The Kurdaitcha Tree

A nice little fictional tale of Australiana.

Out where the land lies in silence

And whispers it,

Where the sun burns on white skin

'Til it blisters it,

There the earth turns in the Dreamtime

Of Everland,

Bush turns to sand, and dry creek beds

In Neverland.

 

There lies a farm that has fought

And has weathered it,

Two hundred years, generations have

Gathered it,

Some say their harvest is naught

But a miracle,

Reaping where nothing grows, so

Says the Oracle.

 

Just enough rainfall to turn

Away famine,

Just enough stock feed to graze

Sheep and cows in,

There in the outback for five

Generations,

The family of Bevan has

Made supplications.

 

'Is there a God up in heaven?

Why isn't he?

Not in this cauldron of sunshine

And misery,

We could just do with some Mannah

From heaven,

Send down the rain,' said young

Jacob John Bevan.

 

Jacob, the last of the line in  

His battle,

Breaking his back, digging wells,

Driving cattle,

Steering his tractor along

The dry paddocks,

Beating the drought stricken ground

With his mattocks.

 

Spreading his seed and then

Watching it wasted,

Hoping for rain, though his God

Had misplaced it,

Crying to heaven to give

Some relief there,

Watching the earth shrink and crack

By his feet there.

 

Right in the heart of some barren

Dead parkland,

Stood an old tree, on its own,

In its heartland;

Blocking the tractor, obstructing

His ploughing,

A tree that stood tall, that the wind

Spoke to, soughing.

 

This was the tree that was known

As Kurdaitcha,

'Never cut down,' said the native

Koradji,

'Some trees are spirits, and this

One much evil,

If it should fall, you will

Let out big devil.'

 

Four generations of Bevans

Had heeded,

Left the old tree, that parched land

Wasn't needed,

Now, with a break in the drought

Jacob swore,

'I'll need every inch of that land

To yield more.'

 

'Taking his axe, he went down there

And felled it,

Creaking and groaning, it toppled,

He quelled it,

Then he pulled out the old stump

With his tractor,

Dragged it away, but then

Never looked back there.

 

Deep in the night, in the still

And the darkness,

Something was beating, some creature,

But heartless,

Spread from the hole that the

Tree had kept hidden,

Took to the air from some

God awful midden.

 

Spread over trees and then

Covered the ground,

By morning they'd eaten each

Green thing around,

When Jake woke up early and

Stepped out of doors,

The locusts had covered the

Feed bins, and bores.

 

They covered the tractor, they

Caught in his hair,

They kept pouring out from

That paddock down there,

And when they had stripped and

Destroyed to the heart,

They headed due South, to

Consume every part.

 

The bodies of millions

Lay in the dirt,

As Jacob John Bevan beat

Hard at his shirt,

He went to the paddock to

Check the old tree,

The hole, it lay silent,

As silent could be.

 

But then a new rumble, of

Scampering squeals,

And now there were millions of

Mice at his heels,

'I've opened Pandora!' Jake

Turned him to flee,

'The curse is forever from

This evil tree.'

 

Australia lies silent, and listens

For sounds,

That white men might make when

The sun, it goes down,

The rivers run dry and the drought's

Sea to sea,

Since one man cut down

The Kurdaitcha Tree.

 

David Lewis Paget

Reviews

[Linda Marie Van Tassell]

As a little girl, I used to walk to a little book store called Ma and Pa's Paperback Books. I didn't have money to buy books; but in exchange for cleaning the store, I was allowed to bring books home by the bagful. I would read them all and then trek back to the store to return them, to clean the store, and get more in return. Thus, began my love for reading.

As an adult, I used to love to go to a local bookstore called Givens, which had a basement filled with old books. I loved the smell of the books, the old leather-bound volumes beckoning from every shelf. I can't count how many lunch hours and evenings were spent perusing all of those old books. Sadly, the owners built a new store; and with the old basement gone, I no longer visit.

Your writing makes me yearn for those volumes of old. There is nothing better than curling up with a good old book, so much better than staring at a computer screen.

If your poems are ever put into print, I hope they are in a big old chunky leather-bound volume. I think I should curl myself up with your words forever.

Linda Marie Van Tassell

[Silent Kim aka mizmetap..]

David, David,

What visionary peasure, the story/poem is engrossing draws your reader right in and takes us, or aleast me oon a wondersul journey of the Bevan farm and the drought that causes the hardship. Such skill and perfection.. I really enjoyed this write.

[Tomás Ó C..]

We have a beleif about the hawthorn in Ireland, saying they are fairy trees, and often - indeed in a town near Tullamore, there is a roundabout of roads with a fairy tree in the middle and a little stone wall around it, and there has NEVER been an accident at what is a VERY dangerous junction...

[Norma J. Jessee]

Another perfect story poem. I absolutely love it. The rhythm impeccable, as always. The story very entertaining and attention holding. I can't even find a typo.. This would make a beautiful children's book.
It has everything to hold a child's interest and I can see points of interest to bring about a parent, child, interaction for bonding purposes.

Absolutely fantastic David.

[Wildfleour]

I had to Google Kurdaitcha Tree and find out what the connection was.........simply fascinating, David.

[Ray Hamilton]

This is a wonderfully enjoyable read
I liked the story in this poem it held my attention right to the end
Thanks for sharing Ray { Not a Poet }

[Valentine]

David, another masterpiece with that lilt that begins to flow in the mind like a child's rhyme..You are a really gifted man with words..I understand some places in the outback are horrible places to try and live and dwell..Perhaps this is the reason why....God bless..Valentine

[C.T. Bailey]

If only...if only I could write as you write. I have studied you and your fine usage of text. I honestly don't think you have wrote anything...at least anything put up here, that I don't love. One day if only.
Todd