Khadijah Ibrahiim, courtesy: http://pickupyourpensfestival.blogspot.com.au
Some years ago, I had the good fortune to visit Leeds, teach from performance workshops with young talent from Leeds Young Authors guided by the good hand of Khadijah Ibrahiim and perform as a guest in their night showcase at the Seven Arts Club. Here in the video below I am doing a blues version of “The Home Paddock” one of my standards.
This poem has clocked a lot of mileage, literally travelling to many countries and back to Australia, Singapore, or India - all places I call home. I wrote and published it back in the 1980s and yes, there was a little paddock next to a stone cottage in the country near Bathurst, NSW, Australia where I once stayed alone for many days and nights. And yes, there was a particular night I got undressed and wandered around in the darkening light of sunset. There was nothing sexual in it. Just the exhilaration of cool air on the skin and not having to be accountable to anyone or anything. Being outside with the grass, the trees, the breeze, the buzzing cicadas and the overwhelming feeling of comfort that the natural world was my true home. It was probably some playing out of the old desire I had as a suburban kid to want to go live on a farm when I was ‘grown up.’ A promise I was stupid enough to believe that my father would or could fulfill.
He was a country town lad, but drifted to the city. Perhaps if he was rich enough to own land it would have been very different. Whatever restless wanderlust there is in me probably started with him leaving his NSW country town roots behind. It’s Interesting to speculate what we carry in our genes and conditioning and how far it takes us. My father fought in World War II (New Guinea, the Pacific Islands) and then Korea. Apart from R & R in Japan. After leaving the army he never travelled far from Canberra where he settled and struggled and failed and struggled and failed to make it in business. We were never close, but I have come to realise I carry of lot of him traits as well as this weird desire to be elsewhere. When in the city you think of the country, right? Or shifting houses, or countries. That restlessness. I guess I am not alone.
Anyway, over the years the home paddock (yes, that means ‘farm field' in international English) has taken on a more inward significance for me, rather being a literal Australian place. My symbolic home base keeps shifting and is probably now more an idea incorporated in this weird travelling poem-paddock I carry around in my memory. It’s a wild, free, inner space where you can wander naked of any restrictions and limitations and enjoy a certain calm state (of mind). We all need one, I guess, whatever you choose to call it. Hope you find yours.
This poem has clocked a lot of mileage, literally travelling to many countries and back to Australia, Singapore, or India - all places I call home. I wrote and published it back in the 1980s and yes, there was a little paddock next to a stone cottage in the country near Bathurst, NSW, Australia where I once stayed alone for many days and nights. And yes, there was a particular night I got undressed and wandered around in the darkening light of sunset. There was nothing sexual in it. Just the exhilaration of cool air on the skin and not having to be accountable to anyone or anything. Being outside with the grass, the trees, the breeze, the buzzing cicadas and the overwhelming feeling of comfort that the natural world was my true home. It was probably some playing out of the old desire I had as a suburban kid to want to go live on a farm when I was ‘grown up.’ A promise I was stupid enough to believe that my father would or could fulfill.
He was a country town lad, but drifted to the city. Perhaps if he was rich enough to own land it would have been very different. Whatever restless wanderlust there is in me probably started with him leaving his NSW country town roots behind. It’s Interesting to speculate what we carry in our genes and conditioning and how far it takes us. My father fought in World War II (New Guinea, the Pacific Islands) and then Korea. Apart from R & R in Japan. After leaving the army he never travelled far from Canberra where he settled and struggled and failed and struggled and failed to make it in business. We were never close, but I have come to realise I carry of lot of him traits as well as this weird desire to be elsewhere. When in the city you think of the country, right? Or shifting houses, or countries. That restlessness. I guess I am not alone.
Anyway, over the years the home paddock (yes, that means ‘farm field' in international English) has taken on a more inward significance for me, rather being a literal Australian place. My symbolic home base keeps shifting and is probably now more an idea incorporated in this weird travelling poem-paddock I carry around in my memory. It’s a wild, free, inner space where you can wander naked of any restrictions and limitations and enjoy a certain calm state (of mind). We all need one, I guess, whatever you choose to call it. Hope you find yours.
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