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held at the
CLUB Pine Rivers
Bray Park
on the
22nd, 23rd & 24th August 2008
Hosted by the
North Pine Bush Poets
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Australian Bush Poetry Championships | Performance Competition Results
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| Female |
Male |
| Carol Heuchan |
Cooranbong NSW |
Gregory North |
Linden NSW |
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| Female |
Male |
1st
2nd
3rd |
Carol Heuchan
Dot Schwenke
Kathy Edwards |
Cooranbong NSW
Scarborough Queensland
Merewether NSW
|
1st
2nd
3rd
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Gregory North
Dean Collins
Geoff Mann |
Linden NSW
Bargara Queensland
Edmonton Queensland
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|
| Female |
Male |
1st
2nd
3rd |
Carol Heuchan
Carmel Wooding
Susan Carcary |
Cooranbong NSW
Gold Coast
Queensland
ACT
|
1st
2nd
3rd
|
Gregory North
Terry Regan
Dean Trevaskis |
Linden NSW
Blaxland NSW
Ocean Shores NSW
|
|
| Female |
Male |
1st
2nd
3rd |
Carmel Wooding
Carol Heuchan
Pamela Fox |
Gold Coast
Queensland
Cooranbong NSW
Beaudesert Queensland
|
1st
2nd
3rd
|
Gregory North
Terry Regan
Dean Collins |
Linden NSW
Blaxland NSW
Bargara Queensland |
|
| Female |
Male |
1st
2nd
3rd |
Susan Carcary
Carol Heuchan
Carmel Wooding |
ACT
Cooranbong NSW
Gold Coast
Queensland |
1st
2nd
3rd
|
Dean Collins
Terry Regan
Roderick Williams |
Bargara Queensland
Blaxland NSW
Killabakh NSW |
|
| Female and Male |
Billy Hay Yarn - Spinning |
1st
2nd
3rd |
Cameron Rabbit
Judy Collins
Brian Weier |
Mitchelton Queensland
Bargara Queensland
Dalby Queensland |
1st
|
Dean Trevaskis |
Ocean Shores NSW |
|
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Maxine Ireland
Alex Allitt
Mary Hodgson |
Tweed Heads NSW
Deniliquin NSW
Mooloolah Queensland |
|
|
| 12 to 16 |
7 to under 12 |
1st
2nd
3rd |
Matthew Collins
Amy Collins
Daniel Szabo |
Bargara Queensland
Bargara Queensland
Scarborough Queensland |
1st
2nd
3rd
|
Laura Collins
Beau Burcher-Kemp
Seamus Coulson |
Bargara Queensland
Speewah Queensland
Ashgrove Queensland
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Australian Bush Poetry Championships | Written Competition Results
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Poem |
Author |
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1st
2nd
3rd
Highly Commended
Highly Commended
Highly Commended
Highly Commended |
The Only War We Had
The Horse in the Snow
Firestorm, Flyne and Sarah-Jane
One Day at a Time
Wrath and Splendour
Haunted
The Stranger |
Graham Fredriksen
Veronica Weal
Arthur Green
Ellis Campbell
Kym Eital
Veronica Weal
Ron Stevens |
Queensland
Queensland
Queensland
NSW
Queensland
Queensland
NSW |
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Poem |
Author |
School |
Secondary
Primary
|
Storm Clouds
Handful of Dust |
Violet Macdonald
Gabrielle Morri |
Secondary
Primary |
Australian Bush Poetry Championships 2008
“We think that went off alright, eh!”
under states the fact that the 2008 Australian Bush Poetry Championships hosted by the North Pine Bush Poets, was a resounding success.
They came from near and far to battle it out over three days, to grab a piece of glory and determine this years Overall Australian Champions. The pressure was on from the out set, and a finer field of talent is rarely gathered in one place.
Friday morning saw 25 children from around Brisbane and Redcliffe show us what they could do, and quickly put the older performers on notice something special was in the air. The Novice Field while down in numbers rated highly for talent and entertainment value. The next event was the Billy Hay Memorial Yarnspinning, and while there were true tales told, Dear Old Bill would have been chuckling, at some of the liars this segment produced. They’ve still got it mate.
