Europa Poets' Gazette No. 71, March 2010

On Jonson Street
Byron Bay, August 2005
On Jonson Street the lines of chalk
fade in angled sunlight -
shapes of sun and fish
curved on a black canvas of bitumen,
near
cheap breakfasts and the endless beach
neoprened bodies flicking wet
arms over fibreglass
waiting on the sun-warm water,
for the surf.
On Jonson Street the traffic flows
the traffic stops, the traffic slows
past curry houses and craft emporia
past flocks of backpackers,
soft curls and hard vowels,
tanned, dreadlocked, in bare feet
along the edges of Jonson Street

Chalk lines fade toward the gutter
- the sun bleeds off the canvas -
as silhouettes, slick in shiny black
replace the street with sand

staring at the water.

© Cameron Hindrum

Europa Poets' Gazette No. 71, March 2010

On Jonson Street
Byron Bay, August 2005
On Jonson Street the lines of chalk
fade in angled sunlight -
shapes of sun and fish
curved on a black canvas of bitumen,
near
cheap breakfasts and the endless beach
neoprened bodies flicking wet
arms over fibreglass
waiting on the sun-warm water,
for the surf.
On Jonson Street the traffic flows
the traffic stops, the traffic slows
past curry houses and craft emporia
past flocks of backpackers,
soft curls and hard vowels,
tanned, dreadlocked, in bare feet
along the edges of Jonson Street

Chalk lines fade toward the gutter
- the sun bleeds off the canvas -
as silhouettes, slick in shiny black
replace the street with sand

staring at the water.

© Cameron Hindrum

Europa Poets' Gazette No. 71, March 2010

Feature Poet
On Reading The Work Of Genevieve Ryan (1984-2005)
Death is absurd at the best of times.
I am reminded of Truchanas, the great
witness of the wilderness, who drowned
in the river he loved. He played Sibelius
while the doomed lake lit up the room.
And Dombrovski, the imagist, the master
photographer, who died in the grasp of
his majestic art. He too liked rivers
and saved them when he could.
His funeral was held on your mountain.
The same mountain, where
on ice-smooth ancient forest rocks
you slipped out into the void, while
all around you, sentinel trees stood silent.
In ancient religious scriptures it says
that life and death will pass away.
But water will always flow, somewhere,
like love,
And memory, happy and clear.
(Genevieve Ryan slipped and fell to her death at Newtown Falls on Mount Wellington in Tasmania in February 2005. Her prolific journals, including poetry and other writings, have been edited by her mother Elizabeth and published as Regards, some girl with words. Available in book shops or through Sid Harta publishers, Melbourne.)
© Cameron Hindrum