(header photographs by Harry Waite 1912-2011)

The Myth of the Sacred Brumby

 

 

r

Contents

Contacts


 

The Blue Gum Forest

Why do I stand here, stare about me?
Thirty years are gone since last
I clung, clambered, crashed down sheer
gorges' walls, found this forest.
Surely not merely in memory have I
come here. The blue gums soar, naked
smooth, to where they over arch and,
lost in height, mingle in myriad tongues.
How have I got here? Why do I stand?
long looking, long desiring, a fallen
trunk, lichened, mossed, host to ochre
red fungi, falling into mould at my feet?
I sink in pungent mould. Blue-grey
the pipes soar to their arches that lull,
linger, leave off, then swell, hail,
all hail in hosannas, in hosannas.
 
Roland Robinson
"The Hooded Lamp" 1976