Given these times

There’s no doubt that we’re all a bit swampy. 
You can smell it in the bog, the wet weeds,
the rotted wood, the mud, the fish and the frog eggs,
all the muck that lies at the bottom of the pond.
Kathryn calls herself a goose. She’s still in love
with Birdie Bowers, the way he used to talk
with Jesus on the deck of the ship as the world
filled up with ice. And so we continue
our Socratic dialogue all the way to Springs Junction.
Survival, they say, depends on making a list,
so here we go: a hand-knitted tea-cosy,
a canary water-whistle, glue made from flour and hot water
you have to keep stirring or it will go all lumpy,
some cut-out paper dolls and a couple of girl-detectives. 

Bernadette Hall    

Notes:
The poem moves from the present to the past.
Kathryn Madill and I shared an Antarctic Fellowship in 2004.
The list takes me back to the 1950’s when post-war my world felt safe.

As I move towards my 80^th birthday, it’s surprising how things from the past
come round again. Yesterday at The Piano, the Jubilate Singers performed a
poem that was published in my first book, HEARTWOOD, published by Caxton
Press in 1989. The composer, Richard Oswin, lives in Christchurch. His
interpretation was delicious.  I have done a lot of editing, blurbing and
launching this year, all good fun. Pakiaka by Gabrielle Huria, published by
Canterbury University Press, was a highlight. It’s an exquisite book. Here’s
something of what I wrote for it. ‘How gracefully they walk together on these
pages, te reo and English. Arm in arm. So proud, so strong. There’s an energy
that blitzes. I’ve been waiting for words like these. They take me right down
into the roots of this place where I live not far from the sacred mountain.’
These are my values. An edited version appears on the book’s cover.

Bernadette Hall, 2025