Lisa Bellear’s 50th Birthday

Today we celebrated the 50^th birthday of warrior woman and mighty poet, Lisa Bellear. Melbourne friends and family gathered for a bittersweet celebration of our friend, cousin, role model, mentor, advocate and artist.  Bitter because Lisa passed away without warning almost five years ago at age 45. Sweet because the occasion called for the telling of stories, the looking at photographs, the eating of favourite foods, the recitation of poetry and the playing of spoons.

The guest list was compiled from a quick whip around of friends from her hundred walks of life – poets, artists, activists, survivors, warriors, dancers, educators, writers, broadcasters, the babysat and the mentored.  A last minute do, but one that had been brewing amongst a group of us who think almost daily about Lisa. A graveside party was contemplated, but the distance was prohibitive. What then?  A do would certainly do.

All the elements were there. The tender lamb chops, bottles of Queen Adelaide, Dionne Warwick belting out Walk on By, poetry and poets, photographers and photographs. Even the barbecue played its part, erupting into a flaming urban campfire – Lisa’s pyromaniac spirit was saluted.

At first I wanted to read Maya Angelou’s tribute to Michael Jackson, We Had Him to kick off the poetry. Maya is a national treasure for good reason. A poet who can capture a mood, the feeling of a time and pot it. Just like Lisa. A poem which tells the loss of a star gone too soon, but lingers on the brilliance left behind.  I will post the full poem in a separate post in case the link above ever expires.

But as we started the readings, her book, Dreaming in Urban Areas (UQP, 1996) fell open at Tanna Man, and so we started with this. A fine beginning, one of connection, roots and a need for justice.

Tanna Man

(for Faith Bandler)

Cuts cane

As white men

With long slim noses

And whips

Curse him.

Faster “nigger” harder.

Each piece of cane he cuts

represents and islander from home,

kidnapped, black birded, stolen.

Mango trees echo vision,

Freedom, isn’t meant to be

a luxury for idle white boss men

To contemplate and dwell.

June 1993

The poem was met with cries of ‘Strong ay!’ and the crowd rallied to the call for more readings.

Brunswick poets read more poems and sister Kylie read  A Suitcase Full of Mould, one of Lisa’s most poignant, prophetic and painful.

Technology failed us on a few fronts as we tried to show a slideshow of photos of Lisa but we saw footage of her comedy routine from Natives Getting Funny!, and her cameos in Destiny Deacon’s video work.

But suddenly one of her writing buddies, Christine Gillespie, popped on screen and read one of the favourite poems, changing the words slightly from Koori woman, to Warrior Woman:

Chops ‘n’ Things

(for Eva Johnson)

I can’t wait to curl around

a lemon scented tree

light a fire and

watch it burn down to

the embers as the sun

floats away, far away

our ancestors are

yarning and laughing

at this Koori woman

and through the

flames, the embers

and the burnt chops

and charcoaled

potatoes wrapped in foil

they’re saying, tidda girl

you’re okay.

keep on dreaming

keep on believing

September 1991

The night ended in hilarity including ukulele renditions,  dancing and spoon playing but one of the highlights was definitely Ardy Tibby’s poem, written a year after Lisa’s death.

LISA

Quickly, and often late, she'd arrive

In a flurry of curls

With much clanking of equipment and

rummaging about

in an ever enlarging carry bag

Would plunk down in a heap with a glass

of plonk

To be reclaimed later.

Laughing and running about to photograph

everyone and everything.

Then a lift home,

Gone with a smile and a wave.

Then

GONE

June 2006

But between the dancing and drinking, uncontrollable fire and comedy routines, the fine dining and the fine words, it was like Lisa was there, and the spirits and ancestors were yarning and laughing too.

You Can't Change the Rhythm of My Soul

A couple of weeks back Archie Roach was our guest on ARTSUP! for the first time, although he'd been a regular on its predecessor, Not Another Koorie Show, especially in the mid 80's (presenter Lisa Bellear was a massive fan). He was with us talking about the forthcoming Bilyana Festival.  While chatting he brought up a great anecdote about touring with the Black Arm Band and when they visited London.

His friend Pete Postlethwaite, who he'd met through the project Lyarrn Nyarn performed a Welcome to Country for the touring artists. He'd experienced welcomes while in Australia and now he was returning the favour. The cultural exchange had come full circle and the act reminds us that the English were connected to Mother Earth somewhere back in time.

The London tour is captured in the documentary Murundak: Songs of Freedom and the potency of singing Songs of Freedom at the seat of Australia's colonial power is not lost on the touring company or the filmmakers. To illustrate this, they show the magnificent footage of Burnum Burnum claiming England in the name of all Aboriginal people of Australia. A classic moment in history.

Seeing Murundak: Songs of Freedom has reminded me of the privilege of hearing first hand the words and music of some of Australia's powerful songmen.  Experiencing the eloquence of artists like Joe Geia, Bart Willoughby, Peter Rotumah, Ruby Hunter and Archie Roach is something to be savoured. Sometimes we've heard them speak and sing so often, we forget their power.

Power to the filmmakers Natasha Gadd and Rhys Graham, who spent four years following the Black Arm Band around from concert halls to red neck towns to remote communities.  The gaze is very respectful in capturing the musicality, stage presence, performance and charisma of some of the most powerful songwriters under the sun. To hear the musicians' personal stories, how their expression has been shaped  and to see it brought to life with archival footage of the protest movement brings heart to the film.

To see footage of Brisbane protests while Joe Geia talks about how he was shaped by Bjelke-Petersen's Queensland reminds us of where we have come from and the vestiges that linger.

To be reminded of the legacy of the mighty warrior Bart Willoughby and to see footage from the seminal film Wrong Side of the Road reminds us of his lyrical and musical genius from the get go.

We have land within our soul, within our soul

To hear Archie and Ruby share their story of removal and living on the streets brings home the continued history of dispossession. To see their love for each other shining in their eyes reminds us of the power of love to conquer all.

Down city streets, I would roam, use my fingers as a comb

To hear Emma Donovan learn about the powerful Gurindji history by learning a song, and then bringing her own powerful voice and interpretation to the now classic ballad affirms the important tradition of storytelling.

Don't stop a good thing, yeah

To see Dan Sultan discard all his big city ways as he wraps his arms around his skin mother in Alice Springs kindles a new kind of respect.

It's how I make my connection

The film ends with a poignant reminder of the need for protest and songs of freedom. In the life of the project three of the artists have passed away. Arguably some of the most powerful Australian singers of all time. Certainly one for me, the Blak Mick Jagger, is at the top of my record pile.

And I feel I'm close now, to where it must be

To see and hear Steve Pigram talk about Bart Willoughby's songwriting - to try the song out in his mouth and savour it -announcing the opening line to We have Survived is the best line ever, we know it to be true. We've always known it's true, since the first moment we heard it. A beautiful moment in film, to see our heroes think like we do.

You can't change the rhythm of my soul

When we hear their songs, go to their gigs, dance in the moonlight (or at least the reflected glow of the stage lights at the pub), when their lyrics run through our bodies, we know our heroes think like we do.  And we need songs to galvanise us together, to rally behind, to know we are not alone, so we can continue to get out of bed every day, find strength and keep standing our ground.

40,000 years is a long long time. Long long time, still on my mind