Red Earth

Red Earth was the first text I ever scribed wholly. A personal reflection on the living, breathing Land of the Dreaming, the forty-nine-verse poem was written on my iPad Mini along the five-hour drive from Coolah to Wollongong when I was thirteen years old.

The Land is like my teeth.

White gums sprout from the heath

Of Red Earth.

Coolah is traditionally recognised as the land of the Wiradjuri and Kamilaroi People, and is believed to have been used as a meeting ground for the two tribes for centuries. It'll always hold a special place in my heart.

My gums are actually red, you see,

But the gum is white when a tree:

Tall, thick and branched out wide.

Leaves are mottled all over them

So the koalas can cling, eat, nap, hide.

At the time of travel, my family and I were on our way to visit my grandparents for Christmas in the forty-three degree Aussie heat. That year had been exceptionally dry for us. The backburning bushfires had settled by then, but every few kilometres we drove, a mini fire would still be alight. The smell was so riveting; so revitalising despite being difficult, heavy, to breathe in.

Burnt eucalyptus invades my nose,

Clears it thoroughly from the humidity.

But my eyes are now watering.

Unquestioning of Dreamtime's validity

To uplift and revive

The children, alive,

Of Red Earth.

I'd never been more proud to be Australian as we drove down dusty, rusty roads with our windows unwound and our foreheads sticking out to feel the cool gust, adrenaline rush, kind of air, and the music that filled us with life were songs of my homeland.

A mesmerizingly,

Terrifyingly

Spellbinding view

Of plunges and peaks,

Of deserts and creeks,

Of skies azure blue.

One of my favourite poems, My Country by Dorothea Mackellar, resonates so deeply within me. Having learned it by heart in primary school by the librarian's will, my soul cannot help but soar when it hears: 'I love a sunburnt country, A land of sweeping plains…'

I live in the sunburnt country!

I'm travelling the ragged mountain ranges

And through the droughts without the flooding rains.

Some say Red Earth possesses only terror

So how can there be such beauty

In her charred, ashy remains?

Mackellar's patriotic poem is easily recognised, but there is nothing more Aussie than Banjo Paterson's bush ballad Waltzing Matilda. It is Australia's unofficial national anthem, describing the wanderer's, the swagman's, life of solitude in the blazing outback as he steals a sheep and runs from the police. It's a tale of the roots of our culture; of mateship and mischief, and I still hum it absentmindedly on a daily basis.

Banjo's Matilda is dancing barefoot

On the dry dirt beneath a coolibah tree.

Her soles are coated in the ash black soot,

But she waltzes completely carefree.

And I'd like to be her someday;

Waltzing near my boiling billy,

Before relaxing with a cuppa tea.

I've always been charmed by the nature of Australian poetry. It illustrates the simple splendour found in such unbearable conditions – conditions that, experienced by 'All you who have not loved her, You will not understand'. Her words are timeless.

As we roll along Red Earth,

Banjo's billabong is something I'm yet to see.

I'm sure she's hiding her treasure somewhere

For a person, thirsty, just like me.

Australia's vast, untouched landscape is so overwhelmingly magnificent. Thirteen-year-old me knew I could never have described what I was seeing as crowd-rousingly as Mackellar. But I tried to make the poem reflect how my spirit was intertwining with ever-breathing, unceasing, most pleasing: Red Earth.

Despite my thirst,

I know Red Earth

Is far thirstier than me.

She is quite burnt,

But not all that hurt,

For she likes the heat.

Backburning aids in avoiding massive bushfires that simply get out of control too quickly. They are normally caused by extreme dryness and high temperatures, concentrated in one area. But, at times, people purposefully start these blazes, because they're bored, drunk off their faces. Still, Red Earth comes back thriving each time, unperturbed by the earlier disturbance.

She doesn't complain,

Nor hold resentment in vain.

For Red Earth is masterful, powerful, bold.

There's never been a doubt in my mind

That she'll always pay us back threefold.