MC Milton Taylor’s renowned compassion and kindness, as opposed to Garry Lowe’s, Melanie Hall’s and Noel Stallard’s less than encouraging scores and comments in the Friday Night Show, must have made some of the new comers wonder what sort of a viper’s nest they had dropped into.
Saturday morning came early, as all mornings do during Festivals and she was on from the start. Magnificent performances one after the other, “That’ll take a bit of beating” to be followed by, “I dunno, this one could be better. ” One unofficial, astute judge ( aren’t they all) said she had 16 winners at one stage in a field of 20. A tough league and this went on for two whole days.
Unrelenting pressure on performers and judges alike, and an endless energy that propelled us on saw everyone rising to the occasion. Some faltered as happens but they will return stronger to once again thrill their listeners.
The weather was great, we had some whinges, some hiccups, but hey what’s a picnic without ants.
Saturday night’s Gala Concert was a sell out two weeks prior.
Garry Lowe, Melanie Hall, Noel Stallard and Milton Taylor performed in a manner worthy of such high expectation. The presence of the talented contestants, possibly inspired them more than a little.
Sunday morning dawned super early, competition commenced at 8.30am, an all original day, serious, solemn, beautiful words painting beautiful pictures. Magic stuff.
Lunch, then the competitors final chance to impress. Original Humour swept over us through the afternoon towards the Awards Ceremony.
Councillor Rae Frawley officiated. The 2008 Female Australian Champion for the second year in a row was Carol Heuchan from Cooranbong NSW. The 2008 Male Australian Champion was Greg North from Linden NSW. The Overall Winners won $1,000 and a Royal Doulton Crystal Bowl each.
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The 2008 Australian Bush Poetry Written Competition received 123 entries. The numbers were disappointing, but the quality of poems submitted was high.
Graham Fredriksen of Kilcoy Queensland took out the Trophy and $500.00 major cash prize for his powerful poem. The Only War We Had.
Congratulations to Graham and all entrants, for without our writers there‘d be nothing to perform. |
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THE ONLY WAR WE HAD (Beachhead Vietnam)
© Graham Fredriksen
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Ours was no wall of fire to breach,
no grim machine gun's roar,
no D-Day scenes upon the beach-
our baptism to War;
just apprehensions, yes,-and pride-
and armed and loaded, we
stepped from our landing craft beside
the great South China Sea.
My father, two decades before,
had, not that far away,
stepped to his Southeast Asian war
one red, heroic day;
and plunging from his landing craft
he swam and lunged and ran,
while hard ahead pillboxes strafed
out death on Tarakan. . . .
But ours was never Tarakan-
I'll pay you tribute, Dad-
and yours was much more righteous than
the only war we had.
Ours was no far Gallipoli:
the stories Grandpa told
recalled no "friendly" beachhead; he
recalled a tenuous hold
on life and land and always the
most precious hold on gains-
across the Turks' peninsula,
on western Europe's plains;
you fought and held each sacred yard
(the trenches witness bore)
and marked the frontlines plain and hard
upon the Maps of War;
you dug in, held, then forward moved,
and always knew your foe . . .
but, Grandpa, Vietnam just proved
war always isn't so.
And your "war to end ALL wars" sits
no statement ironclad;
the folly of it all-but it's
the only war we had.
I picture Grandpa peering through
his "loop" on Sari Bair,
as Turkish lines came into view-
the enemy was there;
he knew their faces, their designs,
the foe was obvious,
but in our war the Indochines
looked all the same to us:
the ally from the South; the "gook"
the North had sent to fight;
the in-between who daily took
our side and in the night
came back to kill us; bar-girls whom
we bought in Vung Tau bars-
who'd offer more than we'd presume
with Russian S.L.R.s.
Retired now to a "safer pos"
I, disillusioned, add:
ours was no set-piece war-but was
the only war we had.
