason I’m a bit embarrassed is that (this is the theory anyway), being song lyrics/mass appeal etc, they are full of clichés, bad rhymes and words no self-respecting modern poet would put in a poem, such as “love”. Everyone will now jump on me and point out all the deep, meaningful and totally poetic song lyrics that have been written by U2, Sting and the like – I know, I know.
Strange
I’m walking the streets
my body torn in half
No one turns, no one screams
How strange
I look into the mirror
My eyes do not connect
They rove distant lands, seeking
How strange
My body is below
I drift above
Look down to see it weeping
How strange
You’re talking to me
You see that I laugh
But you’re talking to a fake
How strange
Strange I lost the one I loved
I never told
Stranger come and rescue me
From this despair
I”ll walk the streets
Tonight, in halves
No one will turn, no one will scream
How strange
Forgive me
I know you didn’t
Believe in life beyond
What’s done is done
One life we own
But if sometimes I call you down from the sky
sometimes I see your eyes in the stars
sometimes I catch your voice on the wind
forgive me
Your hand was warm
Your pulse still so strong
But blood betrayed
Your mind had drowned
But if sometimes I dance with my hands wrapped around
sometimes I sing in a solo duet
sometimes I talk to your smile on the wall
forgive me
So now you rest
Dust in a green box
Soon to be free
At one with tide and sea
But if sometimes I sigh at lingering sunset
sometimes let the sand wash from between my toes
sometimes dream of your warm hand in mine
forgive me
Annandale 4/11/03
email me: piokiwi@yahoo.com.au
Piokiwi 5:03 am
Sunday, November 02, 2003
A little boy was brought into the Intensive care today. He had been found floating limp in a pool, 8 minutes after last being seen busily helping out in the yard. His heart had stopped for at least 20 minutes before an ambulance crew got it beating again, by sheer brute force of drugs. Young hearts are strong but brains are still fragile. Now he lies on ventilator support, his muscles paralysed to stop the seizures and aid in cooling him. His brain is swelling, pushing itself against the confines of the skull, and all we can do is watch helplessly from outside. At worst he will die. Or is it at worst? I remember the first near- drowning I looked after, 4 years ago. She was a beautiful 2 year old, and I remember the long weeks of seeing her lie like a vacant, perfect doll, blond hair tied back with a ribbon, her hands and feet fisting uncontrollably as her parents tried to believe she was communicating with them.
Over the three months I’ve now worked in Intensive Care, I have seen many patients whose situations remind me of Casey’s. I have even, now, sat on one side of the table in the Interview room and watched the faces of parents as all little remaining hope was taken away from them and they had to face the ultimate truth. Their faces must have mirrored mine 7 months ago. I do not watch bravely. Twice, I have begged colleagues to take patients that I feel I cannot look after without becoming too swayed by my emotions. There have been many children with the same condition as Casey’s: 2, 8, 13 years old. Some have died, others have survived. It is hard to watch their parents pacing, disempowered and for once unable to protect their children. I feel I have to remain on my side of the clinician-parent barrier. And so we each pace, one side in acute fear and abandonment, the other in memory and longing.
email me: piokiwi@yahoo.com.au
Piokiwi 4:58 am
Monday, October 27, 2003
A crazy but somehow satisfying weekend, doing extra shifts in my old stomping ground, the Children’s Emergency dept. I went from managing intubated, unconscious patients to deciding what was wrong with a succession of unhappy, snot nosed babies and toddlers. It’s a harder job than it seems (though very familiar to me by now), and carries a weighty responsibility. However, now that I’m safely home (after midnight) I can recall with some amusement that I spent a largish proportion of my time today trying to coax a recalcitrant 2 year old that he needed to take his medication. Coaxing, bribes, threats, reasoning and sheer force all met with little success, and several hours later the score was still :
2 year old - one
4 adults – nil.
Hmm. In the end I shook hands with the two year old after a spirited contest of wills, and decided to let him go home anyway. Good luck to the parents who now have the task of giving him more medication.....
email me: piokiwi@yahoo.com.au
Piokiwi 3:37 am
Monday, October 20, 2003
There are times when I feel like Sydney is out to get me. For instance when someone zooms up my behind, beeping like crazy, suddenly sideswipes to overtake then pulls in front with a triumphant two-fingered salute. A violation of road space. Or when taxis and trucks beep noisily outside my bedroom window. A violation of my street space. But when it's jimmying my passenger side lock so now I can't open it, it becomes a personal violation.
It's times like these that all my bad feelings about Australia, and Australians, come to the fore. Sydneysiders are known as the most "American" of Ockers: shallow, materialistic, out to grab their slice of pie and to hell with everyone else. (there, now I've offended lots of people). Outsiders, even those in love with Sydney's undeniably sunny weather and gorgeous beaches, are surprisingly unanimous in this evaluation.
It is probably just because I'm feeling incredibly small and alone right now. Though I should be used to it, because I feel like this for at least a few moments every day. Let's not pretend all that stuff I mentioned doesn't happen in the Godzone of New Zealand: it does, all the time. But I'm in a foreign country with a foreign values system, road code and laws: at least if I were home I would know a little better how to deal with it. And more importantly have more than one shoulder to cry on.
I believe that New Zealanders are the kindest, fairest, most balanced people in the world. I admit that I am biased in this. Probably I am the victim of patriotic indoctrination. but that doesn't matter: I believe it, my best friends are Kiwis, and I wanna go home.
email me: piokiwi@yahoo.com.au
It's not all Bad: the view from my house in Annandale on a nice day.
Piokiwi 1:51 am
Sunday, October 12, 2003
I'm home in Auckland for one all too short weekend - a conference this time, as all of us need to catch up on the latest knowledge, meet fellow trainees, and schmooze up to bosses. As could be reliably predicted Auckland has turned on a display of its finest weather ie. wet, cloudy and cold, to welcome the visitors from Oz I had hopes of showing off my home to. Oh well. It's still beautiful. The Sky Tower (which I have gradually warmed to) is all lit up in pink, and this evening the top of it disappeared into a pink-tinged cloud just as the dusk was making the sky dark baby-blue. It looked like something out of Lord of the Rings.
The conference is on sleep medicine, and given many delegates arrived the night before at 2 am it seemed topical that one of the first sessions was on how chronic sleep deficit affected people doing important tasks. I mused that paediatric registrars are a group well worth studying for this topic, though you wouldn't be able to recruit any subjects because none of us are going to agree to missing out on any more sleep than we are already doing. True to the spirit of this research, I am returning to Oz on Monday afternoon, just in time to do some housework then head off to night shift. Ah, the glamour and the joy.
email me: piokiwi@yahoo.com.au
Piokiwi 12:14 am
Wednesday, October 08, 2003
By the end of a set of Intensive Care shifts (13 hours, 8-9 am/pm day or night), I feel slightly deflated, usually smarting from the memory of several faux pas that I have made – like asking a dumb question of the consultant/boss, caught just-in-time errors or a foolish comment to a nurse. It is then that the beauty of “saving lives” (if following a set of rules could be called this) tends to be eclipsed by other emotions.
The papers here in Oz are full of articles about "greedy doctors" who are resigning in protest rather than pay an extra medical indemnity levy. (the background : early last year the biggest medical indemnity insurer, UMP, collapsed due to its inability to demonstrate to the government it could pay for all of the huge claims now being passed through the courts due to the litiginous Aussie culture - second only to California for the number and amount of claims. The government, which insists that all doctors are covered by medical insurance, - and faced by the spectre of thousands of doctors suddenly being unable to practise - gave a guarantee for the continued survival of UMP and then proceeded to bill all its members for money to cover this). People, including me, who paid a voluntary membership fee to UMP for years (we are covered by our hospitals anyway, but are advised that extra cover is good) were suddenly hit by a bill for thousands of dollars - and are still not covered by UMP for medical indemnity. Senior doctors are walking out or taking early retirement in protest.
The real problem, as I see it, is with the Aussie "it's not my fault - it must be someone else's" culture. An attitude supported by stupid laws and poor interpretation by judges. How else do you explain a court that awarded a man millions of dollars in damages against a city council after he dived into a shallow bay after getting pissed, not surprisingly hit his head and became a quadriplegic, then proceeded to sue the council for not putting a sign up saying "please do not dive into the shallow water when drunk"?. These are of course, the same idiots who claim the dole (part of which is the 45 % of my income taken by the Howard government), then wander into the emergency department having got into some knife fight or other. A bit hard to feel sympathy sometimes, despite my Oath.... And I suffer again when local clubs and societies can't afford the suddenly rocketing cost of public liabilities insurance and I miss out on a good bushwalking trip or something.
