Photo of an Australian road train. (Reddit)‘Uluru / Ayers Rock’ and Other Australia Poetry by James A. Tweedie The Society April 24, 2022 Beauty, Culture, Ekphrastic, Poetry 6 Comments . Photo of Uluru / Ayers Rock by the Poet Uluru / Ayers Rock The winter outback chill of mid-Julys Cuts to the bone as waning suns conspire To send their sparks through darkening cobalt skies That set the Dreamtime Uluru on fire. The silent, preternatural display Is backlit by a silvered sentinel Whose spherical, unblinking eye holds sway Above the supine sandstone citadel. For Aṉangu, sacred Uluru Is where the Pitjantjatjara had their birth, A dwelling place for primal spirits who Yet bless the rock and sanctify the earth. Such feet as mine no longer climb or stand On rock now touched by only eye and hand. . Poet’s Note: Uluru is the name given by indigenous people to the famous, monolithic sandstone rock that rises above the outback desert in central Australia. Its Western European name is Ayers Rock and its officially sanctioned geographical name today is Uluru/Ayers Rock. Aṉangu (pronounced Á-n-án-gu) is the self-referenced name for the several indigenous aboriginal tribes in Central Australia with Uluru and its surroundings being the ancestral home of the Pitjantjatjara people. It is no longer permitted to climb the rock. . . Photos from Australia by the Poet A Bush Poem for David Watt The day was hot and dusty as I followed on the track In my ute, all worn and rusty from its years in the outback. From the station into town I had been marking a good pace. I had rolled both windows down and felt the hot breeze on my face The road was rough and metaled when my left front tyre blew air But before the dust had settled, I was putting on a spare. Up ahead I saw a cloud of dust a hundred meters high, Like a funeral parlor shroud it spread its wings across the sky. As I clenched my fists each knuckle turned to white from what I feared, And the ground began to buckle as the four-car road train neared. Like the Bluebird on Lake Eyre at record speed it came my way When its horn began to blare at near one hundred twenty K. I could see it was bad luck because it bore a heavy load As it passed it blew my truck and me completely off the road. The window-shield was broken where my ute lay on its side, And my cursing was loud-spoken, but for God, I could have died. With bloodshot eyes I peered in awe and as I swore and cussed The road-train disappeared behind its trailing cloud of dust, I knew it could be days before I saw another soul, And although it was a-ways, I had no choice except to stroll. It was midnight by the time I reached the town of Broken Hill, As I shook off dust and grime, I bought a beer and paid my bill. If there’s one thing bushmen know, in every trouble, trial or strife, No matter how things go, the answer’s always, “Such is life.” . . James A. Tweedie is a retired pastor living in Long Beach, Washington. He has written and published six novels, one collection of short stories, and three collections of poetry including Mostly Sonnets, all with Dunecrest Press. His poems have been published nationally and internationally in The Lyric, Poetry Salzburg (Austria) Review, California Quarterly, Asses of Parnassus, Lighten Up Online, Better than Starbucks, WestWard Quarterly, Society of Classical Poets, and The Chained Muse. NOTE TO READERS: If you enjoyed this poem or other content, please consider making a donation to the Society of Classical Poets. NOTE TO POETS: The Society considers this page, where your poetry resides, to be your residence as well, where you may invite family, friends, and others to visit. Feel free to treat this page as your home and remove anyone here who disrespects you. Simply send an email to firstname.lastname@example.org. Put “Remove Comment” in the subject line and list which comments you would like removed. The Society does not endorse any views expressed in individual poems or comments and reserves the right to remove any comments to maintain the decorum of this website and the integrity of the Society. Please see our Comments Policy here. CODEC News:Share this:Click to share on Twitter (Opens in new window)Click to share on Facebook (Opens in new window)Click to print (Opens in new window)Click to share on LinkedIn (Opens in new window)Click to share on WhatsApp (Opens in new window)Click to email this to a friend (Opens in new window)Click to share on Pinterest (Opens in new window) 6 Responses Jeff Eardley April 24, 2022 James, two great travellers tales. It must have been a magical experience to visit Uluru, unlike the frightening bush poem that unravels like a great movie. I am puzzled at the lack of braking on the road train, to save a fellow traveller in this harsh terrain. I need a cool beer after reading these. Thank you. Reply James A. Tweedie. April 24, 2022 Jeff, My imitation Bush Poem follows the tradition of presenting an exaggerated, over-the-top fictional parody of something that COULD have happened but, in this case, didn’t. The flat tire took place just outside of Coober Pedy and when the Road Train came by later, the driver of the ute (who was the son of a friend) pulled off the road to avoid the flying rock and gravel that were thrown up by the 28+ large tires rolling past at high speed! Flat tires are so common there were three spares in the bed of the ute. I timed the tire change which took less than three minutes. Reply Jeff Eardley April 24, 2022 James, you have punctured my image of a mean, tough, American hombre. You will be telling me next that Johnny Depp is not what he seems. Best wishes and thanks again for a great read today. Reply David Watt April 25, 2022 James, it is great to read your “A Bush Poem” once more. The dust, distance, and character of the outback have been adroitly captured. Thanks very much for taking the time to write this piece in the expansive Bush Poetry style, and for the personal reference. Your description of Uluru, and what it represents is spot-on. Reply James A. Tweedie April 25, 2022 David, Many thanks for taking my efforts to be a compliment rather than a national insult since, of course, the former of the two was my intent in writing both poems! Bush poetry: the most entertaining of all poetic forms, topping American cowboy poetry through the Aussie version’s essential internal complexity and unbroken narrative. Quite a challenge. A tradition you are preserving with your own authentic and entertaining verse. You see, it wasn’t Paterson or Lawson who inspired me to write my heh poem . . . it was you! And my having lived there for a year may have given my effort just a hint of street cred! Reply Margaret Coats April 25, 2022 James, thanks for both your poems, and for these few notes on the style of Australian bush poetry. Thanks to David Watt, I have probably seen more of it than of American cowboy poetry. Although I do take considerable interest in the varied kinds of lyric, no one can comprehend them all. Learning about a genre is far easier when two known poets produce entertaining work in it. And what a photographer you are to snap that gorgeous picture of Uluru at an auspicious moment of the day and month! Reply Leave a Reply to Margaret Coats Cancel ReplyYour email address will not be published.CommentName* Email* Website Notify me of follow-up comments by email. Notify me of new posts by email. Δ This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.