Jerry Behr Number 2
The Sound Wall - Poem by Jerry Behr Number 2
The poet drove through the streets of fibro country,
in his mind he could hear the echoes of the news.
Race riots at Cronulla and Maroubra,
it reminded him of similar echoes,
Redfern, Macquarie Fields,
young men fomenting rages.
Disquiet in the lucky country.
The poet did not have far to go,
he was on his way to church,
the Liverpool CLC on the Hoxton Park Road.
The Pentecostal church.
Evening service at sunset.
The sun went down behind
the high sound wall.
Behind the sound wall were the districts
of Brickveneersvilles, and Taj Mahlsvilles.
On this side was fibro country,
the church seemed to be in the middle.
Behind the sound wall inclosed estates
seemed back to front presumably
to keep out the riffraff of the world.
Economic histories of different ages,
the twentieth century with its teeming immigrants,
ordinary peoples, workers of all sorts.
All came and lived in fibro country.
People could dream and hope for a life,
and a life for their kids.
There was a future.
Behind the sound wall was the twenty first century,
with its gleaming demographical escarpments.
People from this side of the sound wall
knew quite well the escarpment
was insurmountable. Ordinary peoples could not live
in Brickveneersvilles or Taj Mahalsveilles.
Things have greatly changed from yesteryear.
Yet, all these peoples from both sides of the M7
sound wall crossing the Hoxton Park Road came to the Liverpool Christian Life Centre. A community of
believers, a great mix of Colors from different
social stratas sharing their faith in Jesus Christ.
The echoes of the news still bothered the poet with its innuendoes, with its disquiet in the lucky country.
In Sydney there are many different
demographic escarpments and stratas.
Plate tectonics creating great pressures
on the huge Sydney metropolis. Asian communities,
Muslims, public housing estates. Brickveneersvilles
and the million dollar gleaming
Taj Mahal homes.
The poet now stood in his pew,
it was time to pray in tongues.
Sunsasusa transloolaa ranslucka pantalasta gombti,
yesba roontalas. Bubaloont vesta parentasloos
muranta mustaloos.Only God could understand
the poet's prayer and nobody else.
The poet answers to God only.
For the whole congregation of Colors it was now time
for praising and singing to the Lord. It was perplexing
for the poet, having befriended a family with two lovely
daughters. The family lived on the other side of the
sound wall deep in Brickveneersville.Yet, knowing them
prevented him turning into a bitter, hateful old bloke.
Warm experiences remembered for all time.
There were some tough times in the land of fibro.
People stayed for years and years, it was the long
lease of the Department Of Housing.
All troubles could be seen.Yet the poet did
not envy the family that lived in Brickveneersville.
Nor begrudged them their status.
He was not jealous of them, nor looked with contempt.
For he knew that he loved his world of poetry,
in the land of fibro, a different world to the other family.
The poet loved fibro country with its ordinary peoples,
with their troubles. The concept of ordinariness in
Sydney has greatly changed over the years. For young
married couples its a matter of finding their perch
somewhere in Sydney's sprawling metropolis.
The pastor of the church came to his pulpit and
said let us pray.Stastra valsocasta reeloon
pastrla.Yaasta moonlaa zinty maana zustas,
ronta mallasta gastaron kakastat.
unaa pasta sista elloiw lullston. The echoes of
the rioters went into the distance. The poet loved the
many cultured differences in God's house. ©
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