Ah, Australians..... sometimes I'm glad I'm getting outta here!!
email me: piokiwi@yahoo.com.au
If you got through all that, you deserve a laugh - therefore a completely unrelated picture of me after a bushwalk last year, during which I spent a substantial amount of time on my bum (thus inspiring the anthem: "Ode to the Humble Butt" - see archives). As you can see, I got a lot of sympathy from my fellow walkers.
Piokiwi 2:16 am
Sunday, October 05, 2003
It's a "long weekend" here in Seedny.ie Mon is a public holiday, which I am rostered on to work. However I am off today, which meant I was out making the most of the great festivals which are on at the moment - the Manly jazz festival (free jazz, nice food, lots of happy dogs, grannies and kids out strolling among the pine trees) and the Darling Harbour Fiesta (free Latin bands, although it is still too cold to wear any of the skimpy garments required to look good in doing salsa, and I see I will have to cultivate more friends who like to dance).
My flatmate Rebecca has her 76 year old gran visiting, which means she is required to call home if she is out late to reassure gran that she is safe. (One forgets the luxury of not being accountable to one's parents when one is living away from home - see, it's not just Chinese parents). When I got home tonight, Bec's gran commented that I looked no older than 16 going on 17. I could have hugged her - after feeling rather dowdy among the svelte young things raging in Darling Harbour tonight, it's nice to know that one appears young at least from the perspective of some people......
email me: piokiwi@yahoo.com.au
Piokiwi 12:41 am
Wednesday, October 01, 2003
My cousin Ferdi aged 5 1/2 has been visiiting from Beijing, and yesterday on my day off I bravely accompanied him and my Aunty to the Zoo, at the peak of the school holiday season. Taronga Park Zoo is enchantingly situated across the harbour, a ferry ride away from the bustle of the city. From this peninsula, one can see unlikely vistas of exotic animals grazing within sight of the Opera House.
I haven't seen Ferdi since my visit to Beijing in 1998 when he was one. On this occasion, he chattered away to me in Cantonese with the assurance of one who already knows that they are in full control of the world. I found myself fielding enquiries about why my Chinese was so bad (there is nothing so deflating as a young relative correcting your grammar). I also had a hard time convincing him that I was any older than 9 years old (perhaps he had a point, as I had been busy impersonating rabbits and frogs jumping along the pavement at the time). Eventually he conceded that I might be as old as ten.
Strangely, whenever I have relatives to try to impress like my aunties, I immediately feel very small and young again, and no matter how hard I try I always end up feeling incapable and about ten years old instead of 30. Usually something embarrassing happens - once when I was trying to impress my uncle by taking him to a popular cafe my car got towed away while we were having coffee. Is this a common experience or is this just a function of my Chinese family?
email me: piokiwi@yahoo.com.au
Piokiwi 9:21 pm
Tuesday, September 30, 2003
On a nicer note, I have been scribbling still. And performing - my prize tally for the Tues poetry nites at a nearby pub standing so far at $10 and a bottle of red (which will go nicely in my cooking). This one is a draft still, a patchwork of thoughts about going home:
Homecoming (notes)
Aotearoa
land of clouds and shadows
sun burst and sea stars
the pull of earth
its air freedom
Weekend smell
sliding clotheslines
roar of distant lawnmowers
sand wedging in toe cracks
introspection on the verge of rockpools
feet on sharp oysters
rain on asphalt
corrugated iron
glossy leaves stroking wet glass
friendship ringed round board games
pizza and fizz in glasses
long drives through night
to beaches made secret by moonlight
sinking onto black sand
lost by choice
scratching our names in the sand
swings dancing in darkness
city lights reflected
dark road like polished greenstone
cheerful clink of cups
playing student in a fleece
in the warm groan
of my old Toyota
and now I can come home
21.8.03, 4.11.03 Annandale
Piokiwi 1:40 am
Whew, it's been over a month since I last posted!! Not that there's been many a night shift where I've though about opening up the blogger page.... but then a new patient has arrived, or a nurse has barged in and demanded immediate attention, or somesuch. Such is the ICU.
The PICU tonight was a sad place when I left. Another two year old (they are always 2 or 3) had been found face down in a pool, and resuscitated so there was a heartbeat, but no evidence of brain function. The family realised quickly what that meant. They were sobbing away their hope beside the bed as his little life ebbed away. One of the grandparents asked my boss how he could bear to do his job and see such things, day after day.
It's a common enough conversation in the ICU. Strangely enough, though I have indeed lost my nerve a few times - usually when withdrawal of care or organ donation needs to be mentioned - I do enjoy my time in the ICU. Apart from the academic challenge - working out what is going on and what the best course of action is - it is a rare opportunity to form a direct bond with the family - often the relatives are who you can help the most. I also marvel at the ICU consultants' ability to keep fighting for patient's lives, long after the rest of us have lost reasonable hope. When the odds are stacked thousands to one against, when all medical reasoning says you should stop, the ICU consultant is still trying to see that one last chance. And it seems to me that that is what every patient- and their family - needs - someone who will fight to the last.
Ben
Tiny yellow body
all belly
garlanded by rattle-horses
still at last.
A lock of fair hair
in a book,
a blue box of sparkles
smudged with tears.
Machines grouped silently
behemoths now still
waiting for a new call
to arms.
Piokiwi 1:36 am
Thursday, August 28, 2003
A new poem.
Intensive Care
I walk among you,
the live in dread:
your lives ebbing and flowing
with each breath of those you love.
Unrecognised
behind my smiling clinician’s mask
I am one of you,
turning in sudden freefall
in an alien galaxy
the surety of your lives vanished
in a fatal moment,
a chain of flaws.
Isolated but bound by grief
ghostlike we wander
among monitors tracing our fates
in neat coloured lines,
the soft puff and gurgle
of blinking machines.
There are those who charge
Hope their lance against the odds
those who clothe their fear in smiles
those who endure the long days
their light still distant
those who come to grieve
I swim upward
in slowly widening circles
and below I see you,
the beginners,
start to swim.
Piokiwi 1:41 am
Friday, August 22, 2003
An introspective night last night, one of those bouts of personal pain that still sneaks up on me by stealth, and too late to call anyone about it. Or maybe it's better to deal with it myself. And so I sit down, and write: time to polish at first, then later more raw, don't care, just the truth stuff. Don't worry. I'm not like this all the time.
Western haunt
A wisp of cloud
hostage to an endless sky
red earth prostrate
in supplication for rain
distant human dust trails
while watchers hide in the landscape
bitter earth indeed
but like desert weeds
it grows fast
its sands ubiquitous
the dream of open spaces
will haunt me now
Mission Bay, summer
salt sea sand
dry lips now moist
fumble
myself lumped under your jersey
anonymous to the crowd
cackling along the seawall
rocks igneous now prey
to the slow suck of the sea
later jive to the neon pull
of chips blatantly salty
can’t remember if there was a guitar
but it would have fitted
there’s always the fountain
spurting lights so magic
kids magnetised to the pool
but now a desperation
the tide relentless
your hand losing its grip on my breast
and I fall again
the lights go out
it is so
empty
Cryptic
Hollow puppet me
bobbing and grinning
“I’m OK...”
God, you almost had me convinced.
But look: there can be two (or more) versions of the truth.
You miss him.
Your soul screeches daily in pain.
You’re not even sure how you survive, day after day.
And then there’s Happy You:
no less truthful, just a little more numb.
And dumb. Perhaps.
People like happy people.
It would be OK, I guess,
if there was an alternative huggy universe:
a Mr Replacement, ready to supply all required stimulations,
even if he wasn’t the same,
at least it would be a comfort.
But even that is missing,
and friends’ ears at 2 am
do not respond fondly to phoning
now that you’re 4 months out.
Guess there’s always the desert for screaming.
Cryptic no.2
“In the desert, no one can hear you scream”
but I paraphrase the movies, or somesuch.
Kind of handy if it were true, really.
But I’m not near the desert anymore.
The sea could do as well really
gurgle gurgle gurgle
just have to be careful not to breathe in too deeply.
Calm down, I’m not suicidal
No jumping out of buildings
to end the flames of burning pain
no pyre for me yet
though sometimes I feel that little vessel
at the back of my brain
swelling, poised to pop.
I do admit though
to a certain….carelessness at times
A minor disregard for personal safety
not checking my car before I get in
forgetting the door lock
a walk in the dark
After all, I’ve seen the worst
but I guess it could still be sore.
After all, what kind of thinking is that?
Do you think it would help,
plunging yourself into darkness as well?
Let’s see… deep down you still think
you might be wrong about the afterlife,
that you still might see Him
afterwards.
Not a chance, sister.
You’re probably best sticking to the idea
that He is Within,
and getting on with it.
