Hello Chris, making compost from palm fronds sounds wonderful!
Chris wrote:
"Pastoral is a double memory. A memory of privilege and non-privilege.
Narrative and anti-narrative. Paradox. Double impossibility of pastoral
and anti-pastoral. In between the broken empty form of time. False
narration and fabulation. A story?"
In the dry heat of an Australian summer day, I wonder if perhaps it is in
storytelling that we may find the key to the pastoral - another form of
remembrance - not always honest, or accurate, perhaps we have a nostalgia
for story itself.
At the shallow end of a summer day,
When the promise of fulfillment turns from
Longing to remembrance, they gently pull
The drying leaves from oaks and elms, and walk
Dry tracks through millers dust, from end to end.
They tell the earth of canopy and fire
And sing the land to meaning.
They gather solemnly, forgetfully,
Pulling at the ends of old cardigans,
And from their eyes, come tidal tears.
regards,
maria fletcher
bird watching from a verandah in tasmania
|