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    Catastrophic: The Fire Poems of New South Wales
    Catastrophic: The Fire Poems of New South Wales
    Catastrophic: The Fire Poems of New South Wales
    Ebook155 pages1 hour

    Catastrophic: The Fire Poems of New South Wales

    By Humphrey Hartney

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    About this ebook

    At the end of 2019, the state of New South Wales erupted into flames. Intense local bushfires joined fronts and the subsequent megafire threatened lives, communities, and dramatically challenged how Australians saw themselves and their nation. Confronted by his burning world, poet and resident of the Blue Mountains, Humphrey Hartney, captures the drama and emotion of this great tragedy. Catastrophic is a powerful poetic witness account that reveals exactly how flammable we are.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherTablo Publishing
    Release dateFeb 7, 2021
    ISBN9781649695550
    Catastrophic: The Fire Poems of New South Wales

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      Book preview

      Catastrophic - Humphrey Hartney

      1.

      5:00AM

      Gormless youth

                            lurking.

      Evil, bloodied, pockmarked moon.

      Tree nesting

                      – some weird bird

      Chin resting

                       absurdly

      On branches so flammable

      That at their core

                               they wait

      To burn like hell –

      But more than that

      You're somehow both

      Under my skin and

                          in front of me as

      I walk the dogs down Birdwood Avenue…

      This moment is sharp

                your bloated face

                             smirking on

                                     knowing far too much

                                          gloating even.

      I move the dogs on

           rubbing my arm

                feeling the skin

                    you now lurk beneath. 

      You've seen too much what we do with fire - 

      Invite it into our homes

      The whole long winter,

      Introduce it to the food

      We are about to consume as if

      It is a living grace.

      And now you've made this

                         ill-conceived 

                            desperate, disgraceful plan

      To force on us

      All the fire you can. 

      And now I am feeling you

      Bulging out my chest

      It's becoming hard to breathe

      As I stare you down and breath

      Escapes me…

      But I can't impress upon you nor

      Get it past your strange, round face

      That the gift you give of all fire

                        will destroy us.

      Twisted deity.

      Fire has been there all these centuries

      For us to honour you but

      It was never there for you

      To use it back at us like this… 

      To summon up, after being so long unworshipped

      Your own sacrifice. 

      I move the dogs on

      The dawn tries to rise

      They find

                   their next pissing spot.

      Your uncanny brightness

      Feeds already

      On all the corpses

      That will be made this day.

      You move back as if now

      You're giving us

      All the space we need

      For our great tragedy

      Waiting in the wings.

      You're ready to quit the stage knowing

      Your will is set

                  – and that over us

      A sun will beam down

            through smoke, for months

                  – not like a sun 

                                      – but more like you

                                                        – all moon. 

      So, by your gift to us you'll become

      The ruling monarch of our fate

           - and this great false star

                            will be made doubly great

      By both the flames of the sun

                             and our burning flesh –

                                             your second reflection. 

      In homage to their new god

                pensively and with

                         a vacant stare

      They salute you – 

                   and with their back legs. 

      2.

      5:23AM

      Sitting in the garden –

                trying to wake,

                     nursing coffee,

                          hands warm.

      The breeze comes at me

                     – turns into a wind, suddenly,

                          strong as a boxer

      It’s been sparring like this all night –

                                      finding its strengths.

      Dawn’s cusp - and to confuse us all

      It’s cool and refreshing now

                                     – but by 10

      Hot, blistering.

      A divine wrath to ensure

                all undergrowth is dry like

                            hell is dry

                     ready for new life 

                             transposed 

                                       ecstatically

                                               in flame.

      By 4 this afternoon:

                     – all the hairdryers of the world turned on

                     – all roads hot coals

                     – all trees baked cores

                     – and this ancient, leather, bellows, 

                          sky and earth, wheezing up,

                              creaking back into use

                     – a global blacksmith’s forge

                              gusts and black/red coals 

                                  all night long 

                                       and hammer falls of heat

                                              and sparking collapse

                               re-smithing our minds into  

                                    one single thought: flame

                                        and how far flame will spread.

      But here, now

                just before dawn

      Some great audience sits, 

                                   and silently…

      Already the memorial concert.

      Paused at its breathless, quietest peak.

      The ballad of the new sun begins and they all

      Hold their lighters, their candles high…

      It’s November

      But more like Easter

      Crowds of souls carrying lights

      Circumambulating the great

                     cathedral 

                      that will be this day…

      By terror-filled and awe-filled rite

      The flame begins to pray to itself.

      It asks once more to be larger than life,

      To apocalypse us all, to ensure

      That only flame itself

                     is our salvation…

                                            because

      Only when we are burnt completely

      Will we be safe

      Only then, holocaust; 

                         the fully charred offering made –

      Will there be 

                         at last

                                peace

                                 and nothing left to burn.

      3.

      5:45AM

      Schools have been closed

      Bosses advised

      To leave their workers at home today

                     – wise things

                              all shifting into place.

      Our only real job:

                    – to hold our breaths and wait

                    – to listen with esoteric care to

                              weather reports

                                   to exhausted voices from command posts

                    – to app alerts, the local radio, the mayor

                    – and most of all the ABC

                    (God bless the ABC)

      My other job today:

               

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