Piokiwi 1:45 am
Wednesday, August 20, 2003
Tonight, missing my old friends in Broken Hill, I went to the Friend in Hand at Glebe to find out what their poetry night was all about. I returned with a poem:
Barflies in Glebe
red velvet woman
with red velvet voice
strums the soul
to the chuckle of double bass
a girl tosses smoke puffs
back with a flick of brown ringlets
a statement of bohemian cool
from the corner
full speed
schizo-stream-of-consciousness
performs to an unseen audience
three minutes
stretched to the limit
stories of unrequited lust
or writer’s block
eyebrow-raised humour
sex as a condiment
youth their wine
and I, from the worker’s world
they spurn and yet aim to join
sit in the dark
stale smoke my memory
this poem my souvenir
19/8/03
Piokiwi 3:53 am
Saturday, August 16, 2003
Poems composed on the way back from Uluru (scribbled onto the bus window in whiteboard marker - very public poetry writing - therefore forgive the mass appeal element!)
Ballad of the Red Centre
To their land we came as guests
Though each of us had different quests
Clouds swept with us along the plain
To our surprise we brought the rain
With sun's respite we climbed the earth
O'er which the name of Kings was writ
Creation scenes to us were told
As through the chasm our eyes strolled
On to the land where songlines meet
But rain and thunder still did greet
And though our campfire tried to die
Deep in our swags we snuggled dry
With sacrifice, and early start
At last we reached the hallowed heart
Uluru - glistening like a jewel
Its many secrets left to tell
And so we found the last of three
Its mango clusters rising free
Kata Tjuta , most mysterious
Sandstone towers wreathed in silence
So now we start the long road home
For some the path will lead them on
As many nations share a beer
For Matt and Lena, give a cheer!
And for the subsequent international poetry competition my effort inspired.... (the prize being beer, of course)
Outback Caution
The land of Oz is red and wide
Within it, many hazards hide
From sunrise morn till end of day
Tourists should be much afraid
Hoop snakes stalk their human prey
With fangs as sharp as spoons (some say)
As quarry fill their pants in fear
They'll roll into a hoop, and sneer
Those with tjukurpa don't fear
But worst by far are fat Drop Bears
As unsuspecting tourists walk
Under branches, down they drop!
In breeding season, do take fright
At bulls that dance to Barry White
When lovelorn bovines threaten you
Just play a tune on your didgeridoo.
I'll mention here the kangaroos
That work as outback postal crews
When you want to post a letter
Slip one in their pouch, it'll get there!
So heed my cautionary stories
Or you won't last your Aussie journeys
And if you thought one word I spoke
Was true, l'll confess, 'twas a joke!
(for the record.... the challenge here was to write, in about 15 mins in a darkened bouncing minibus with loud music going, a poem containing the words Didgeridoo, sunrise and Tjukurpa(Aboriginal word meaning connection to the land). For a bus filled with Italians, Germans, and Spaniards, the yield of literary efforts in English was impressive. Though the prize was won by an English lad who rhymed "Tjukurpa" with "cuppa".)
My own effort, in case you're wondering, exposes the many Aussie "legends" told to gullible tourists. I fondly remember the one about postal kangaroos had some fellow travellers from the States and UK enthralled for days while I was travelling on the TransMongolian several years ago. 
Piokiwi 1:24 am
Monday, August 11, 2003
Hello from the Red Centre - apparently I can't keep away from the desert, nor am I capable of spotting a 1 week gap in the roster without taking advantage if it. So here I am in Alice Springs. Spent the weekend whizzing around Kings Canyon, Uluru and the Olgas - amazing red rocks although it being peak season it's easy to lose the atmosphere of the places. Also far too speedy a trip, but Uluru will always be there, and no doubt I'll find a reason to return. Today I embark on a 2 1/2 day train journey back to Sydney - not sure if it will be comfortable, but we'll see.
In any case one of the enduring memories of the trip is the situation I got myself into last night - despite not having a drop of alcohol to drink. I was at a post-tour party at a popular pub called Melanka's where all the backpackers in Alice hang out, and got talked into playing some pub games. Unbenownst to me until it was too late to back out, this involved swapping clothes inside a swag (a canvas sleeping bag) with a guy - the unfortunate thing being that my partner for this game was a 6 foot 4 medical student called Ian that I'd known for all of two days! I had no problem getting into his clothes, but the fact that he could get into mine and that I could still wear them afterwards is testament to the stretching power of lycra....
Anyway. On to more sedate pursuits (I think.) Back in Sydney Wednesday.
Piokiwi 12:38 pm
Wednesday, August 06, 2003
A night in the life of a medical mole.....
Here I am on nights in intensive care.... it's a strange existence, this, waking in the dark, wolfing down breakfast/dinner and sliding into the carpark just as everyone else is leaving, then driving home in the morning in that special post-nights zombie state. My nights vary from gentle parambulations around the unit and occasional pokes at patients, to all-out, frenzied, omigod admissions. The unit owns a vital piece of equipment - a cappuccino maker which I have discovered delivers a potent brew capable of zinging me up for four hours. An extra challenge to the night is therefore the careful titration of caffeine to deliver maximum zing at the all-important morning ward round, during which (after being up all night) we are expected to deliver lucid and pithy patient summaries.
Anyway. Here are some poems I wrote last year, though only recently revised:
Huangshan
This morning
I floated like a fairy
over rocks rising immortal
from a green sea.
Omnipotent I gazed
at yellow ants toiling uphill:
burdened with baskets
of human flotsam.
This afternoon
I am an ant:
climbing stone pathways
badged with tourist privilege
and two shining cameras.
How can my lens grasp
the majesty of peaks breeching
like graceful whales from autumn foam
Does it see
the golden sheen of rocks
enticing yellow butterflies
Above the clamorous surge of people
a pine sashays silently
towards a blue sky
- Huangshan is a set of peaks in China, revered for generations for their beauty, particularly for the way the clouds cling to the elegant rock peaks. A traditional haunt of poets and painters, which judging by the names of some of the "scenes", consumed a considerable amount of mind altering substances in the rarefied air. Today however Huangshan is the haunt of tourists who can cheat by taking the cable car to the top and staying in one of the hotels. Porters - too poor to own decent shoes - still use the breath-bursting stone steps uphill, carrrying loads of up to 50 kg, at US $0.50 per kg.
Wushan
The Goddess Peak looks skyward
sleek goats slide on her skirts
nonchalant to cities below
collapsing to the drum of sledgehammers
and red tape.
Bricks shower
from city gates
imploring heaven
but no answer.
Families squat
in concrete shells
screens flicker blue to claim
their lives have improved.
Sunshades sprout
On fresh ruins
With goods for sale:
See, life goes on.
Wushan is a major city near the Three Gorges, the stretch of the Yangtse renowned for its beauty and history, which is currently being engulfed as a result of rising water levels from the Yangtse Dam project. When my mother, my sister and I visited last year (just before the final closing of the dam), we found people still living in their houses by the river, even though the houses had been deroofed to encourage them to move to their new concrete-block apartments above the projected water line. Tens of millions of people have been dispossessed of their ancestral land as a result of the dam project.
New for Old
“New for old!” the vendors cry
Though poets wail and peasants sigh
A river of gold will rise to claim
These wild green gorges still untamed.
Gone the trees where monkeys play;
Defeated are the ancient gates
In tall pagodas fish will dance
While common man will have to chance
The gleaming modern concrete shells
Above the land their fathers tilled.
Who knows what the dam will bring?
Perhaps the Yangtze cannot win.
But when mankind a god will fake
It is a dangerous chance to take.
Piokiwi 4:58 am
Tuesday, July 29, 2003
Well it's halfway through the second day of work in the Paed intensive care unit here at the Children's Hospital. It's early days yet.....but at the moment I am keeping my head above the water, but probably bordering on being annoying by asking lots of questions! (non medics: Intensive care is looking after the sickest kids in the hospital - lots of machines that beep). Better go......
Piokiwi 3:24 pm
Friday, July 25, 2003
New poems:
No Juliet
I am no Juliet,
riding the storms of first love.
We had our seasons
to dig with daggers
to lick wounds clean
and kiss them dry.
You tugged
like the sea pulling on the shore,
and I rose to your freshness
like salt-loving sand.
We swayed to the swell of the moon.
And now you have ebbed
and left me dry,
though your lips were warm
when we parted.
I seek a poisoned chalice
To toast those
Who yet cannot accept our love.
But I am no Juliet.
Phaeton’s chariot comes
I look to the light
but shadows remain.
BH 19.5.03
I wrote this some time ago. Many of you will know that my parents never approved of me having a non -chinese boyfriend; after many heated battles, in later years this became a problem that they just ignored and hoped would go away. For me, too, life became easier once I discovered the Chinese Parental principle of "hear no evil, see no evil" - ie even if they knew something was going on, if no one mentioned it they wouldn't have to respond. But now I profoundly regret the fact that I didn't insist they acknowledge Casey's importance in my life. They continue to ignore it, though that doesn't mean they don't support me in other ways.
