the marimba bug
where F and i spent the weekend...
at marimba music camp
out in the back hills, south east queensland
where the air smells of grass and trees
eco-village nestled in the valley
out of mobile reception range
unplugged
the annual gathering
of we who love
hitting wooden xylophone keys, making music
jamming in time, playing in the moonlight
plink plunk bink bonk bang
interwoven rythyms
with trumpet soaring over the top
and clarinet
hungarian (bulgarian?) bagpipes
bass drum
circles, dancing, (old hippies us)
hugging, sitting on rugs on grass
yellow flowers falling like snowflakes
tinkling down
from the giant tree
by the open deck of the cafe
where the marimba-kids perform on sunday afternoon.
waking early to mist, whipbirds, wompoos
birdsong forest orchestra.
campsite coffee, then strolling down the hill
past lake
and grazing kangaroos.
Many familiar long-familiar faces
so many children, grown so big!
we exclaim.
new grandchildren
old stories heard for the first time
chai, and enough time to chat
going nowhere
old tunes,
and new tunes
while the little kids swing to and fro
and bounce endlessly on the trampoline.
to hear some marimba magic:
http://youtu.be/g2kXcvDJ18s
2 comments:
You a poet too.
This makes me happy.
Not that I think I am any good at writing poetry, not that I think you are either, but just knowing that there it is too the willing to fly by its music makes me happy.
I mean, your poem is good too, I've enjoyed reading it knowing it comes from you, and it is humble and honest and all that, well, up to a point, poets are always somehow too high in spirits to be completely humble, but please do not take now my roughness badly :-)
Actually it's less poetry, than laziness! ie. hasty note-form because I'm too busy to write a proper post. So many memories to record, so little time...& thanks for you response
Post a Comment