Tag Archives: Ocean Hearted Project

Live from the Audio Vault #5: Once more with video!

Here’s another clip from the Ocean Hearted Project, performed live at QLD Poetry Festival in 2010, with live music from Sheish Money w/ Namedropper and visuals from Cindy Keong. Watching this brings back so many memories… Cindy and I caused a bit of a stir on the banks of Cabbage Tree Creek when we shot these images. I am sure the local fishermen thought we were from some kind of cult! Viewpoints was highly commended in the Poetronica Award at the 2010 Melbourne Overload Festival and I am very pleased that it is finally available to view.

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Looking back on Ocean Hearted…

This time last weekend, I was in the the thick of QLD Poetry Festival 2010. Fourteen years on, this festival just keeps going from strength to strength. There were far too many poetic highlights to mention… seriously, I couldn’t do it justice, but the real highlight, as always, was the warmth and openness of the festival audience and the artists. Being at QPF is a unique experience and one that I love dearly. My own personal highlight was without a doubt performing in the main theatre of The Judith Wright Centre on Saturday night with Sheish Money & Namedropper, with a backdrop of sublime images from Cindy Keong. It was the strangest feeling…

I had been planning the show for 12months, working with Cindy on the photos, getting the book ready, rehearsing with Sheish and then the band. It was a big process… and then I was up there; the lights hit, the music swelled and I lost myself in the poems; gave myself to them. As soon as we hit the end of the first poem – Grounded - and the band locked straight into the next groove, I knew we were on.

It quite simply flashed by and as Sheish took vocal duties on the last piece – Save Myself / Lessons, I filled with emotion. Sheish and I have been doing this for almost a decade and here we were, surrounded by people we love, still surprising each other, still pushing the creative process. And as the applause rose and we walked off stage, I felt, I had left nothing behind… you can’t ask for anything more than that.

There are already plans to perform this show again, so keep your eyes out for details later in the year.

The photos here were sent through to me by the lovely Angel Kosch (and keep your eye out for official photos on the QLD Poetry Festival website in the coming weeks).

 

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Five ways of looking at the River

Yesterday turned on some of the most perfect weather… and Brunswick Heads is definitely as beautiful as I remember. Here’s a quick look at a handful of photos from the trip. These will become part of the Ocean Hearted DVD, forming a photo narrative to accompany the poem, ‘Good Friday, Brunswick Heads’.

 

 

 

 

                                     all photographs by Cindy Keong

 

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The Road Not Taken

Another Friday is here and as we enter that beautiful transition between night and day, my mind has drifted off to thinking about the weekend ahead… me, I am off on another leg of the Ocean Hearted journey, travelling to Brunswick Heads to take photographs for the poem, ‘Good Friday, Brunswick Heads’. Brunswick is one of those places that remains slightly ‘off the road’, and I hope it remains that way… We need these places in our lives. Places where we can return to our true self, places where landscape and body align.

And as today is Robert Frost’s birthday, I was drawn to revisit his poem, The Road Not Taken… a poem that illumines the beauty to be found when we move beyond the known. So whatever your plans for this weekend, I hope you find yourself on a road less travelled.

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White Crane

Tonight I have been hard at work on the multimedia side of the Ocean Hearted Project, gradually putting together some of the amazing photos taken earlier this year into a short film accompanied by the poem recorded by myself and Sheish Money. And I am smiling as we have now completed the first of the short films titled, White Crane. While I can’t post the whole film here, I have decided to post a few of the photos and the poem, to give you all a taste of what has been buzzing around in my mind for the last few hours.

 

 

                                                    White Crane

                                                              Only weeks ago, two of them.
                                                              Each standing on one leg
                                                              side by side.

                                                              Now, day after day, just one
                                                              comes to stand
                                                              by the river

                                                              and at night returns
                                                              to the nearby sports-field
                                                              to stand alone until dawn.

                                                              The river is not a place
                                                              of daydreams
                                                              and not for mourning.

                                                             For the crane
                                                             and cormorant
                                                             it’s a place to catch fish.

                                                             Try to mourn here
                                                             and you’ll soon be carried off.
                                                             Daydreams, friends

                                                             drift all one way -
                                                             the river has no breath in it
                                                             but it ripples.

 

 

 

                                                     all photographs by Cindy Keong

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Love Letter to Bramble Bay

    

                                                          i.

                                                          The gulls
                                                          still ghost the shore;

                                                          the hard pods
                                                          of sheoak spray their seed
                                                          across the path.

                                                          The dark sky is amber again.

                                                          Another morning, walking your tideline
                                                          composing another poem.

                                                          Each new line
                                                          patterns my tongue
                                                          like a nautilus

                                                          and my words disappear 
                                                          like stones
                                                          skipped across a wave

                                                          sinking through
                                                          the pages of water.

                                                                                       GN

 

                                      

                                                      ii.

                                                      Stately Queenslanders, convalesce
                                                      guard the shoreline;
                                                      ghosts of old men
                                                      cast in the shadow of jetty lights.

                                                      Eroded hardwood pillars
                                                      now remnants of your playground;
                                                      the pioneering spirit lingers
                                                      in the slow bite of rust.

                                                      Rolling tide,
                                                      churns forth your memory;
                                                      as the sea circles my ankles
                                                      I am written into your pages.

                                                                                                         CK

 

* Here’s another taste of the Ocean Hearted Project. Photographs and part ii of this poem are by Cindy Keong.

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Jetty Lights

                                                                        photo by Cindy Keong

                                                       

                                             Jetty Lights

                                                            the quiet of midnight;
                                                            lost in fishermen’s lights

                                                            trawling the jetty;
                                                            seabreeze blowing gulls

                                                            & full moon slipping through
                                                            clouds. we walk side by side;

                                                            I, sewing blankets of stars:
                                                            you dreaming your quiet

                                                           music; pylons gently played by
                                                           the knowledge of waves.

 

 

* A sample from the forthcoming Ocean Hearted multimedia project I am working on with Cindy Keong.

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