Tuesday Poetry: “South of My Days” (Excerpt) by Judith Wright
South of My Days
South of my days’ circle, part of my blood’s country,
rises that tableland, high delicate outline
of bony slopes wincing under the winter,
low trees, blue-leaved and olive, outcropping granite-
clean, lean, hungry country. The creek’s leaf-silenced,
willow choked, the slope a tangle of medlar and crabapple
branching over and under, blotched with a green lichen;
and the old cottage lurches in for shelter.
…
Oh, they slide and they vanish
as he shuffles the years like a pack of conjuror’s cards.
True or not, it’s all the same; and the frost on the roof
cracks like a whip, and the back-log break into ash.
Wake, old man. This is winter, and the yarns are over.
No-one is listening
South of my days’ circle
I know it dark against the stars, the high lean country
full of old stories that still go walking in my sleep.
by Judith Wright, 1915 – 2000
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Since I am in Australia this week, I thought I would feature an excerpt (the first and last stanzas) from South of My Days by renowned Australian poet, Judith Wright.
I love the language of this poem, and the vivid evocation of landscape and sense of place. If you get the opportunity to read the whole poem, I don’t think you’ll be disappointed.
Wow this is a great poem, as I was reading I thought that’s Australia (not being familiar with the poets name). How well written it that. Have fun on your trip
Thanks, Jacqui — it’s a favourite of mine.