Bourke, NSW

“If you know Bourke, you know Australia”

Henry Lawson - 1902

Dimpled light falls

on the immense paddock,

enclosed by fences

a stubble dry sea of the grain crop.

Thick clouds predict rain. Flocks

of emus and dishevelled sheep

roam

disguised in the landscape.

We cross a wandering line of red gums,

we cross a bridge

we cross a river,

named after a governor,

its ancient name Baaka

still etched on its banks,

its meandering curves, its fish,

its birds, its paddleboat ghosts,

the cumulus clouds following its curse.

Bourke was the uneven centre

of the expanding continent, a mirage

of pubs, industry, sheep and progress,

trade flowing on its river,

eclipsing other dreaming.

Lawson, Breaker Morant, Ogilvie, Hull, Collis

and other poets speak of it,

tell its stories,

its many voices,

the french backpackers at the caravan park,

the filipinos at the supermarket cash registers,

the indians at the petrol station,

the nepalese at the delivery trucks,

the aboriginal walking the streets in the early morning

in a poet’s corner, a subtle reflection of the idea

of this southern land, multicultural and egalitarian.

October 2026