It’s as if Don Walker is merging two mythologies – the Australian desert and the Bible, concluding with a verse that shifts to Christ’s resurrection.
Introducing some playful rhymes from our poet-in-residence, Damian Balassone...
I'm eating a cheap and nasty pizza – a fitting feed for a failed novelist. I’m watching The Panel. About three slices in they introduce a New Zealander called Bic Runga. I’m enraptured.
Sometimes it’s only when you see a girl for the second or third time that you realise how beautiful she is. A song is a bit like that.
The house is a pigsty: multiple leaks, gathering mould, mice pooh in the breadbox, possum arses sticking out of the walls to block out the sunlight while they sleep, empty pizza cartons, cheap wine bottles – it’s a cross between Animal House and the Dead Poets Society.
Damian Balassone Goondiwindi 1991 After those rugby games we played music on an old cassette deck whilst going about our chores. It did not take long for me to realise that country music was the preferred genre amongst the cotton chippers.