Yang Ming at Brighton

Now I'll tell you a story, I said to Pliny. It will be in the form of a poem.

Good. I like poems, said Pliny.

You'll love this one, I said confidently, and began to recite :

YANG MING AT BRIGHTON

it was yesterday at brighton and the weather was very nice
the sun was out the sky was blue the sea was sporting stripes
of emerald and sapphire ochre aqua green and olive, and
a colour that has no more descriptive name than this one: sand

That is terrible, said Pliny.
I'm making it up as I go along, I said.
That's quite obvious, said Pliny. But go on..

i walked along the waters edge i had my camera on
and took some random photos walking rapidly along
the jetty, the palm, the yellow tent, the wall painted with words in red
i don't know what the words meant but yang ming was what they said.

This is execrable! groaned Pliny. But go on...

sadly when i got home and uploaded my photos on
to where they get uploaded i saw one of them looked wrong
the red words were unreadable, i forgot to use the zoom thing
but i remembered what they were the words were these words : yang ming

what does yang ming mean? why was it on the wall?
google has the answer, google answers all
yang means the bright side of the hill, i thought it might
mean something else but no it didn't, google would be right
and ming is a chinese name that has the meaning BRIGHT.
What a wonderful poem, said pliny, and now i see the light.

Hey! said Pliny. Leave me out of it!

Winking

Pliny the Elder came into the kitchen and sneezed.

Bless you, I said. How did you go last night? I bet you were cold. Did you spot any Barking Owls?

I was unimaginably cold, said Pliny, and wet through, since it hardly stopped raining all night. But my expedition was well worth the trouble. Take a look at this!

He pressed several buttons and held out my camera.

Look at the screen, he said.

What is it? I asked. It looks like a round metal washer.

Look again, said Pliny. It is the eye of a Barking Owl.

Why is there only one of them?

Also known as the Winking Owl, said Pliny.

I'm impressed, I said. Did you hear it scream?

No, it would seem that the screaming is rare. But I did hear a great deal of barking.

You must be very encouraged, Pliny, I said.

Aaaa-choo ! Bless me! Indeed I am. I plan to return to the hills tomorrow to search for the Restless Flycatcher, also known as the Scissors Grinder. I believe it can be easily identified by the 'zeeep' of its contact call, and the grinding churring sound it makes when hunting. It looks something like a Willy Wagtail, except that its throat is white instead of black.

Oh, I said. So you won't be coming with us to help hand out How to Vote cards for the Labor Party in Sturt and Makin?

Unfortunately not, said Pliny. And in any case, I thought you knew I was a Green.

The Barking Owl

Would you like to come out with us tonight and watch some science films? I asked Pliny the Elder this afternoon.

Science films! said Pliny. Normally I would say yes, but I am setting off this evening to do some bird spotting.

In this weather? Pliny that is the height of recklessness. What sort of birds are you going to spot?

I have been thinking about the birds that have supposedly disappeared from the Mount Lofty Ranges, said Pliny.

Supposedly! I thought you believed that they had.

I didn't exactly say that.

True, you didn't. But surely you're not going up to the hills!

I am, said Pliny firmly. I am going to look for the Barking Owl. It is a most interesting bird which is difficult to spot, but easy to identify by its call. It barks like a dog, and some times it screams like a woman or a child. It seems the Aboriginal people used to tell the early settlers the sound was made by a bunyip.

Well, be sure you've seen one, I said, and not just heard one. Because there are a lot of dogs in the hills. And screaming women and children too, I added.

Pliny looked at me sceptically.

You are trying to dissuade me from going, he said, but you won't succeed. I shall rug up warm, wear a waterproof raincoat and carry an umbrella. I shall pack some sandwiches, a banana and a thermos of tea. And I shall take a camera. That reminds me, may I borrow yours?

I don't know, Pliny. What if you drop it in the mud?

But think, said Pliny, if it helps to identify a Barking Owl, what a contribution to the Woodlands Recovery Initiative that would be!

I think they would rather have money, I said, but alright, you can borrow the camera.

Ending Up With Six

Because it is now only warm in the middle of the day we went out in the middle of the day.

We took a picnic.

The picnic was egg and cucumber sandwiches. A seagull came to watch us eat the sandwiches. Yes, we were at the beach. We were the only people who didn't have a dog.

I had brought my camera. Everywhere there were beautiful scenes. Yachts with coloured sails crowded the horizon, and painted clouds reflected tranquilly in the water pools. Stacks of seaweed mouldered in the sun. A razor shell stood up of its own accord.

Outside the kiosk a redhaired cherub ran away from her brother and hid. An old woman and an old man with a walking stick walked slowly off the jetty arm in arm. A fat lady carried a loaded tray inside. The sun glared lowly.

I took sixteen photographs.

When I got home I was unhappy twice. First because I somehow lost the photographs. Then Allan found them. But second because the beautiful scenes had retreated and diminished, and I ended up with six.

Regret and Wisdom

What did you mean, 'regret'? asked Pliny the Elder.

I mean the regret of missed opportunities, I replied.

Opportunities for what? asked Pliny.

Photo opportunities, I said. Let me give you an example. I was in Hyde Park with my camera. I saw a letterbox set into a whitewashed wall, drenched in sunlight. The letterbox was decorated with a fringe of pink crepe paper, which rustled in the breeze.

I assume you didn't stop and take a photograph, which you regretted later on?

That's true. I kept on walking with the camera in my pocket and the letterbox receded into history.

And mystery?

Yes and mystery. Why decorate a letterbox that way? It would have made it difficult to put the letters in. And if it rained, the letters would get stained with pink.

Perhaps it was someone's birthday, suggested Pliny.

Perhaps it was. Anyway, it doesn't matter now.

It isn't lost, said Pliny, just because you didn't photograph it. You've remembered it, and even written something down. So you have captured it after all.

But I might be remembering it wrong. If I had the photo I could see.

The photograph might also have remembered it wrong, said Pliny sagely.

Glimps

This is a poem about yesterday. A dashing-about-being-useful sort of day. Never quite seeing anything properly....

Has it started yet? No, not yet.

GLIMPS

Has it started now? Yes. That was the title. It's called GLIMPS

Weird title!

It's supposed to be about glimpses, so I called it GLIMPS.

Ah! Clever.

Right then, this is it...

GLIMPS.

Part one - The Sea

At the end of Wattle Street
Between tall yellow houses
A glimpse of the sea
One inch wide.
White sea horses
Rolling north
On bluegreen rollers.

Part two - The Eye

How does it look, my eye?
Alright, your eye,
But there is blood
On your face.

Part three - The Knife

Behind a screen door
At the end of a path
Through a garden
My daughter,
In need of a knife.

Part four - The Rainbow

On Greenhill Road
A man with a camera
Trying to capture
A rainbow
In a white sky.