Town Hall Ruins

Town Hall Ruins 2007 (unpublished).

A poem written by Cathy Applegate at the request of the Sydney Guitar Trio. It was read over music by Venezualan composer Elvis Suarez – Delta.

Performed as part of the Darwin International Guitar Festival 2007 at the Town Hall Ruins. Read by Rory O’Donoghue (of Aunty Jack fame).

This work was performed at the Darwin Town Hall Ruins – the poem is inspired by the history of the ruins.

The night sky stretches lazily

Almost shines with sultry inkiness.

From the light years between stars

The blackness streams earthwards.

Dark energy beams

Illuminating and informing the senses,

Reaching long shadowy fingers,

Beckoning,

Awakening

Night-time spirits.

The dark touches with tentative fingertips

These ruins

Stirs old souls

There are souls here still:

They breathed this space,

They walked within these once four walls,

They trod the floors with varied purpose

For this was a shared space

Has always been

Passionate, practical, tropical souls

They all left their mark,

Pieces of soul left behind

Like gauzy web-like spirit-cloth

Caught and torn,

A fragment hanging

Swaying gently in the night breeze

Silver shimmer, whisper

Night sidles closer

Stirring ghosts,

Darkness lights a stage

With players many,

Opens minds

Understandings

A Town Hall space – 1882

Proud new building

Porcellanite and pine

Hipped roof on rectangular base

Lord Mayor in robes

Finery, pomp and perspiration

Business of a city to run

… as the weather allows

While in that corner

A court house scene unfolds,

Legal minds pontificating

Prisoners held restrained

Guards, police, scandals

Against the wall

Stacked books

A library space

And those that came and went

Sweeping broad brimmed hats

Smiling and wiping brows,

Refuge from a blazing white-light day,

Choosing a good read

To settle into with a cool drink

Back home on the verandah

The rhythmic click of money machines

A space for banking and officialdom,

The thrill of spilled coins

The efficient rustle of wads of notes

Thumbed grubbily.

The jingle of keys

The thud of a closing vault

Always people coming and going

Going and coming,

Stopping for a chat

Taking shelter from a sudden

Wet season deluge.

Everyone’s space

This ever adapting space

This willing space

When enemy planes roared overhead

Swarmed in the skies

Rained destruction

Bodies ripped

Buildings blasted,

This place

Somehow escaped.

Navy stores packed

With military precision

Against these walls.

Work shop machinery,

Uniforms and guns

…and fear, so much fear

And so this survivor

Itself became a space

For other survivors to congregate…

A museum space

Filled with precious artefacts.

Objects dusted and cared for,

Displayed, arranged, admired.

It was nature herself –

Nature who decided one Christmas

To show this small town who’s who.

She came down with such rage

Oblivious to all;

The pettiness of human beings

Torn into grim perspective

By winds of screaming fury;

Savaged this building with brutal claws

Ripped it up and threw it

Aside.

Left this

This ruin

This space.

And in the aftermath

Tears, blood and sweat…

In that order.

And nature calmed herself,

Perhaps felt remorse,

Maybe saw the tenacity of the human soul.

Surprised that people

Could see beauty

In ruined things;

That people could celebrate and protect

A memory.

A space now for the arts

Players come

Sweet sounds send answers

To the night sky

To the dark

Echoes intertwining

Audiences

And so we travel through this space

Ourselves

Tonight

Our fragile souls in tow

Fragments left whispering.