INHERITANCE: Poems from Damen O'Brien workshop

 

INHERITANCE

Poems from the Booranga workshop presented by Damen O’Brien – in response to prompts about using metaphors to express firstly, something we know or are competent at and secondly, something about which we know nothing … I’ve invoked a title of one of Damen’s poems from his collection, Walking the Boundary, 2024, Pitt Street Poetry, for this small gathering.

David Gilbey

 

Having a Good Transmission                         Maurice Corlett

 

I know nothing about how the transmission works

When I drive to Lockhart.

Our car doesn’t speak German.

Neither do I.

And in Australia I have no need to learn.

Living in Europe at the present time

May make it wise to learn a little Russian

With the fears of the western countries justified

Where you need a good transmission

Before the snow comes.

 

A sonnet - musing on mortality                    Carolyn Dodd 

 

Will I live to 100? 

‘They say’ age is just a number 

Isn’t it how you live your life – not how long it is? 

or is that another convenient platitude? 

‘They say’ living to a grand age 

is revered and esteemed, in many cultures 

‘They say’ the Japanese are known for their longevity 

maybe it’s their attention to tai-chi – or the seaweed in their diet? 

‘I say’ didn’t my father live to 86? 

and his father, before him, to the exact same age? 

a reasonable assumption is already at play -  

‘They say’ being an octogenarian has a certain ring about it –  

‘I say’ I’ll be content to turn the lights out 

14 years earlier than a century. 

 

 

Where are all the cicadas?                             Jan Pittard

 

Where are all the cicadas? she queried

not alone in mentioning the absence

of their nutty brown husks and shrill decibels

this summer

Is she nostalgic for her childhood summers?

Is a summer without cicada trill a poor depleted season?

Is she concerned for ecosystems?

There is art using cicada nymph shells

exhibited right here on campus

their seven year life cycle is noted

their absence not explained

bushfires hasten their emergence from underground

- guess it’s not comfortable there when it heats up

So where were they this summer?

I heard them once or twice

ringing out on Willans Hill

hidden from our sight.

 

 

‘The naked sword between them’               David Gilbey

What’s happening? asked my cool hairdresser

handing me a whiskey at my monthly cut & style.

A poster of beard fashions magics Ned Kelly

to an Iraqi refugee; vintage surfboard prayer

tokens; a full-frontal stuffed chimpanzee

on the merch table. I’ve just finished reading

Han Kang’s Greek Lessons for the third time.

Do you get it now? Mostly … two damaged voices:

a mute woman fixated on language and a nearly

blind man fixated on seeing. Haunted by Buddhism

they speak a dream in Ancient Greek’s middle voice.

it’s more a series of pictures in an art exhibition

or an avant-garde piece of music like Stravinsky’s

Rite of Spring. What’s that like? Pagan, tribal …

Tom turned off the salon’s rappy, croonish beat

and found a track, adjusted the volume

to what he thought would least annoy his patrons.

After ten minutes he tuned back to rock’s solace.

Hey, I really get this but it’s making me anxious

and I’m worried your haircut won’t survive.

Can the Earth be round?                              Christine Brickhill

How do you know the earth is round?

What is roundness?

I know that apples, oranges and soccer balls are all round

But, if I squash them, they become flat and juicy

Now juice is not round

It is not a shape

Does it want to be a shape?

Has it been asked?

It would be different if was a cricket ball

solid and unable to be squashed

Have you ever seen an ant fall off a cricket ball?

Have you ever seen a person fall off the earth?

Well no

I don’t think so

So of course we may conclude

that the earth is indeed round.

Booranga Writers’ Centre acknowledges the Wiradjuri people as the traditional custodians of the land in which we live and work and write, and pays respects to Elders past, present and future.

Wagga Wagga Sonnets

 

Wagga Wagga Sonnet Sonnet

For the February writing workshop at Booranga, Keri Glastonbury presented the group with ‘prompts’ for seven couplets to construct a kind of modern sonnet.

