A Grounded Sonnet: In the flow of emotions after the festival

One of the most rewarding parts of doing this podcast is hearing from listeners – from you. On this occasion, I heard from a listener who has also been a generous subscriber for a couple of years now. Vicky Winton is a credentialed archaeologist, with her own riveting story to tell. She graciously shared some of that story with me. I relay some of it here, though I’ll leave most of that telling to her some time. 

Here’s what I’d like to share from our correspondence, before I patch in what Vicki courageously sent me to share with you too.

Vicky wrote: ‘Grounded left me feeling sad in ways I can’t put my finger on. Not sure what to make of such a response. Hopefully some kind of galvanising. Seems taboo to mention sadness, like it’s disloyal to the cause of sorting things out for the better. Defeatist.’

This started our exchange, which summed to this - Vicky humbly, reluctantly, generously agreeing to record her reading of a Sonnet she had composed in the wake of the festival. And a bit more besides.

Title image: AJ, Heidi Mippy, Di & Ian Haggerty in the session at Grounded that became episode 281 (pic: Alan Benson).

Music:

Music by Jeremiah Johnson.

The RegenNarration playlist, music chosen by guests.

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Episode Transcript

AJ (00:06):
G'day, it's AJ here for The RegenNarration with a little
postscript to the GroundedFestival series.
One of the most rewarding partsof doing this podcast is
hearing from listeners from you.
On this occasion, I heard froma listener who's also been a
generous subscriber for a coupleof years now.
Vicky Winton is a credentialedarchaeologist, with her own

(00:26):
riveting story to tell.
Graciously, she shared some ofthat story with me.
I might relay some of it here,but I'll leave most of that
telling to her sometime.
What started as a littlecorrespondence from Vicky on
Patreon arrived at me talking toyou here now.
Here's what I'd like to sharefrom that correspondence before
I patch in what Vickycourageously sent me to share

(00:48):
with you too.
G'day AJ, thank you for sharingFred Provenza's life statement
recording a while ago.
I listened to it repeatedly.
Such an antidote to the news.
That was a little gift forsubscribers a while back from my
special guest in episode 123.
Vicky went on to say, TheGrounded Festival left me
feeling sad in ways I can't putmy finger on.

(01:10):
Not sure what to make of such aresponse, hopefully some kind
of galvanizing, seems to boo tomention sadness, like it's
disloyal to the cause of sortingthings out for the better.
Defeatist.
I wrote back, I actually feellike sadness is key to the
movement.
I feel like shutting it off isletting things down a bit.
Though at times, of course,that might be best, but not all

(01:33):
the time.
So I'm really interested in howyou came out of grounded
feeling like that.
Would you be up for sharing afew more words on that front?
It feels important.
To which, Vicky said, I thinkmy sadness was partly feeling
very moved by Heidi Mippy.
The yarn with Heidi went out onthe pod in episode 281.
But also to do with feelingstuck and ineffective.

(01:55):
I agree with Heidi when shesays the biggest opportunity for
Aboriginal people to healcountry is to be involved with
farming.
I feel the responsibility totry and ease a way forward in my
local area.
And it's happening, but maybe abumpy road.
Just makes me sad how thingsare.
Thanks for reading this, thanksfor everything you do.
I think it is sadnessgalvanizing into what I need to

(02:17):
do next in my patch, reckoningwith regrets that I'm not a
classic leadership figure whomakes things happen, but
nonetheless there are things Ican do.
Then, she blew me away withthis.
A sonnet she had composed.
So I asked if she'd record itto share with you.
And with all the usual, Isuggested healthy, reticence and
squirming over hearing her ownvoice, she let rip with what

(02:41):
follows.
I was riveted.
For good measure, she followedwith a reading of the Dylan
Thomas poem that inspired her.
Poem in October.
So I've included that here too,for your pure listening
pleasure.
And by personal request fromFred.
Here's a little primer fromVicky.
What I am trying to do insaying all this is connect my

(03:02):
feelings, stuff I really careabout, with stuff I don't yet
understand very well, but whichseems to be causing the
feelings.
Please debate me on what Idon't understand, so we can move
forward.
Here's a poem, a sonnet I'vewritten in response to Thomas'
poem in October, in response tothe plight of farmers fighting
salinity, in response to alifetime of thinking about the

(03:23):
nature culture divide, and whattrouble it has wrought, and in
response to the groundedfestival.
Over to Vicky.

Vicky (03:31):
One man alone in shining tractor drives, his sons in rows
at boarding school, a wifebereft, plotting far better
lives.
The empty country cries like adamned fool.
Where trees grew once, as saltpushes up to air, the tang of it

(03:53):
burns through and through andthrough, and tractors cannot
shine in land laid bare, alegacy of dust with each assault
or tear.
And yet there is an edge tothis sad tract in the wilderness
beyond the border, wherewilderness was never known in
fact, and lives live to God ornature's order.

(04:17):
They are coming from the edgesslowly, bringing dignity back to
land holy.
It was my thirtieth year toheaven, woke to my hearing from
harbour and neighbour wood, andthe muscle pooled and the heron

(04:37):
priest at shore, the morningbeckon, with water praying and
call of seagull and rook, andthe knock of sailing boats on
the net webbed wall, myself toset foot that second in the
still sleeping town and setforth.
My birthday began with thewater birds and the birds of the

(04:58):
winged trees flying my nameabove the farms and the white
horses, and I rose in rainyautumn and walked abroad in a
shower of all my days.
High tide and the heron divedwhen I took the road over the
border, and the gates of thetown closed as the town awoke.

(05:19):
A spring full of larks in arolling cloud and the roadside
bushes brimming with whistlingblackbirds and the sun of
October summary on their hill'sshoulder.
Here were fond climates andsweet singers suddenly come in
the morning where I wandered andlistened to the rain ringing
wind blow cold in the wood faraway under me.

(05:43):
Pale rain over the dwindlingharbour, and over the sea wet
church the size of a snail withits horns through mist, and the
castle brown as owls, but allthe gardens of spring and summer
were blooming in the tall talesbeyond the border and under the
larkful cloud.
There could I marvel mybirthday away, but the weather

(06:06):
turned around, it turned awayfrom the blithe country, and
down the other air, and the bluealtered sky streamed again with
a wonder of summer, withapples, pears and red currants,
and I saw in the turning soclearly a child's forgotten
mornings when he walked with hismother through the parables of

(06:28):
sunlight, and the legends of thegreen chapels, and the twice
told fields of infancy, that histears burned my cheeks and his
heart moved in mine.
These were the woods, the riverand sea where a boy in the
listening summertime of the deadwhispered the truth of his joy

(06:49):
to the trees and the stones andthe fish in the tide and the
mystery sang alive, still in thewater and the singing birds,
and there could I marvel mybirthday away but the weather
turned around and the true joyof the long dead child sang

(07:09):
burning in the sun It was mythirtieth year to heaven stood
there then in the summer noon,though the town below lay leaved
with October blood.
Oh may my heart's truth stillbe sung on this high hill in a
year's turning.