POSTCARD FROM ADELAIDE

“As we grew to love South Australia, we felt that we were in an expanding society, still feeling the bond to the motherland, but eager to develop a perfect society, in the land of our adoption.” – Catherine Helen Spence

I am in Adelaide for the day today as I had to attend a formal lunch in which the premier and several of his ministers. There were members of the City Council and representatives from industry present also. The function was at the Adelaide Convention Centre and very well attended with about a thousand guests. My boss and I sat at the table of the South Australian Department of Trade and Economic Development as guests of the HOD. It was a well organised function and it was unusual for such political/industry forums that it was extremely interesting. Mike Rann, the Premier spoke very well and unveiled his 30-year strategic plan for the future. He is a very good speaker and he spoke about several initiatives that will do much good for the State. There is a State election in about a month, so this was one of the pre-election activities, I am sure.

All of this afternoon I caught up with our staff at our Adelaide campus and signed off about 100 testamurs for the graduating students of the South Australian campus. The time quickly passed and then I had to go back to the airport for my commuters’ flight back to Melbourne.

For Poetry Wednesday today, a poem by Dame Edith Sitwell.  She was born September 7th, 1887, Scarborough, Yorkshire, England and died December 9th, 1964, London. She was a poet who first gained fame for her innovative stylistic artifices but who emerged during World War II as a poet of emotional depth and profoundly human concerns. She was equally famed for her formidable personality, Elizabethan dress, and eccentric opinions.

The Fan

LOVELY Semiramis
Closes her slanting eyes:
Dead is she long ago.
From her fan, sliding slow,
Parrot-bright fire's feathers,
Gilded as June weathers,
Plumes bright and shrill as grass
Twinkle down; as they pass
Through the green glooms in Hell
Fruits with a tuneful smell,
Grapes like an emerald rain,
Where the full moon has lain,
Greengages bright as grass,
Melons as cold as glass,
Piled on each gilded booth,
Feel their cheeks growing smooth.
Apes in plumed head-dresses
Whence the bright heat hisses,--
Nubian faces, sly
Pursing mouth, slanting eye,
Feel the Arabian
Winds floating from the fan.

Dame Edith Sitwell

Jacqui BB hosts Poetry Wednesday!