Rookwood Necropolis

Somewhere at the edge of that city of the dead

there is a part where weeds uncontrollably grow,

where there’s chaos caused by a riot of flowers,

shrubs and trees. A ferocious magnificence

in which it is a privilege to wander and muse

at tilted gravestones with nearly faded names.

I remember how we, the first time we were there,

discovered that the place, in terms of surface

and variety, equals a metropole, with new

and older quarters, which are divided into sections

for religion and country of origin, typical to a place

where many nationalities have found a new home.

Celebrities are buried there and people who have

been hardly known. You’ll find mausoleums

for the rich and simple stones for those who had

a lesser share. There’s a field of honour

and as everywhere a sad, small piece of land

for toddlers who’ve hardly tasted life.

Every time we visit Australia you’ll find us

where weeds uncontrollably grow,

where there’s chaos caused by a riot of flowers,

shrubs and trees. A ferocious magnificence

in which it is a privilege to wander and muse

at tilted gravestones with nearly faded names,

silent witnesses of lives that once were.

Joke van der Ark

Nr. 765b – 26 August 2015