The Australian Poetry winning poem for the Poem of the Week in the first week of May 2012
on the theme of 'Autumn' is by Diane Caney. It was written after listening to the Qookaburra Quintet
on the lovely lawns at MONA. The Qookaburra Quintet and others
skilled at jazz improvisation often appeared at
CHADO - the Way of Tea
where Diane was the resident poet from mid-2013 until mid-2013.
The poems of the week don't archive on the AP site, so here's Diane's poem:
our last afternoon on earth
Against the nolan blue of a sub-Antarctic
sky, amid she-oaks and rothko-red vines,
five painters splash their easy serenade
across the stretched canvases of our lounging
ear-drums. The banjo's strings make off
with the high notes & slip into the feathers
of passing gulls. The tuba weaves its under-
statements across the Viking-ship scroll
of the contra-bass while the trombone's plunger
becomes the scalp of a bald monk, humming
above the weather-worn bell. Velvet underground
and johnny cash jazz saunter across the fading
green, and all care washes away as leftover
summertime grace breezes in one last time,
dressed in the cashmere gold of autumn.
We all spread our wings & take to the heavens,
agreeing that our time under that sultry sun
would easily suffice as the very best
... last afternoon, on Earth.
Diane Caney, 2012
- Listen to Diane reading the poem
See Diane's other poems so far
- Listen to Diane reading the poem
Against the nolan blue of a sub-Antarctic
sky, amid she-oaks and rothko-red vines,
five painters splash their easy serenade
across the stretched canvases of our lounging
ear-drums. The banjo's strings make off
with the high notes & slip into the feathers
of passing gulls. The tuba weaves its under-
statements across the Viking-ship scroll
of the contra-bass while the trombone's plunger
becomes the scalp of a bald monk, humming
above the weather-worn bell. Velvet underground
and johnny cash jazz saunter across the fading
green, and all care washes away as leftover
summertime grace breezes in one last time,
dressed in the cashmere gold of autumn.
We all spread our wings & take to the heavens,
agreeing that our time under that sultry sun
would easily suffice as the very best
... last afternoon, on Earth.
Diane Caney, 2012
See Diane's other poems so far
