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Every third Wednesday we meet. Every third Wednesday we attempt to
hone our craft. Stretching beyond rhyme, metre and description to
tanka, cento, haiku, and abecedarium while we sip frothy
cappuccinos, or perhaps indulge in cake, we go on a journey. When
the blending of our words seems like rubbish, we laugh. When they
fall flat, we groan and move on. Every now and then, someone will
read a poem and we all sit still, poised in silent surrender to the
soaring of our spirits and we are grateful for the places that
poetry takes us. "Most pleasing of all is the profusion of poetic
styles and forms... Running through all this are familiar and
consistent themes: the power of the wry observation, condensed into
verse, to remind us of life's absurdities ... the inescapable
nature of loss ... and landscapes transformed by poetic eyes ...
Read these poems and enjoy the verbal worlds created for you by
these five poets." David Musgrave, poet, writer, lecturer,
publisher
You know us. We are your cousin Alice, who tells the story of
Nanna's funeral; of how all the cars followed Uncle George in the
wrong direction, while a priest stood by the grave, waiting to
conduct the burial. We are your dad, who you visit on warm summer
nights, and he talks about the old days; when he met mum; when he
worked in the cane fields. We are the migrant family next door, who
laugh till they cry, telling of how, when they arrived in the
fifties, they went to the milk bar for a gelati. The owner just
kept saying "Gilleti" and offering them razor blades. We are the
Vietnamese mother who tells you one day how she came to Australia.
She quietly talks of three weeks at sea in a small boat, crammed in
with twenty others, knees to chest, cold, wet and hungry. We are
anyone who has lived in Australia. Often, our stories will be your
stories; but some will be strange, different; some will be funny
and others will bring tears. We are the story tellers who started
with memories that turned into stories. We wrote them down, and
learned the frustration when the words wouldn't come; and
experienced that magical moment when the words took over, and the
story wrote itself. We became authors. Now here we are. These are
our stories; our country's living history.
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