Here are her notes:

Let's all write a contemporary sonnet that is just a 14-line poem (no rhyme scheme). The contemporary sonnet can reflect our era of distraction – the sonnet used to be structured with specific points where it would shift or swerve. But as David said last night what if attention shifted mid-line or didn't wait until the last rhyming couplet to put a different spin on the preceding stanzas? 

I wrote Newcastle Sonnets with around three seconds of conscious memory, then jump cut to the next phrase or idea. ADHD? It's like bricolage or collage (nothing new but infused with effect of the internet on our concentration spans). Your sonnet will be a container for noticing. It will map attention. I often think of mine as a form of mental chimney sweeping. Quite instinctual, though sometimes I come up with actual metaphors (like casting Kelpies in muster dogs).

Wagga is already fragmented: river/highway/defence/Uni/agriculture/heat/fog/suburbia/Wiradjuri Country. So we'll be writing a place sonnet (even though sonnets are traditionally about love). When we put the fragments together the poem thinks for us. The meaning comes from juxtaposition, not explanation. This is called parataxis. 

Write two lines that name a Wagga Street (mapping); two lines that reference the weather; two lines that address a specific person; two lines that reference a past memory in Wagga; two lines that mention The Daily Advertiser (perhaps satirically); two lines that give instructions to the reader related to a rural or regional activity. The turn –  end with two lines beginning ‘Meanwhile I…’ (to replace the traditional volta). 

Each line is a co-ordinate and forms a map of place that couldn't be described directly. If a line surprises you, it's the moment the poem becomes smarter than the writer.

When we read our drafts we were all surprised at some of the continuities in our discontinuous imagining. Keri suggested we publish them as ‘The Wagga Sonnets’. Lachlan Brown suggested we might seek to collaborate with local artists to publish a visual version.

Here is the first iteration … David Gilbey

Wagga Wagga Sonnets

The palpable relief of Fitzmaurice Street—

the groovier end (ever since the opium dens)

then all the way down to the old tip where I’d crack

frozen puddles with my hockey stick.

At the old Ambo Station David’s still taking names

for the open section like a working Kelpie:

I’m 17 and Les Murray is up the stairs

at Romano’s Hotel, teetering majestically!

The Daily Advertiser owns that particular font—

but the font of all knowledge now requires media literacy.

Agronomists recommend adding lime

to the dahlia beds of our dotage.

Meanwhile, I eye off the shortbread on the table

like dominos. Keri Glastonbury

chewing on Peppermint Drive

a helicopter unwraps the apiary

no rainbow for kangaroos heat-

struck, shit-hopping the saplings

the ghost of my dead wife would be astonished

at Lloyd’s creamy, crowded sprawl

I’m last chorus girl on the plaque

of the Shakespeare Club’s knot garden

Neill emails Daily Advertiser blips but

Sam and I like ‘Mountflattened’

ag. students debate better to scatter 

wild oats broadly than direct drill

meanwhile I must inspect my bees for varroa

still hopeful of a honey bounty David Gilbey

Fitzhardinge shorted along terrace flats
heat melting established potholes
dry wind captures singed leaves
of stressed trees shedding
Michael is missing  no action
‘Where are you?”
Newtown Park was abundant
animals and birds now caged
news grows old in the Daily Advertiser
kept for tomorrow’s fish and chip scraps
propagate plants amid the solar panels
leave some nature to survive
meanwhile, I toss shower water
on the wilted frame of the hydrangea Robert Rathbone

Trail Street looms – old D.A. building

Next, former mayor’s house, ‘Gissing-lite’

Brucedale horizon – January 12th

Storm is approaching; now hits with brute force

My first day in Wagga, a day of beginning

Workplace consuming; no time to reflect

Adrian Wintle, sharp critic of ‘Arts’

His weekly D.A. piece a humbling reflect

School teachers say how discipline’s lost

I say, ‘Bring back the cane!’, then teaching can start

I contemplate now what the future may hold

I’d love to predict but that’s being too bold Ian Stewart

Gregory Crescent has a new surface

pot holes buried under bitumen layers

heatmelt gives off tarry fumes

sun-perfumed

don’t call the ambulance

let’s have a party instead

nosebleed in a caravan

sleeping on carpeted floor

fireman states ‘it was hot and smoky’

scrapmetal clear-out by fire

John Deere sales leap skywards

oversized machinery self-drive

Meanwhile I empty crumbs from the toaster

hum four seasons in one day Claire Baker

 

Will there be a park in Morrow St?