Peace Negotiations
Our sources indicate
The war may be over
An uneasy truce suggested
By our spies on the border.
After 8 years
Of an all-out conflict
Battles the neighbours could hear
An unexpected event has occurred
Negating all previous hostilities.
Formerly, each side arrayed
Along unclear boundaries
Communication made difficult
By language dissimilarities.
Then followed a withdrawal of troops
A fragile ceasefire
Covert missions
Attempts to decipher code.
Despite peacekeeping missions
No agreement was reached.
But now a natural disaster
Rendering troops invalid
Has occurred, though policies are intact.
I’m ready to sign a treaty. Are you??
BH 14/6/03
After that note, sonething a bit lighter might be in order. I present here a poem I wrote for the Poets in the Pub in Broken Hill a few weeks ago. It was very well received, though when I first started it there were a few startled looks about where I might be going with it!!
The Great Show
Come all ye punters, hear my verse
I promise you, it’s sweet and terse
I’ll thrill you to the very core
So you’ll be crying out for more
Watch me as I lift my dress
A little cleavage, flashing breast
The plebs will gasp in muted awe
As underwear falls to the floor
And now I stand, my skin is bare
I’ll unzip that, to make you stare:
I let the bones, the organs fall
Now just my soul is bare to all
Watch it sparkle, twist and roar
Try to catch it as it soars
Dare to listen as I scream
Then walk with me to follow dreams
But every song must have its day
As I walk off the empty stage
Ask, can you play the poet’s part?
Come take the stand, and show your heart.
White Cliffs 28/6/03
Piokiwi 2:27 pm
Tuesday, July 22, 2003
There are a few things I've noticed about being back in town again. (Of course, I'm milking the "Hi I'm Renee, I'm just back from the bush" line for all it's worth - gives one a certain amount of street cred.) Firstly, in the shopping mall yesterday (naturally, one of my first stops) I was scanning a lot of faces that looked familiar - here in the city you're not likely to meet people that you know, but in Broken Hill, you tended to see someone you knew once every five minutes, and of course you have to stop and say hello.
Also, Nina the Starlet started looking normal once we passed through the Blue Mountains - before that she had looked rather out of place beside the towering 4WDs and campervans, particularly loaded up with Pio the Kiwi in the front making faces and the Kiwi flag rather prominently displayed out the back window (to cover the load up, but we rather enjoyed the idea of mooning the whole of Central Australia with the Kiwi flag as we drove).
Piokiwi 1:04 pm
Here I am, officially a city chick again. The drive back to Broken Hill from Sydney - all 1200 kms of it - was relatively painless due to the fact I wasn't the one driving. I'd lured my friend Gary to Broken Hill with promises of a "real outback experience" - though of course his real job was to cram the Starlet with 6 months accumulated gear and share the driving. However after a desktop computer, breadmaker, video, stereo, blender, 10 paintings, assorted bags of junk, a doona and a guitar went in, we found that I was the only one who could fit into the passenger side and Gary was sure that if we moved the drivers seat forward for me to drive it was certainly not moving back again. In any case, by driving over two and half days we managed to make it in time to see the zoo at Dubbo, which was fun. Had a few close calls with roos though - roo vz Starlet not a pretty imagined sight.
Piokiwi 11:05 am
Thursday, July 10, 2003
I am a little surprised by how much of an attachment (despite all that has happened in the personal life) I have formed to Broken Hill in 6 months. I guess it isn't too much of a surprise, really: it's a place of warm hearted people that have welcomed me into their groups, complete lack of traffic hassles, huge desert spaces and glorious skies. If we could import a nice stretch of coastline and bring it a bit closer to NZ, it would be perfect, really.
But anyway, I had a literary/arty time on the weekend that has just been. I enjoyed the Poets in the Pub, and as well as reading some of my poems, gave them a taste of the great NZ poet Hone Tuwhare. The writer's group presented me with two poems they had written - I had tears in my eyes. No one's really written a poem about me before. Here's the first:
Oriental Tiki
You wander lonely as a Long White Cloud
Across the Great Western Isle
You ended up in Broken Hill
But could only stay a short while
You live your life by metric days
One hundred hours in each
Seen desert sights that sore amaze
Yet still yearn for the beach
You yoyo to the Eastern shore
Whose oceans froth and foam
To gaze out through Sol’s morning door
Where Tasman tides head home
You shared your life and thoughts with us
At times that must have been a trial
You made a difference, not a fuss
Through your poetry and smile
Always clever often cheeky
Always on call never pissed
You’re our Oriental Tiki
You’ll be very deeply missed
Geoff Sanders(with permission).
Piokiwi 7:24 pm
Monday, July 07, 2003
This is the third time in a week that I've had cake-on-the-run for lunch. Damn. Not that I'm terribly busy at other times. Also feeling a little deranged from caffeine consumed to offset the 1 am bedtime and 4 am wakeup call, courtesy of the hospital.
Go on, feel sorry for me....:)
(geez, the above paragraph makes me look like I have extremely bad eating habits. I don't really! Though BH is the kind of place where people tail you around the supermarket just to see what you're putting in your basket...to see if you follow your own advice.)
Piokiwi 7:48 pm
The sunset this evening, from a hill in the South part of town.
At left, you can see the poppet heads (wooden shaft towers) of the Old South Mine, and the dark flat shadow on the right is part of the "line of lode" i.e. slag heap in the middle of town.
Piokiwi 2:14 am
Sunday, July 06, 2003
New poems too:
Search
Shadows skip across my path
But cannot be caught
I cannot find you
Though I look on the face
Of every man
she said her eyes full mourn but do not wait forever
Where are your eyes sparking amusement
pouting lips hiding a tongue
ready with dangerous wit
a smile that brushes my mists away
come have coffee tell me your dreams
Where are your hands ready to pounce
on my weaknesses
the jut of your jaw
and warmth of your prickly Sunday face
you need to go home rest sleep
It is there
I can almost find your embrace
Can you see me
Reaching across the chasm?……
There will be other men trust me
At the edge of my sight
I glimpse your face,
And I am again
Chasing shadows.
Muse
If I had lain there
brain drowned by red tide
would you sit here now
myopic in your grief
smearing turgid words
onto this page?
I think not.
You were never one
to spill your soul in public
nor mould your dreams in paint.
But your limbs made poetry
by their play
your eyes hummed symphonies
your lips sculpted my flesh
your tongue drew the sun to me
how could this perfection
be dust
your work is not yet finished
remain with me
Piokiwi 1:56 am
Had the alarming urge to buy a cowboy hat the other day - obviously I've been too long in the Far West, soon I'll be buying spurs and fluffy dice as well!! Sadly, the goodbyes have already started. Had my last art class wednesday - 2 more paintings completed, one of which is below: Karekare Beach in West Auckland. A place with special significance for me.
Piokiwi 1:51 am
Wednesday, July 02, 2003
Due to complaints there's nothing new to read on my blog (thanks Tim), thought you might want to read the text of diary entries I made while in Bourke several weeks ago. Largely created in my opulent sitting room in the evenings. You may remember I was getting increasingly frustrated to be marooned there, but I had a good time too....of sorts. (since a potential audience was the bosses, certain strong views had to be toned down).
Wkhc Bourke June 2003
Day 1:June 2nd 2003
After a smooth flight leaving Broken Hill at 9am with 5 passengers crammed into a tiny charter plane (and cursory instructions on use of the emergency beacon should we crash en route) we landed at Bourke under overcast skies. A short ute ride later past vineyards and a display centre encouraging people to discover the 'Back of Bourke' (an expression meaning middle of nowhere) and we were in town. The Riverside Motel proved to be an oasis with statuettes, swimming pool, rose bushes and no big headed, three legged dogs in sight, contrary to warnings. There were however three very cute dogs and a cat to welcome us.
After a preliminary inspection of the decorated wooden floors and scented bathroom of my embarrassingly large suite, it was time to head to the school, less than a block away. Initially there was hushed silence in presence of the solemn Virgin statues standing among dewy roses in front of the convent building, but this only lasted 30 seconds. The music hall where we were to conduct our check was up some cleverly hidden back stairs with the old, musty smell ubiquitous to the back of school halls all over the world. Having made it upstairs we found ourselves in a bright area filled with colourful Aboriginal paintings. A feast of sandwiches and fruit soon arrived, followed closely by the arrival of other health staff from Bourke and beyond who were to participate.
