It’s exactly four weeks since the earthquake. I’m not going to offer anything today, other than the following video. It was shot by/for Civil Defense, and screened at Friday’s memorial service. It shows what the centre of Christchurch looks like now – no-one except the emergency crews and media have seen this part of the city for a month now. It’s a really weird feeling – this horror film set is our city. Going to be a long, slow process to reclaim it.
Joanna Preston: Tasmanaut Poet
A Dark Feathered Art 
Don’t you know – Gerry Brownlee says Christchurch is “open for business”. Do you think we should invite him to discuss it over a cup of tea at a cafe in the City Mall?
Well you know what they say – it’s a lovely view from between your own buttocks.
Or maybe when he says “open for business” he means ripped open for the business of demolition?
I’m just looking forward to them using him as the wrecking ball to take down the Grand Chancellor.
Hello Dark Feathered One. I’m really understanding what you write about manifestations of grief. I believe you left me a postcard in Perth? I’ve not seen it, but A.J. did mention you’d left it. Meanwhile, a poem for the times. Stay strong, Liana
* * * * *
Try To Praise The Mutilated World
Try to praise the mutilated world.
Remember June’s long days,
and wild strawberries, drops of wine, the dew.
The nettles that methodically overgrow
the abandoned homesteads of exiles.
You must praise the mutilated world.
You watched the stylish yachts and ships;
one of them had a long trip ahead of it,
while salty oblivion awaited others.
You’ve seen the refugees heading nowhere,
you’ve heard the executioners sing joyfully.
You should praise the mutilated world.
Remember the moments when we were together
in a white room and the curtain fluttered.
Return in thought to the concert where music flared.
You gathered acorns in the park in autumn
and leaves eddied over the earth’s scars.
Praise the mutilated world
and the gray feather a thrush lost,
and the gentle light that strays and vanishes
and returns.
–Adam Zagajewski
(translated, from the Polish, by Clare Cavanagh)
Liana, lovely to hear from you!
Thank you for the Zagajewski poem – it is exactly right. And no comment I make can match it, so thank you.
(ps yes, I did leave a postcard for you with AJ – if she can’t find it, email me your postal address and I’ll send one to you.)
Ah – I hadn’t ticked the boxes below about notifying reply, so wasn’t sure that you had responsed. I’m glad the poem felt ‘exactly right’. It certainly seemed so to me – but then I’m thousands of k’s away and not confronted with the rawness of this event and its aftermath. Not sure of putting a snailmail here – as it seems in part at least a ‘public space’. If we email directly will do so. Wishing you good spaces for your poetry.