This page was opened on July 5th 1998 1997

CORRY de HAASS' THIRD POETRY PAGE

PHOTO-21K

Corry de Haas, her husband and five young children arrived (from Holland) in Australia in January 1960. Their youngest was born there.

It was not until her husband retired, and they moved to the Gold Coast, that she took up writing as a hobby!! This was in 1987.

Corry wrote short stories mostly, until, when Christmas shopping one day, she found a book of verse by Henry Lawson .... and was hooked.

She read no other books for three months, and shortly after, wrote her first poem.

Now her 'hobby' has grown into a strong need to write, and rhyming verse is her first love.

At the moment she is also working on her autobiography, which she has found to be both the most enjoyable and at the same time the most difficult task she has yet set herself.

Corry's photograph above (or maybe to the side depending on you browser) was taken recently, while reading some of her poems on a visit to her home town in Holland, which she described as an unforgettably rewarding experience.

This is Corry's third page of poems at this site. We trust they will be as popular as the first two.

THE POPLARS OF MURRURUNDI
                                  

The Murrurundi poplars copied pictures of my past
When I used to stroll the springtime lanes alone.
My wordsongs lying dormant in recesses of my mind
Now awash with all the beauty I have known.
The chestnut lit her candles then to celebrate new life
The wind played overtures in nature's band,
And poplars told me fairy-tales in countless reveries
In a language only children understand.

       And through my teens I feasted on the summer of my days
       When colours shimmered in a tinsel sky;
       And cheerful breezes sang upon the poplars' festive boughs
       In tones my heart nor body could deny.
       My poplars mixed a potion then, a nectar that I drank
       Coursing freely through my veins in gay pursuit
       Of a jubilant expression in an enervating dance...
       With the voice of my tomorrows rendered mute.

Now that my life has ripened into latent autumn years
I turn towards the poplars once again;
They display perfection in their gowns of burnished gold
In a brilliance no mortal could attain;
For like the mystic thorn-bird that trills her tragic song
Then falls upon the spike that spears the heart,
So the poplars' fading splendor show a picture of grandeur
Before the dwindling leaves erase their art.

       The silence of my future lies behind a shadowed wall
       Where pipers play a timeless saraband...
       And ancient music soothes like a rondo by Bizet
       And waning tides will wash my footsteps from the sand...
       Will the poplars tell a stort of a season fresh and green?
       Show their beauty they so proudly shared with me?
       Will they sing a new cantata for the joy a birthday brings?
       And will those that come behind me truly see?

THE SPIRIT OF AUSTRALIA
                    

I often sat and listened to the silence
Of bushlands dreaming, where only eagles soar,
And hoped to hear the land reveal her secrets
Her wisdom far too precious to ignore.
I left my mind wide open to her message
To all she would be willing to convey,
But when at last I seemed to grasp her meaning
It slipped away.

                     I travelled to the barren inner regions,
                     But playful whirlwinds wiped away my footsteps,
                     And spoke in tongues no mortal understands.
                     I tried to find a reason for my wand'ring -
                     This urgency I could not disobey -
                     To distant tracts that seemed to hold the answer,
                     Then turned away...

I asked my friends, the Karri, in the forests
To help me in this unrelenting quest,
Their lifetime crowns the vast expanse of ages,
Since time began her journey in the west;
But nightfall cast her shadow on the giants,
The moon began her course across the bay,
And I was left to drift again and wonder...
Then turned away.

                     So I climbed the bushland's scarlet mountains
                     And marvelled at the scene beneath my feet;
                     The air awash with fragrant scents of summer
                     A cooling breeze that made the day more sweet;
                     And standing there I felt the merest whisper
                     Of kindred minds that swept my doubts away...
                     And a promise that I'll soon find her spirit...
                     Then slipped away.

But now that rambling days are over
I've settled down and found my special place
Where the Spirit of Australia walks beside me,
Delights me with her gentleness and grace.
Her message here will never be forgotten,
But we're custodians of this ancient land...
For the answer to my questions lives inside me
And I understand...
LIFE'S THEATRE
                                         

My mirror has a double-sided looking glass
Which shows the many characters I've played;
My alter ego safely hidden in the wings,
A Harlequin enhancing the charade.

And looking in the mirror at the finely fashioned lines
Life's theatre has etched around my eyes,
I see ghosts of my tomorrows waiting patiently backstage -
Wearing bells and jesters cap in cheerful guise.

And the clown of my existence wears a double-sided smile,
The greasepaint masking all that's grim and sad;
For I dressed his role in sunshine, left the tragedies behind
As we share the stage and footlights here instead.

Most good things reach far and near- but back to home page time is here.