Spirit of Four Winds

When flutes come dancing through the orchard grass,
And oboes etch their dreams on Cuttagee.
When boisterous trombones call to stars unseen
And trumpets parley with the drumming surf,
We have a festival.

Bermagui Landfall
Beyond a coda of Wagnerian capes
Lie pizzicato inlets, oyster sweet.
Green Banksias silver to an urgent chord
And leaping Marlin slice bravura waves,
To start a festival.

Despite time's crust bright waters encore still
Their tutti on the hull of Cook's Endeavour
And elemental didgeridoos he could have heard
Will pullulate from Sculthrope's magic score
To make a festival.

Four Winds 2006
Seek no more than sky and trees
embracing the broad hill's shoulder.
Water has spoken to earth, and earth to water;
To speed the hour, they summon all their voices
From pond and lake and sea and copse and stone.
Step after simple step, spacious and expanding,
The circling terraces climb through the slope of the land
Until the hill's brow unveils the tents beyond,
And comfort of voices warm in greeting.
Under the mottled gums.
They are planning a banquet.

Hunger no more!
For what awaits below is more sustaining,
where Ludwig and Wolfgang, guardians of the muse,
Stand by the gate of another feast.
Come down, step after step to the circling sound
All secrets here have tuned their whispers,
Through the heart's lens, to a burning point.

Listen! The tune that lingers
on the lips of the lake,
In the ears of the applauding tea tree,
Has entered the hearts of the magic makers.
They summon waves, as if from the beach,
To run and ripple, surge and boom,
In the expectant air.

Sounds disembodied, reconfigured amplified,
Spread like Pollock's paint across the crowd.
Within a thousand brains
A myriad of cells is dancing
A new mozaic, lovingly set down.
Colours of earth, pattern of sky, angle of sea.
And the texture of all seasons
Awaiting the sun.
Time past expects time present
To do its duty.

Weston Bate
18 April 2006