Tomorrow for the SOACT show

Don’t expect to get a shady spot

’Spose Basement Theatre’s cool enough?

G’day Sam! Of course you’d be here!

Your element – final performance time

Nooks and crannies hiding fine

Entertainment for the town’s great and good

The Addy gave the last play a rotten review

No more free tix wasted on that rag!

Out in full force were Wollundry Rotarians

Narrandera poets lamented “We’ll all be rooned!”

Fearless audience could only agree – treading

The boards with local repertory – a tough gig Carolyn Dodd

The old Union Bank on the corner of Forsyth and Johnston

Italian porticos and a ruptured convex traffic parking mirror

slanting shadows and gusty winds

guard and buffet a grand edifice

I see ‘Ducky’ crossing the street past the servo

recognise his eponymous hairstyle and shuffling gait

on our first visit we patted donkeys and were surprised

to find our motel led onto a Baptist church and the Myer car park

began by consulting the Daily Advertiser everyday

wouldn’t advertise the fact now

the RFS reminds us to clear our gutters

and have a water source ready

meanwhile I contemplate how stealthily Wagga has impinged

from getting lost on campus to sitting here entrenched Jan Pittard

I dream sometimes of Ziegler ... Street? Crescent? Road?

(I can’t remember)

Oversaturated by sun

and burnt parchment dry

Maisie lives there so it’s ’78

(old then, much older in the dreams)

In her acid-green house

Which is never where it should be

Reading of her death in the local paper

And laughing. A lot.

Well, crashing a tractor in Anzac Parade

That is newsworthy (dreamworthy) yes.

Meanwhile I keep walking

Past a house only there when I sleep. Lorraine Manton

Booranga Writers’ Centre acknowledges the Wiradjuri people as the traditional custodians of the land in which we live and work and write, and pays respects to Elders past, present and future.

2026 Workshops

 

                    2026 Writing Workshop Dates and Information

Booranga Writers’ Centre acknowledges the Wiradjuri people as the traditional custodians of the land 

in which we live and work and write, and pays respects to Elders past, present and future.

Booranga Writers' Centre
CSU Campus
Building 410, Mambarra Drive
Wagga Wagga 

Location on map

 

RSVP president@booranga.com

We invite writers of all abilities, genres and interests to join us with a piece of writing you are working on, to workshop, develop and share with fellow writers. Please bring multiple copies (6 - 8) of the work to share around the table for editing purposes if you wish to share your work. These will be returned to you at the end of the workshop.

Tea, coffee and biscuits are provided.

Booranga is a friendly environment to nurture your creative writing while enjoying the company of like-minded people of all ages and stages of their craft.


Workshop fees:

$10 for 2026 financial members
$15 for non-members 

To enjoy the Member-only discount entry you must renew your membership prior to this event.

Usually the Third Saturday of each month 

Proposed dates, subject to change

21 February: Workshop at Booranga, 2 - 4pm with Keri Glastonbury

21 March: Workshop at Booranga, 2 - 4pm with Damen O'Brien

18 April: Workshop at Booranga, 2 - 4pm with Kai Jensen & Elizabeth Walton

16 May: Workshop, 2 - 4pm, Booranga Writers' Centre with Ken Eustace

20 June: Workshop, 2 - 4pm, Booranga Writers' Centre with Jacinta Le Plastrier 

18 July:  Workshop, 2 - 4pm, Booranga Writers' Centre with  P.S. Cottier & Nick Hartland

22 August: Workshop, 2 - 4pm, Booranga Writers' Centre, with Jules Leigh Koch & Cary Hamlyn

19 September: Workshop, 2 - 4pm, Booranga Writers' Centre, with Toby Fitch

17 October:  Workshop, 2 - 4pm, Booranga Writers' Centre, with Tug Dumbly 

21 November:  Regular workshop, 2 - 4pm, Booranga Writers' Centre, 

Proposed dates, subject to change