We soon got down to the real business of the afternoon, a blow by blow description of the health check. Some of the more memorable revelations of the afternoon included:
· a discussion of whether the Tooth Fairy should receive health funding after a mother revealed that the going rate for having 8 teeth pulled out at one time was $20;
· that some of the older kids, reluctant to go through the indignity of having to pee into a Styrofoam cup, were altering the parent consent forms for the Health Check; and
· Andrew’s colourful description of the mating habits of head lice (the male crawls underneath the much bigger female, grips her front legs then in their passion they both stand on their heads: the mind boggles).
After more rejuvenating coffee we were fortunate witnesses to the St Ignatius school assembly, held outdoors in the netball court, where Year 6 gave a tuneless but enthusiastic rendition of Rocket Man. Nat then gave out the prizes for the best artwork done by the kids for the Health Check. It was then hometime for the kids, and for us, a “dry run” of the health check with some enthusiastic children volunteered by their mothers who were on staff. There was some mild troubleshooting: the opening of the 20 litre bottle of conditioner obtained by Nat; the replacement of the wildly inaccurate stadiometer which claimed I stood 2 metres tall (now I know THAT to be incorrect!).
We then retired back to the Riverside, some to a little enlightening wine and beer, others to books and computers. The planned BBQ became an indoor affair due to rain, and afterwards the dining room became a scene of serious industry as we filled those dilly bags with all sorts of health goodies (pamphlets, badges, magnets, anything Nat had been able to beg off related industries). Faced with a 6.15 am start everyone has made it an early bedtime.
Day 2 – Tues 3rd June
The day of reckoning – huddled over a hot breakfast the sleepy crew at 6.45 am refused to cheer up. However the short walk to the school accompanied by the faithful band of motel dogs started to fire us up and we used the remaining half hour to whip our stations into shape and take “calm before the storm” photographs. Everyone was smartly attired in our very nice Health Check T shirts.
The first kids turned up with clutching dilly bags with one hand, parents with the other. The ear check turned out to be relatively harmless and when they found out that each station meant a new present to put their dilly bag enthusiasm started to appear. The eye check also had nice ladies there though the Lang postcard caused a few puzzled faces, though most could eventually see the star, cat and car. The hair station meant a new (and very stylish) hairdo and then it was the turn of Dr Andrew the muffin monster who could sing “Rocket Man” and also checked your skin. But then it was time for the vampire ladies at the blood station and mostly the emla magic cream worked to numb the skin, but for a few kids this was not enough. Then it was time to check height and weight, and finally the wee test downstairs, which was “gross” but most kids did it anyway.
I was principal Vampire lady though I preferred the title Butterfly Girl. Di and I after a few initial hiccups soon had a rhythm going and at our best was able to see one child every 7 minutes!! However a few memorable moments – when littlies refused the blood test it was usually with nerve-jangling anxiety attacks and I managed to do a spectacular blood splatter against the hall wall in front of a parent while filling a blood tube. A miserable muffin and a full bladder later I felt relieved when Mary arrived to be the reinforcement. In no time it seemed it was 11 o’clock, the last kids were being ushered out, and I was surprised to be told that we had bled 31 children that day!!
Mary and I sallied out armed with digital camera to take photos in the school yard and this proved popular with the kids. A real lunch duly arrived and the dissection of the day had already begun when it was decided to have a break – some headed for the nearest café with chocolate cake while I chose a quiet moment underneath the Bourke Wharf looking over a muddy Darling River. There were graceful white herons and pelicans to watch and dream, though later I was sprung by Mary, Di and Cath looking over the edge and spotting my shoes!!
The afternoon saw us turn the music hall into a scene of industry once again as we tackled last-minute data entry issues and started preparation of a results booklet. All agreed that the day had gone off more smoothly than expected, with some delighted and cooperative kids and their parents. Even those who had had to wait a while with empty tummies had not complained and the teachers had helped to ensure the flow went smoothly.
A little afternoon sunlight was left to me to wander around Bourke central, which turned out to be surprisingly inviting but the presence of bars and shutters on all the shops attested to the unrest which plagues this town after dark. I returned to my spot by the Darling for sunset which was a gentle glory of pink clouds reflected in the river and pelicans sailing serenely through it all. Maybe another painting has started gestation.
Nightime and the group headed for the Port’O Bourke pub which served an admirable Beer Battered Barramundi in a genteel dining room. Must say I am seeing a number of very nice colonial buildings, heavy with antique solid wood furniture. As I type my laptop is resting on a wooden rolltop writing desk with cold Milo in a porcelain teacup beside me. Ah, the life. Time for bed as there’s another ungodly start tomorrow and there’s 40 kids coming this time.
Day 3
Well this morning about 10 am it hit me : a wave of weariness. By then I’d already stuck about 20 kids and the constant pressure to get the vein first time, plus various other snipes, was starting to get to me. My life was becoming an obsession with needles and getting good “stats” with a low number of refusals and failures. The kids were as gorgeous as ever and we’d actually had a great run with older kids and bulgy veins were swimming in front of my eyes. At our best Di and I clocked up an amazing rate of one kid every 4 minutes.
Luckily Mary was able to take over about 11 am and I had a much needed break, even making it to the Wee Stop. Finally it was all over – we had seen 40 kids, they had all departed happily with their bags of goodies and everyone scattered for coffee and lunch. Nat and I went out to see the Back O Bourke centre which turned out to be a teaser of an intro movie about the outback, but no actual display (still under construction). Never mind. The afternoon was spent watching the others working on stats and playing with my photographs of the Healthy Kids Check and some graphics for the personal results booklet.
Also was able to check my email (thank goodness – was starting to get uncomfortable about the fact I am uncontactable here, since the phone is out of action. No emergency messages from friends and family, thank god.) Watched sunset from the wharf, wrote a poem and unsuccessfully tried to murder the mosquitoes stalking me.
Dinner a last-night group affair at the Kidman Way café, very nice chicken although the others complained about there being no desert, the consensus being we had to remedy that at the RSL afterwards. Now it’s feeling “late” (10 pm – old age kicks in fast) and I should go to bed. 30 or so more kids to survive tomorrow – don’t know about my fitness for that.
Piokiwi 7:22 pm
This morning, I had to collect a plastic resuscitation mannekin from the University up the hill as we were running mock emergency scenarios at lunchtime. I bowled up early in the morning, but just as I and the university lady were loading what appeared to be the limp body of a child into the boot of my Starlet another car drove by - no doubt arousing great suspicions (I can look mighty shady in my beanie). There was no nearby parking at the hospital, so I had to carry the limp body across the carpark and in through the front entrance, startling two cleaners on the way, and nearly giving the nurse I bumped into in the dark office corridor a heart attack. The body of a child and two babies in a tote bag have been lying on my office floor all day, and I'm half expecting the police to call.........
Piokiwi 7:14 pm
Thursday, June 19, 2003
It's been a good weekend back in Sydney, catching up with old friends, and remaking the acquaintance of the sea by going out for a paddle under the Harbour Bridge. Oh, and eating a lot of seafood, of course.
This poem from my writing splurge a fortnight ago:
Dusk, Sculpture Symposium
The moon is up early
a fingernail clipping the sky
impregnated by sunset
each night she will swell
floating with increasing heaviness
among bubble bath clouds
Stones become seers
hoods thrown back
to the full beauty of the moon
now terrible in her luminosity
exulting in the chant
of her priests:
the wind rising
sand transformed by magic
into puddles of light
the song mounts
the goddess labours
stretched on her gauzy bed of stars
Clouds hide her modesty
at the ultimate moment
and the cough of gravel
bids us turn away
back to the town of mortals
whose lights beckon below.
Speaking of the sea, here's another, written a year ago, which expresses how I feel about it:
Replenishing the basket
I’m a rockpool voyeur
sea sliding slyly
snuggles at my feet
Child-discovery all around
as sunset subsides.
Gull rockets crazily above
To where waves toy
with human matchsticks
bobbing like hopeful slugs.
(I see one now, tossed
carelessly feet-up…)
Water and sea-sand smell
come: fill me.
I am all emptied out.
The basket is yours to fill.
Mona Vale, 10/8/02
Piokiwi 7:43 pm
Thursday, June 12, 2003
Two "medical" poems I wrote last Saturday. The opening line is taken from a real report, but the rest of the poem is not based on any one patient - but those who have worked in rural communities may find it a familiar scenario. The second poem is a real patient of mine, though the name has of course been changed.
Accident
“her life was a train crash in slow motion”
this is what they said of you
when they finally found you hanging
but did they stretch out their hands
to stop the locomotion
or did you simply not see
their eyes screaming, stop!
as you plunged
Through the angry words of your childhood
you grew a hard shell around your innocence
so when the blows came
they did not find that deepest part of you
yet there was no safe hiding place
the beds and houses constantly changed
They were wrong when they said
you drank to oblivion
it was not for solace, but for survival
glue was a cheap way out
you figured your brain was already stuffed
and from there, a short step
to weed, the only way to decent dreams.
