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Thylazine: The Australian Journal of Arts, Ethics & Literature                                                                                                                                    #5/thyla5k-lf AUSTRALIAN POETS SERIES 5 The Poetry of Lionel Fogarty Selected by Coral Hull [Above] Photo of Lionel Fogarty courtesy of Feral Arts (QLD), 1998. I My Cry is Lost In a Name I Remember something like this I Joowindoo Goonduhmu I Quick Sing (Translation) I Fellow Being I My Cry is Lost In a Name Propelled in giving me damned names They gave me unknowing roots White with jewels of nakedness Sights - silenced then demanded to catch shadows travelling aware in innocence But as mixed up in trickery of my tree roots I found myself sucked by seed I felt dressed in native trees Then having urgency to wipe away white values I drunk healthiness I learned more about my ended Shakespeare name coming back the snakes began attacking Spears came travelling in my thighs leaving me Rejuvenated No more my damned name. Remember something like this Long ago a brown alighted story was told As a boy, looked up on the hall walls water flowed to his eyes for Starlight was carrying snake in his shirt gut belly and around the fires a tall man frightened the mobs that black eyes promised that night at giant tree, way up bushes crept in the ant hill was the wild blackfella from up north, they said. Soldier chained him down at the waterhole but as they bent to dip, sip behind their backs, old man Waterflow flew clear, magic undoing the shackles, without keys or sounds of saw saw ... nah ... you didn't saw him. He's old Waterflow, even I'm too young to remember everything. Yet clever than pictures them show off making fun of old Boonah sitting outside waiting for dreaming to come to reality. After that somebody broke into the store. Oh, the police were everywhere at every door, roof, in laws Where's this and that, you know. So they find out where him came from by looking at the tracks. He's headed for the caves just near milky way. Happy in strength, we took off but the hills hid this tribal bull-roaring feather foot under Jimmys Scrub place up deep where you have to leave smoke if you want to hunt there If you don't, you'll get slewed … On earth our people are happy but we couldn't find that food. Musta been up the Reservoir or expecting a life to run over near Yellow Bar cave again. But we bin told, one man got badly porcupine. Bring him home and not supposed to. So him get sick, all life time like green hands touch murri legs that's why you don't swim too late at this creek created. A spoiled boy one afternoon, went repeating the bell bird singing. And he went and went and sent to Green Swamp, back of the grid. Then as eels were caught Aunties sang out, this the biggest I've ever seen. Come boys get more wood, we'll stay here all night. So sat waiting, a bit dark, tired light the lines pulling in slowly for fish seem to be in message but two-headed creature appeared legs chucked back fires went out the fish swam back we raced home. All cold that night, back of the bend and rocks. Just near the bunya tree you can see this middle aged woman, long black hair walk past our Nana Rosie's place up to the graveyards but she flows and many a moons came shone in our minds watching Dimmydum and Kingy doing corroboree on stage in front of the children. A light story past thru windows on to you all never forget remember more ... Joowindoo Goonduhmu Ngujoo nye muyunube Little black buree You must respect golo You must praise to junun You must seek love with googee little black buree hear your song 'nuyeeree munu juwoon' The gendergender will bring the message The googuhgu will laugh when you cry sad to make your world happy Gugun gugun buree 'gukoore doongge' Wake up little buree your old gulung boome all gnumgnin to love mooroon gunggen ge Oh little buree goonduhmu sing goonduhmu the feelings of gurring ina narmee, gurring ina narmee nha gun goon na nhorn goo yea little buree our binung love your sounds in the boorun now miremumbeh and monu goondir helps little black gukoore your gumee loves you. Even mumu love you Quick Sing (Translation) I can see a lot of people coming Little black boy You must respect the moon You must praise the sun You must seek love with the star Little black baby hear your song: 'That's our country' The willy wagtail will bring the message The kookaburra will laugh when you cry sad to make your world happy Baby crying Wake up little baby old good catch all me and you to love a man singing out Oh little baby sing sing the feelings of what I am doing in this flat country I come from not here but long away yea little baby our ear love your sounds in the wind now rain coming and that clever doctor helps little black kid your auntie loves you. Even uncle love you. Fellow Being An' we aborigines in humanity. The pulses of the red sun give a beat in aboriginal people. The kissing of winds to trees are the love between aborigines. Even the water we drink is the pure tears aboriginals share. We wisely in our humanised aboriginal homes are united under    All one colour. The aboriginal is the bread of man's rich land. We are the rocks of ages and purpling skies. Look at every scenery in bush you will see an aboriginal face,     Body and spirit The aboriginal is not owned by any human being on earth. Our presence is the flesh of fresh new worlds. We are music that floats into a wonderful note to all ears. An aboriginal is nature's soil, you pick it up, hold it in your    hand and you will feel our growth in the ground. We are the gods of man in this land but then we are not    humans. Yet we are part of your kind now hey. The earth above is our spirituals. And now if you speak our tongue, don't mean you are native. The sea, hills and lakes are in our hearts and minds. The universe is belonga to dem big spirit creator. Oh, now man you go out there to find out more of us, who    down there. Well listen to that fish talk and you will know we ate it the    other day. And if you talk to a bird of paradise you find they are people,    same with All creatures here, we aboriginals come from them. If you feel the heat of the sun, you feel us. If you see and feel the light of the darkness then you have just     touched an aborigine. About the Poet Lionel Fogarty Lionel Fogarty was born at Barambah, now known as Cherbourg Aboriginal Reserve in Queensland. Since the 1970s he has been active in many of the political struggles of the Aboriginal people, particularly in southern Queensland, from the Land Rights movement, to setting up Aboriginal health and legal services, to black deaths in custody. He is also an Australian poet who has opened up the new space of black Australian surrealist writing and done much to reformulate our understanding of poetic discourse and its roles in both black and white communities. Lionel Fogarty has been acclaimed as a strong and authentic voice emerging from a radical new generation of Australian Aboriginal writers. Deliberately using the creole language of the Murri Aboriginal people in preference to standard English, his poems are powerful litanies for his own people.    [Above] Photo of Lionel Fogarty courtesy of Feral Arts (QLD), 1998. I Next I Back I Exit I Thylazine No.5 (March, 2002)