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A war consumed with "body counts"-
attrition, never land;
place names that we could not pronounce,
we'd conquer, then we'd hand
them back again: land burned and bombed
and drenched with brave, brave blood
of boys who'd fought and martyrdom'd
their youth for transient mud.
The lines were always misty, blurred-
where there were lines at all-
our "baby-killing" war; absurd,
we'd answered to a call
to tear apart a people who
(we'd not then have believed)
inferred no threat to me or you
but just a threat perceived.
Our time had come "to war" . . . because . . . ;
the logic's spare and sad-
ours was no holy war, but was
the only war we had.
A generation raised on tales
of courage under fire,
where every road to Manhood trails
through bullets and barbwire;
a base ideal to grow up with:
the patriotic chore,
perpetuated in the myth
of passage rites through War.
To Tarakan, my father's beach;
Grandpa's Gallipoli;
for Country and for Empire, each
stood hard with Liberty.
And thus the notions "communist",
"collapsing domino",
had urged the next-in-line enlist:
Malaya; Borneo;
then Vietnam-the noble cause-
Australia's Iliad;
our "rising to the steel" that was
the only war we had.
Yes, clad in camouflage fatigues
we disembarked; the drum
the past beats over briny leagues
had bade we young men come,
to . . . slant-eyed girls in silken skirts
and children peddling "coke",
where Truth is casualtied and flirts
with blood and battle smoke.
And home we stole in dark of night
(they say, in "shameful" ranks);
no welcome home parade that might
salute a nation's thanks.
And old men at the R.S.L.
say: "Just a skirmish, son.
You wouldn't know a real war; hell,
you never even won!"
Good soldiers? well . . . not hypocrites-
the politics was bad;
it's not much of a war--but it's
the only war we had.
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Secondary School |
Primary School |
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STORM CLOUDS
© Violet Macdonald
The sky has dimmed to charcoal black
The clouds all group as one
The wind is still accross the land
I break into a run.
And as I race towards the house
I hear it in pursuit
The storm is slowly brewing
And my path is in its route.
I grab the old door handle
And then quickly get inside
Mum's standing by the window
As the kids all run and hide.
She cradles Charlie in her arms
And all he does is cry
She whispers that it's angels bowling
High above the sky.
I stare outside the window
And watch as lightning splays
Accross the fields and heather grounds
In thin and crooked rays.
The thunder roars like fighter planes
The lightning strikes again
The trees stand tall against the dark
Though bending now and then.
The elephants get counted down
The lights flash from the skies
Mum whispers that it's angels bowling
And Charlie cries and cries |
HANDFUL of DUST
© Gabrielle Morri
The frolicking fire flickers warmly
Centerpiece of my kin
Seatyed cosily around the campfire
Let the story-telling begin.
The Elder tells of Dreamtime creation
In his knowing we trust
He sings and sketches in the sand
Holding a handful of dust.
Painted performers kick up red dirt
Mimicking emu and 'roo
Clapping sticks awaken the spirits
With the droning of digeridoo.
Sand figures mystically rise and dance,
Fire shadows tersely thrust,
Shaping silhouettes of the Dreaming
From a handful of dust
Children's grins glow like embers,
Aboriginal pride ensues,
Connecting us with our tribal land
To chase away the blues.
The ceremonial customs of our people,
To the future we entrust,
See our spirited story live and dance
In a handful of dust. |
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They love the lilt of language,
They've a gift, they entertain,
They have blazed the tracks we travel
Their like, may not come again.
It behoves us, we 'come latelys'
To this Bush Poetry game
To recognise these treasures
Dignify them, with a name..
Left to right:
Maxine Ireland
Alex Allitt
Mary Hodgson |
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The North Pine Bush Poets Group and all performers and writers and spectators associated with the successful 2008 Australian Bush Poetry Championships, wish to thank and recognise the generosity of the following sponsors:-
Moreton Bay Regional Council
Caravanning. It’s a Freedom Thing
Quest Community Newspapers
Radio Stations 98.9 FM
612 ABC
4BC, and 99.7 Community Radio
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