When your belly swelled
at fifteen, it was no surprise
others had done it too
Your child your double
eyes fenced by dark lashes
tiny hands clutching at shadows
as they stole her from you
You ran from rehab
the rope was thrown too late
blinded now, you hurtled
to where fate lay waiting
holding open the door
to your childhood dreams
BH 7/6/03
Piokiwi 3:01 pm
Ryan
Frozen in a time before words
Your eyes stare at a reflection:
Fullback’s frame bunched in a wheelchair
Baby bottle suffocated by giant hand
Lemonade melting the last vestige of teeth
Tracksuit swollen by nappies.
An infant’s mind in a man’s body
You lean on your frail nan
Though she can no longer bathe you alone:
You chase bubbles every morning
As the school bus waits in vain.
What thunder stole your mind
As you lay sleeping before the start of time?
What accident of gene, what poison
Denied you intellect
And robbed the world of your adulthood?
The secret drowns in your empty eyes.
BH 7/6/03
Piokiwi 2:59 pm
When I showed this to my writing group, several people identified with the first poem. The process of writing - particularly poetry - is often a display of emotion at great personal risk : but if it connects, it becomes something far more valauble than just a poem.
The other two poems describe Poets in the Pub and the Community Markets poetry reading.
Poet
I
I reach down my throat
draw out my innards
splay against a white page:
You read, and turn away
precious glitter in your eyes.
II
Guffaws, friendship
warm vinyl on red velvet
chink of ice on glass:
eyes quieten, then still
as my voice makes foray.
And then brighten
as I invoke the stars.
This is no desert,
but a shared feast of minds.
III
Paintings
held captive by chains
flutter in sunlight
Man in a suit
voice rounding up the foraging crowd
beckons: Come hear the poets!
The herd continues to graze
but some lift their heads
ears pricked to the lilt
of words in mysterious rhythms,
chanted by a circle of seers.
Piokiwi 2:56 pm
Got peed on by a baby this week - first time they've managed to get me for two years, though there have been a few near misses. ( I've learned to move fast). The kid was on the weighing scales beside me while I was talking to the mum, and stupidly I wasn't watching and he managed to squirt me sideways. He gave me a big innocent smile afterwards - grrr. Think the child has a career ahead of him - previously he's managed to get grandma in the face with a poo......
Piokiwi 2:52 pm
Monday, June 09, 2003
A painting I did a few weeks ago- Papanui Beach on the Otago Peninsula.
Piokiwi 1:13 pm
A poem I wrote last Saturday.
Saturday
High on the hill
I peg out weekly washing:
below
an audience of palefaced houses
crouched like a congregation
before a brooding slag queen
who wears a tiara
a temple to coffee
and broken miners
sends trains her heralds
willing sacrifices
swallowed by the long dry plains
terrible in their noonday beauty
gentle in the afternoon sun
fingers of light dance among saltbush
in twilight
ravages of kangaroos
will ring this town
impossible to escape by night
and yet, it is strange:
I can love this place
Where light is so tangible it can be held
where life can spring from the sands
but now
the sea calls me
BH 7/6/03
Piokiwi 1:09 pm
Sunday, June 08, 2003
Been up since 3.30 am with a sick babe. (it's now 11.30 am BH time). This baby isn't going to make it - part of its brain is outside its skull (a birth defect) and it cannot breathe for itself because its brain does not function. We are waiting for the father to get here from Melbourne so he can say goodbye before we let nature take its course. In the meantime I have to stay here in case something goes wrong with the ventilator.
This night brought back a lot of memories for me, but I was surprised that it wasn't as painful as I had expected. It was still very sad though. I really can feel for the grandparents who have a nursing background and already knew what was going to be said to them in that interview room, and also know what an autopsy means. And I know some of what the father is going through, with a long wait before the next planes (at least two separate flights) can take him to Broken Hill - in the meantime he is all alone, without friends or family.
However, I was able to intubate the baby and stay in that room with the ventilator without getting too stressed, so I have hopes that I won't find my upcoming Paediatric Intensive Care term too hard to deal with. How many times though in the next 6 months will I see tragedy and loss like this?? I still think it is amazing how people seem to cope.
Piokiwi 2:25 pm
Friday, June 06, 2003
That was me showing the nice folks at the Aboriginal language centre in Bourke how to BLOG as they want to set up a website for their radio programming and Language studies. I'm back in Broken Hill today, better rested and less bitchy. Hoping the weekend on call won't be too harsh.
Piokiwi 2:43 pm
Thursday, June 05, 2003
hello from the language Centre
Piokiwi 2:41 pm
Wednesday, June 04, 2003
Muse by the Darling River (sketch)
Under muddy skies
the river glances
at the belly of a pelican
skimming cloud mirrors
A heron glows
en pointe on weed
pirouettes and dips
for fish
An ant
scurries across my page
escaping my poetry
later the sun will dip
into red gums
stretched languidly
among moody cows
and fish will splash
teasingly at birds
sailing through the sunset clouds
Bourke 6/4/03
Piokiwi 6:38 pm
Hello from the Back of Bourke, Aussie slang for "middle of bloody nowhere, mate". I'm here doing a Well Kids Health Check which takes a school full of primary school kids and checks eyes, ears, skin, blood, growth, urine, vaccination and teeth. It's the first time something like this has been attempted on such a a scale and it's a bit of a trial run. We are doing it at a small Catholic school with predominantly Aboriginal kids. My role is as the Vampire Lady taking blood - I bled 30 kids today and frankly, I'm exhausted. Not really from the kids or their parents - they have been lovely - but from the constant pressure to get it first time, and also the constant sniping from the nurse who is helping me who favours soto voce (?sp) comments as I'm trying to get the vein.
Despite the comfortable accommodation and all expenses paid meals I'll be glad to get out of here, back to the privacy of my own place in BH (Sydney or NZ would be better) and away from the company of the 40 -something year old catty women that I am currently expected to socialise with. (this is a good place to bitch about it, since I can't talk to anyone at the moment - Bourke also has no mobile phone access). I am trying to avoid gossip trips with them to pubs or cafes, and have found a nice spot by the Darling River, though yesterday they sprung me at my spot!. Though Bourke is not a good place to be too solitary, esp after dark. I'm also a bit wary of being hard to contact - after what happened with Casey I am no longer so blase about being uncontactable for days at a time and get very nervous with phone calls in the middle of the night when I'm not on call. Hurray. Only one more day to go, then I can get back to my gym classes, my internet, my painting and my music.
Piokiwi 6:27 pm
Monday, June 02, 2003
It’s been a hectic week, but exciting at times. Thursday I went on my first Royal Flying Doctor visit to a small service town called Hungerford, just across the Dog Fence on the Queensland border. In just under two hours I saw a phenomenal 50% of the paediatric population (4 kids!). Then we did a quick tour of the town, including the Dog Fence, which is the longest fence in the world. Built along the NSW border it is supposed to keep rabbits, dingoes and “other vermin” out of the grazing lands in NSW, and is still patrolled by boundary riders. Personally though I think that sheep are the biggest “vermin” destroying land in NZ and Oz.
more photos are at: http://au.photos.yahoo.com/piokiwi
Yesterday I went on a walk across Lake Pamaroo. The Menindee lakes not only supply water to Broken Hill, but are the subject of many iconic photographs showing tree trunks rising moodily out of the water at sunset. I had set my heart on taking some of these photos, but due to the long drought and some burocratic stuff-ups there is very little water left in the lakes (thus the undrinkability of water in BH). So I took some photos of a dried-up lake bed instead.
Speaking of BH, I wrote a quirky poem:(which is one of the first not on the subject of Casey)
Xmas in May, Broken Hill style
Santa drives a sky-blue Volvo
He dropped by the hospital today
Blue eyes hiding behind straggly brows
Stained beard bursting out the window
Mrs Claus was in the back
wearing a floral housedress
her day off I suppose
She christened the garden
with a fairy-like wave of her cigarette,
then creaked open the door,
squeezed out, and
handed Santa a crutch
as he got out.
He only had one leg.
BH 8.5.03
Piokiwi 12:30 am
Friday, May 30, 2003
Over the past two months, I've been in two situations where I've had to counsel others about grief. Grief is certainly an individual reaction - for example not everyone wants to live out their emotions on a public webpage like this, but for me a public declaration of love - which is what this is in part - has helped me get over a large hump of the grieving. It's still going to be a bumpy ride.
I must say that the wound within me ached strongly in sympathy with the mother who had just lost her child to drowning, and the parents who had just been told their child had muscular dystrophy. I wanted to - I did- tell them I knew what it felt like, that I knew the world had just fallen away beneath their feet and NOTHING mattered any more. That no one could get through, and that friends could cushion, but not take away the pain. I wanted to tell them that the microseconds in between the agony, when you could function almost normally and not feel the huge void, do get longer with time, though you would never believe it at first.
