(Adansonia gregori)
Squat I be,
swollen, grotesque.
rotund, not yet circular.
From deep beneath draw I my knowledge.
Warmun be my country, my dreaming …A thousand years
have I been
raising branch to sky,
my frail witch hands into blue
nurturing the Gija; these be my people.Now lament they
my departure.
Ripped from my heart-place
I journey south into exile.
where menfolk sing me to their earthto soil that chills my soul.
I be alien here,
where rivers run on salt plains.
This be Nyoongar country,
not my country, not my dreaming …
39.0: JACKPOT!
Guest poetry editor: Samuel Wagan WatsonRelease date: 1 August 2012
Index of poems
Featured artist: Queenie Chan
Well done Veronica! Another notch. Cheers, Helen Hagemann
Your poem has given the boab tree a voice. Thank you Veronica.
A truly beautiful and inspiring poem.
What an accessible poem about the boab tree which was transported down to King’s Park in our Perth city centre. I love the sparseness of the language and use of first person.
A beautiful poem. The image of a swollen, grotesque witch – albeit an extremely compassionate one – forms so clearly in one’s mind. This poem seems especially timely in light of the ongoing plight of our beautiful Kimberley region. Thank you, Veronica.
Veronica, many thanks for such a lovely poem. I’ll try listening to the boabs more closely from now on.
This poem does what all truly great ones do – capture an image and clothe it in words that are perfect.Many poets seem to say,somewhat pretentiously,”Look at me!What a clever little person I am!” but this seems almost to have come directly from the boab tree itself. Love it.
Thank you, Veronica, for expressing the essence of the Boab tree up on that hill.
I have seen it on a cold winter’s day and wondered what it was feeling.
A great poem.