Wednesday, November 15, 2006


With Sarah and Emma

With Anna

Tuesday, November 14, 2006

Robert Hughes Mount, Jr. Academy of American Poets Prize


Robert Hughes Mount, Jr. Poetry Prize
The Auburn University English Department awards the annual Robert Hughes Mount, Jr. Poetry Prize, sponsored by the Academy of American Poets, and endowed by Mrs. Frances Mayes. It is a $100 prize for the best poem submitted by an Auburn University student.
PERTH GORGEOUS,
GREEN AND INVITING

Perth, a gorgeous, green and inviting city of some 800,000 inhabitants, lies on the southeastern coast (or northwestern, if you regard it from an Australian's point of view) of the vast island continent of Australia. In September 1982, the USS Ranger dropped anchor in the nearby port city of Freemantle and disgorged onto dry land some 5,000-plus sailors and Marines who had been at sea for over three months.

The first night in, we were honored at an enormous soiree held in a vast auditorium by the cities of Freemantle and Perth. The beer and champagne flowed like rivers, and I swear I believe that despite the huge numbers of men there that night, the Aussie girls outnumbered us three to one. Sailors being as they are, however, there were still scattered fist fights as the young men vied for the girls' favors. It was all very grand.

In the morning I awoke in the garage apartment of some young people, with furry teeth and sporting a pumpkin-sized head. I bid a hasty farewell (for the moment) to my new friends and stode out into the clean, chilly air of an early Australian spring morning.

It was perfectly cloudless, and strange birds called out to me as I walked down the road. I was in a suburban area of Perth, where the houses were few and far between. It was Saturday and the people I met as I walked along greeted me cheerfully. I breakfasted in an odd little restaurant, then cabbed to my motel, the Villa Dianne. After showering, I donned my heaviest jeans.

From Alabama, my father had arranged a meeting with Dr. Fairfax, curator of the Perth Zoological Gardens, so that I might get a good look at the flora and fauna of the land in the presence of an expert on the subject.

Dr. Fairfax turned out to be a chap of the most agreeable sort. As we tooled through the outback in his jeep, he pointed out objects of interest and talked animatedly about his native land. I learned from him that Perth is a singularly isolated city, with the nearest town of any size being hundreds of kilometers away.

I also learned that Australians have a healthy respect for their natural environment. He was right, too. Unlike any other place I've ever visited,
the roadways were utterly free of human refuse, and, refreshingly, the skyline of Perth, when viewed from miles away, showed no haze of smog hovering above it.

That afternoon, Dr. Fairfax and I saw dozens of kangaroos, emus, kookaburras, a variety of lizards and spiny enchidnas, egg-laying mammals that look somewhat like porcupines.

But the most exciting finds, and exhilaratingly dangerous captures, were those of the extraordinarily venomous tiger snakes. Tiger snakes are rather common in Western Australia, and possess an exceptionally potent neurotoxin, and are dangerously aggressive as well.

The tiger snakes we caught, including a thick five-footer, were bagged and taken back to the zoo, where their venom was extracted for medical purposes. Afterward they were released back into the wild, a pleasant paradox that didn't surprise me, considering the Australians' love and respect for nature.

In the days that followed, I water-skied on the Swan River, saw a band from my ship play a packed house in a club downtown (they sounded awful), surfed in the dark waters off the shore of Lancelin (a tiny town about 80 miles north of Perth), met and briefly courted a gorgeous Australian lass ("a girl in every port"), played in a rugby match in which we Americans were woefully dispatched 30-6, drank Foster's Lager and arm-wrestled stout, friendly blokes in dark pubs, and traded sea-stories with Australian sailors.

It was with heavy hearts that we weighed anchor at the end of our ten-day port visit and bid Australia farewell. It is a beautiful and friendly land, kept so by its in habitants, and I doubt I shall find much has changed when eventually I return to the land down under.




Playing the Didjeridu in the Australian Bush

With his sister Mary Dansak, giving a
didjeridu demo for Mary's 6th grade class

Rainbow Serpent

THE DIDJERIDU & ABORIGINAL CULTURES IN AUSTRALIA


This is Robert's handout for a concert by Rainbow Serpent, played at Behind the Glass Cafe in Auburn, Alabama.



The didjeridu (or as it is often spelled, "didgeridoo") is believed to be the world's oldest musical instrument. It has been an important part of Aboriginal cultures for tens, perhaps hundreds of thousands of years, as recent rock paintings discovered in caves in northwest Australia have indicated that the Aborigines have had a viable society for at least 500,000 years.


The instrument is played by most tribes of Aborigines in Australia to this day. There are, at the very least, 57 different Aboriginal linguistic dialects on the continent, giving the didjeridu another superlative--if one considers each tribe to possess a separate "culture," it has doubtlessly crossed more cultural lines than any other instrument.


A didjeridu starts its life as a limb or trunk of a small tree, usually some type of acacia or eucalypt. Termites hollow out the relatively pulpy interior, leaving a hard, hollow tube. Aborigines find these hollowed-out limbs or trunks and soak them in water until the termite-riddled interior is gone. After the ends are shaped, the tubes are thoroughly sun dried, and usually a coat of ochre is added to the exterior. The ends are then shaped and a mouthpiece of beeswax is formed around the smaller end. They are decorated according to the craftsman's whims, usually with animals.


The didjeridu's eerie buzz is achieved by forming a fairly tight seal around the mouthpiece and blowing into it, the lips "fluttering." Convolutions within the tube and length and girth of the instrument determine the pitch. The trick to keeping the buzz going is achieved by "circular breathing." That is, the player takes quick breaths through the nose while valving out the air remaining in the mouth (trapped by the rear of the tongue, which closes over the tracheal opening), thus maintaining the buzz uninterrupted. A decent didjeridu player can maintain the buzz for a half hour or more.


And speaking of "buzz," playing the didjeridu induces a quasi-hypnotic effect through the effects of hypoxia from the player's circular breathing. This is thought to bring him closer in touch with the "Rainbow Serpent," the pan-Aboriginal mystic force which governs everything in the physical world--the hunt, procreation, health, sickness, life and death. The serpent manifests itself in the form of a rainbow.


Didjeridus were for many years highly prized artifacts, their scarcity due to a natural reluctance of the Aborigines to hand them over to the Europeans who came to their world. There are still taboos attached to this venerable instrument. For instance, women are forbidden in Aboriginal society to play the instrument. Today, fine didjeridus are available for sale throughout Australia, though they aren't cheap. A finely carved and decorated, deep-pitched instrument can fetch $1,000 or more.


The members of Rainbow Serpent are Dr. Michael Hartman, Robin Russell and Rob Mount. We hope you enjoy the haunting sounds of these beautifully primitive instruments, and will have a heightened appreciation and curiosity for the enigmatic lives of the Australian Aborigines.