The other thing that these families and others have taught me over the past few months is that others have been far less lucky than Casey. It would be hard to accept this homily from others - sounds a bit too trite doesn't it. But Casey was born with an intact brain (I can testify that not only was it intact, but very fast and hazardous to play with at times). He grew up in a loving family environment and was sure of his education, the stability of his home and the quality of his friends. He lived in the best country on earth and enjoyed its resources to the max. He was confident of his health until the moment he collapsed - 30 long and joyful years. All this made him a positive person that many loved deeply. In effect he had 30 uninterrupted years to pass on who he was to others, in whom he now lives on.
On that note, a poem I wrote about one of the many things he taught me.
Legacy
Your hands vibrate, a maestro
of hand-eye coordination:
mouse moving masterfully
to control destiny.
Soon-to-be shogun
or killer of mutant half-aliens,
you always liked to play god.
A beer half-full
squats expectantly,
tail almost wagging.
Late morning sun
wanders in, pausing to sniff
at lingering bacon and coffee.
Later you will shift
to the purple-flower beanbag
made expressly for your worship:
bestowing gracious attention on book and TV alike.
(you bat at my feet
as they scurry past)
This then, your legacy:
my mind set free to play.
BH, 22/4/03
I guess one of his other parting gifts to me was the return of my art in poetry, which I had abandoned when I began medical school. As you can see, I cling to this gift now.
Piokiwi 7:09 pm
Tuesday, May 27, 2003
It's been a good weekend. Went to Mutawintji National Park (middle of desert, 1 1/2 hours from here) with the Barrier Rangers, the local bushwalking group. We had good mix of experts in the group - geologists to point out all the interesting rocks, including some ancient sandworm fossils, teachers, an Aboriginal guide called Gerald who introduced us to some bushtucker and interpreted the ancient rock art. Mutawintji is at the crossroads of several Aboriginal Dreaming tracks and has been the site of special ceremonies for thousands of years, so all the caves are filled with art. As one guy with us demonstrated, there are artefacts like spear points and rock scrapers lying all over the ground too.
Over the evening campfire, apart from eating fantastic BBQ food, I learnt more important local Broken Hill jargon. An "A-grader" is someone who was BH born (and therefore has more standing in the community), a B-grader is someone who has come to BH "from away" but been here for a few years/bought a house, and a C-grader is a wannabe tourist like me.
I was stiff yesterday and feeling decidedly sedentary, but feeling more energetic today - might even join next weekend's walk.
Piokiwi 4:58 pm
Friday, May 23, 2003
Went to my second guitar lesson last night, and all I can say about my left hand is oww-ouch. But my new Yamaha steel string acoustic is a honey. I'm surprised how light it is, and it's gorgeous leaning in to hear the sounds of the strings being plucked.
Piokiwi 4:47 pm
Thursday, May 22, 2003
Is Broken Hill the last place in the world where there is blue sky and shiny sun? It's positively pissing in Auckland. It's pouring so much in Sydney that the streets are flooded and people are contemplating using lilos to get around. Well, for all you drowned rats out there: ha!! The sun is massaging my back, and hopefully the flies will hold off when we go on a bushwalking trip to Mutawintji National Park this weekend.
Piokiwi 1:14 pm
Monday, May 19, 2003
Uggg. My brain is muffled by a bad headcold - nice to know that winter is here, and kid-lurgies with it. Probably the excesses of the last few days haven't helped. Thurs night a group of us went to watch the Premiere (ta dada!!) of Matrix reloaded - starting midnight. Unfortunately at 2 am, 25 mins from the end, there was a powercut and the screen went blank. There were a lot of disppointed hospital staff huddled over coffee the next morning, while everybody else threw amused glances at us. Tick in the box of Another Broken Hill Experience. Last night was Matrix Reloaded - reloaded, and must say that it probably wasn't worth sitting thru most of the movie again. What kind of ending was THAT!!!? Apart from that, was up all Sat nite with a sick child, and therefore comatose through most of Sunday.
Have been painting again.
I call this Aue, after the Maori expression of grief and emotion. (it's subtitled Desert Scream).
To show that I now only feel this way some of the time, here's two more poems:
Steps
Yesterday
I touched a final kiss
to your lips incongruously warm
The false rasp
of a ventilator
sounded in your chest
then was silent:
“he is gone”
A chasm split my world,
I swallowed sweet daggers of pain,
and yet the flood
was bottomless.
Today
I stand atop a mountain
unsteady feet trusting my boots
I toss your name
high, to the skies.
It falls back towards me in joyful peals.
Flinders Ranges, 22/4/03
On Devil’s Peak
This place is silent.
Plants meditate serenely
uninterrupted by idle bird-talk
or the clattering toil of insects.
Sunlight sidles slyly
across the rock,
pauses to nuzzle my neck
then pecks at the blue shadows
in the mountains.
Flinders, 22/4/0
Piokiwi 11:08 pm
Thursday, May 15, 2003
The weather here has been a bit crazy. It was so foggy yesterday that cars were driving with their fog lightson (strange for a place where people have trouble finding their umbrellas when it rains.) Now of course, it's back to the usual sun belting down out of a cloudless sky. Hmm. One of my patients, a 6 year old, apparently goes nuts and uncontrollable at school when it rains - good thing he lives here.......
Piokiwi 3:06 pm
Tuesday, May 13, 2003
Tonight I was at the monthly Poets in the Pub meeting at the Black Lion, a well known spot in Broken Hill (although mainly for its cheap cocktails and the roughness of its clientelle after midnight rather than poetry). It was a good meeting. I met lots of other writers, including some authors visiting from Sydney, and indulged in a round robin poetry sharing feast. Broken Hill has its own Barry Crump, a bush balladeer in the finest tradition by the name of Snake. His poetry was pretty cool.
Unfortunately in the middle of one of my performances my mobile went off - it was the hospital, as I was on call!! I had to quickly duck outside, but luckily it was an advice call only and I was shortly able to get back to my performance, much to the amusement of all. I ended up singing "Ode to the Humble Butt" very loudly, though I'm not sure I got the tune right. I swear I was only drinking Coke.
AN ODE TO THE HUMBLE BUTT
(to the tune of Advance Australia Fair*)
What would we do without our butts
When we are in the bush?
When mudslides slip and boulders flip
I end up on my tush
Far underneath the forest's sway
The noble backside saves the day
Brave, resilient and tough
Thank goodness for my butt
Till journey's end, I will depend
Thank goodness for my butt.
* As a Kiwi, I'm not overly familiar with this tune....so any corrections as to meter and/or extra verses, are much appreciated. Kiwis: count this as alternative (and much more amusing) lyrics to use on those all-too-frequent teethgrinding occasions when the Aussies win......)
So here's something I wrote the other day after being much struck by the sight of a blue eyed, bearded man in a blue Volvo:
Xmas in May, Broken Hill style
Santa drives a sky-blue Volvo
He dropped by hospital today
Blue eyes hiding behind straggly brows
Stained beard bursting out the window
Mrs Claus was in the back
wearing a floral housedress
her day off I suppose
She christened the garden
with a fairy-like wave of her cigarette,
then creaked open the door,
squeezed out, and
handed Santa a crutch
as he got out.
He only had one leg.
BH 8.5.03
Make of it what you will....... I did use poetic licence a bit here.
Another one about Casey, on a more positive note. (I'm slowly getting there).
Monologue?
From under my lids
you ogle me as I undress
I slip hastily under the sheet
no privacy since you died
and climbed into my head.
You jump on the floor of my brain,
stomping out rhythms,
swing from the rafters yoo-hooing.
You quieten
once I point out
that I still have a period of mourning,
reckon it’s OK to cry.
But OK to smile too,
after all, you always found that
my cutest part.
“So you had a half-glass of wine,”
you say, a grin of approval
lighting my dark recesses,
“and you reckon you woke with
a hangover? Ah, I never thought I’d see the day….”
You bastard.
You haven’t changed.
BH, 6.05.03
Piokiwi 2:14 am
Thursday, May 08, 2003
A busy weekend ahead, with community markets (where I am showing some paintings for comment, and reading poetry), and the hospital ball. It's been a full-on week at work too and today I have a locum paediatrician (boss) to show around.
Have had time in the mornings (with breakfast) to read some books of poetry that I got out of the library: and my sister sent me a book of Hone Tuwhare poems a few weeks ago, knowing how I love his work. I shared some with my writing group which, being Aussies, hadn't known what they were missing out on. It's been far too long.....must do some more reading.
