You die once
A survivor tells the bitter truths;
There is slow erosion
A gradual chipping away
Of body by time,
That we all know,
Body fades not the spirit,
The latter survives the vicissitudes
Of life, to document epiphanies of world,
You die but once, remaining days are for artistic truths;
A tree chopped by great artistic hands
Fell on a head, injured spine and
Split the head and partial
Paralysis followed,
But indomitable Rob survived near-death
Loss of voice and movement of
Arm---crucial things for an artist,
Living in the lush Nimbin Valley with artist-wife Sandra,
Watching an ancient volcano,
The wooded hills and the rain forest nearby,
--- A daily meditation and mystic experience ---
Soothes and heals fissures inflicted by
Civilization mores and art-gallery circus
Where Monet or Dali are commodified pictures
For the liberal banker and the investor;
The artist gets back his voice and movement of arm---
To express the sheer delight of life and living among trees and objects,
From stone sculptures to melody of venerated poetry,
Transition is quick and philosophical,
Stone the earthy objects defy mortality
And survive harsh or cold climes,
They are little statements of hope
Cast by nature in granite,
From archetypal curves of a river
Twisting at the sudden bend to
That of a rising wave to a conical leaf high,
Rob Harle finds shapes everywhere
That are sacred and seen by the
Primal eyes and earlier seers,
And re-connects with the soul of an old land
Once walked by the original inhabitants
Now called the Aboriginals by the settlers;
The deep spiritual dimension ---
Expressed eminently in words/lyrics
That lift the veil on the painted face
Of greed and corruption and blind power,
And his literary gestures, bold and audacious,
Reveal cures for malady grim and rotten,
Created by a ruling selfish elite.