More of my Casey thoughts then...... I still think of him a lot, and will miss him for life. But I'm very grateful that I knew him and enjoyed so much of him- and he has become part of me now.
Eulogy
I could not say
that, sensing your fate,
you burned brightly, a brief light
in the darkness:
You did not want to go.
I could not call you
an angel
briefly alighting,
too good for this earth.
You of all people
anchored in the world,
my link to reality.
You mastered the sleep-in,
endless computer games and beers,
patient explanations of sport and electronics.
I pummelled you endlessly
daily trivia, instincts, superstitions
insane beliefs and self doubts,
You were a calm cushion for my fears.
You taught me to smile,
and then to laugh.
18/3/03 Flight to NZ
Piokiwi 3:56 pm
Wednesday, May 07, 2003
To Broken Hill
I have stepped off the wheel
and journeyed to the shore
to farewell my love.
And now I return
to this castle in the desert
bastion of history and culture
village of surreal normalcy
I cling
the wheel has turned without me.
I watched
him paddle into shadow
each stroke slashing deep grooves
on my heart:
these cannot be erased.
You cannot see my wound.
I hide behind my smile.
24/3/03 Syd-BH
Piokiwi 12:45 am
For those who are in Sydney, I'm very proud to announce that my baby sister Roseanne's short film, HENCHMAN, will be screening at the Sydney Film Festival on the 14th June at 9.05 pm. I'm planning to fly from Broken Hill to be there!!
Piokiwi 12:43 am
Monday, May 05, 2003
I've realised I haven't posted a poem that I referred to in my post on the newsletter, on how inaccurate photos can be when they convey that we are feeling "happy" when in fact we are feeling totally disconnected and distraught.
Here it is then:
Dialogue
Look. Can you see me?
For though you see a laughing girl
with crowing babies on her lap,
you see but a shadow.
I am invisible: I fled with the light.
One Sunday I heard him
step off the world: I grasped,
but it was too late.
Now I linger on the edge
searching: floating in the inky
blackness of space.
These words you speak,
these notes I write: they are but
the babble of a background radio.
You cannot know as I pose and smile
that I feel his lips,
his tongue moist and soft and hungry,
my body longs to nestle
in his back.
My mind is precious. For through me,
he lives still. He is in my smile,
my secret look of longing.
He came to me one night
and left his scent on my body.
I reach for him now,
but in the morning
I am left to caress my greenstone
its curves smooth and firm as flesh.
So do not say I am grieving well
as I tiptoe along my tightrope.
You are speaking to a well-constructed mannekin.
Shrunken inside, I pull the ropes
to continue living: the
alternative is no answer.
3/4/03 Glenelg
Piokiwi 1:21 am
Enjoyed Mildura this weekend. We (me and two others from the hospital) stayed last night in a cabin by the River Murray, and I went out and sat under the gum trees for a while looking up at the stars at about 11 o'clock at night... always lovely. Missed a certain warm body sitting next to me though.
Had this thought:
Riverbeach
Tonight
no glaring moon interrupts
the stars in their glorious profusion.
A lone insomniac bird
squeaks, and rapidly hushes.
The river flows on in soft silence.
You said:
"We are all made from stardust,
and one day we will return".
How beautiful the sky is
with you in it.
-Mildura 3/5/03
Piokiwi 1:15 am
Saturday, May 03, 2003
This is a more formal poem I wrote - constrained by the rhyme. I usually prefer a more flowing style. But see what you think:
Requiem
Not for you a stony plaque
With flowers weeping drily:
Nor wooden borders rising stark
To cage your anguished bones.
Your breath fled free from that still bed
And flesh escaped in fire;
And ashes too it will be said
Will drift on mountain high.
When morning comes the sun will kiss
My tears on icy sleet;
And melting streams of crystal bliss
Will mingle in the sea.
27/3/03
It's one of my feelings about death. I don't know if there is life after death. Scientifically, no one has ever proved it to me, although I'd like to believe it. But I do take some comfort in the fact that our molecules at least will rejoin the grand cycle of life after we die, and therefore we will again become the sea, the sky, and the life all around.
Another idea I agree with has been expressed eloquently by Pasternak:
But all the time life, always one and the same, always incomprehensibly keeping its identity, fills the universe and is renewed at every moment in innumerable combinations and metamorphoses….. Consciousness is a beam of light directed outwards, it lights up the way ahead of us…. You in others are yourself, your soul. This is what you are. This is what your consciousness has breathed and lived on and enjoyed throughout your life. – Your soul, your immortality, your life in others. And what now? You have always been in others and you will remain in others. And what does it matter to you if later on it is called your memory? This will be you – the you that enters the future and becomes a part of it.- from “Dr Zhivago” by Boris Pasternak, English translation 1958.
Piokiwi 12:19 pm
Friday, May 02, 2003
I have a weird painting to share. It's called "still life with figures" and although it was executed in a loose "watercolour/acrylic" style over one night, I'd mused over the idea for weeks. It's something to do with people picked in their prime......
Piokiwi 11:28 pm
I'd like to report that dinner last night went off very successfully and there were no disasters with my rather ambitious menu!
This weekend I'm getting out of Broken Hill - the key to survival round here. A small group of us are going to Mildura, a slightly bigger town about three hours away (across the desert). Should be nice. I have seafood on my mind.....it's not on the coast, it's on the river Murray, but still closer to the port cities than BH....
Living in BH is generally OK. I like small towns (for short periods - being a city girl at heart) because it's a great chance to join a community. I have been doing night classes - painting starts again next week - and have become quite an active member of the Sunday writing group, which next week will once again be performing poetry at the community markets.
More poetry then:
Day into Night
Waves like heartbeat
drag on the shore
pulling my thoughts
to you
The sun will slide
into the ocean tonight,
melting in a final splash of fire
in water already dreaming
Cold sand sifts my feet,
the unseen boom of sea
taking up your rhythm
of life
Tomorrow as I stir
from sweaty sleep
the sun will return,
lighting a world flowing
with you.
3/4/03 Glenelg
Piokiwi 9:32 pm
Thursday, May 01, 2003
Speaking of disconnection, here's a painting I completed recently. It's called "Fall off the World" , and goes with the song that was in my first post.
Piokiwi 1:03 pm
On the subject of war, here's a poem I wrote a few weeks ago - the first expression of my feelings on topics other than loss and grief. I felt so numb and disconnected/disempowered/disembowelled when it all happened. Now that I can get fired up about other issues, I guess it's a good thing.
Carelessness
“Losing your life” – that seems so careless
but am I also to blame, for
“losing you”: you slipped,
I grasped,
but you were gone.
Even my tears could not reach you
as they told me on the phone
how your eyes dilated
for one last look.
Tonight, others are being irresponsible.
In a barricade of bombs,
Some are letting their own lives slip.
Callous mothers are even losing their babies.
5/4/03 Adelaide
Piokiwi 12:59 pm
Tonight I'm cooking dinner for 12 - the junior docs and medical students. I've always been fascinated by bush tucker, and although it may seem strange that a Chinese Kiwi from Remuera is cooking Aussie bush tucker, on the menu is: beer damper in paperbark, wattleseed and pear bread, cajun kangaroo with quandong sauce, chicken in corrobee spices, macadamia and bean salad, greens with kutjera relish, and lemon myrtle icecream with macadamia nut and wattleseed tuile. (sounds posh - but it's all experimentation!!)
Piokiwi 12:54 pm
Wednesday, April 30, 2003
A few days ago Ronald McDonald came to the children's ward at Broken Hill Base and doled out fairy bread and fries. A number of our "repeat offender" patients attended, as did staff's kids, and a reporter from the Barrier Daily Truth (the local rag). I refused to attend on moral grounds. The issue (that McD was actually INVITED to come, and got free publicity for very little outlay) must have offended me more than I realised, because yesterday over breakfast this poem just spilled out:
A Song for George W.
Hurray! Ronald McDonald’s coming to town.
Ronald McDonald, the evil clown
He’ll beckon you in with his painted grin
And sell you burgers laced with sin.
Ronald McDonald’s always right.
He grasps the minds of children tight.
Beware the friendly French-Fry lads
Who grin so sweet from every ad.
It’s too late now to stem the tide
McDonald flagships US pride.
His double arches hold proud sway
O’er every country’s motorways.
BH 29/4/03
Boo! Down with macho drawling warmaker dictators and big multinationals!! I do try to boycott large obviously US companies like McDs (with the exception of using their free toilets and the traditional greasy 3 am post-party meals) and KFC, but what bothers me is that I'm unlikely to know, let alone try to avoid, which companies are multinationals and which are truly "home grown". Since they all buy into each other anyway, then try to hide the fact. I know this is a non-commerce person talking, so feel free to correct me.....
Piokiwi 5:48 pm
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