Christos Raskatos was a larger-than-life figure who operated a fish processing and retail outlet in the Fisheries building on Point Grey and endeared himself to Lorne with his poetic commentaries on life around him. His notice board on the wall at the entrance was a ‘must read’ …
But Chris was also a poet and at his best when, in his fullthroated voice, he declared the words he had written. This style which had much in common with the perceived oratory of ancient Greek culture which, without the obvious benefit of PA systems, relied on vocal and certainly a physical presentation;
poetry in those days had much to do with voice and acting.
Poetry, the written word, loses much impact when delivered by a mere reading and/or an inadequate actor. Pity that!
Much could have been gained by actors presenting the recent poetry reading.
But let’s just enjoy the words of this year’s crop and pretend that Christos is still amongst us, his voice, loud, booming, shaking and rattling us, daring us to ignore his words are our peril …

Winner

Gunditj Lorne by Yangamatta John Clarke
Lorne, My Country. Belonging to me
Lorne. My Country. My family
Gunditj Lorne – an obligated title
Belonging to Lorne is belonging entirely
Belonging to Sister
Belonging to Mother
Belonging to Father
Belonging to Brother
Belonging to Elders. Belonging to Youth.
Belonging to all. Belonging to you
Belonging to King Parrot. Gadabanud
Watyoorong Meerreng. Angahook
Gunditj (Belonging to). Gunditj Lorne
Gunditj Maar. Gunditj takoort
Gunditj Walapa. Gunditj noonang
Gunditj. Belonging to [insert name]
And today in the face of our forced dispossession
We’ve returned and we offer a Gunditj connection
We offer an ancient way to relate
As shared by our Elders, an old sense of placeTo truly belong you need to digest
That Lorne is the home of Dreaming Ancients
Kayap Marr, Kayap Meerreng
Kayap Bunjil, Kayap Ngarrang
So take a moment to think of place
To think of Love, to think of grace
To think of new. Think of old
Then think of Lorne. For we all belong

Translations from the poem, Gunditj Lorne by Yangamatta John Clarke.
The translations are from the language Keerray Woorroong, a Maar nation language, very similar to Gadabanud, with a lot of shared vocabulary. Yangamatta John Clarke is a Gunditjmara man. He is the grandson of the much revered and cherished elder, Banjo Clarke.
Gunditj – Belonging
Watyoorrong – King Parrot
Meerreeng – Country
Angahook – Ironbark
Maar – the Maar nation of which Lorne is a part.
Takoort – All, Everyone, Inclusive
Walapa – The past, yesterday, time before
Noonang – Today, now
Kayap – one
Bunjil – Wedge Tailed Eagle
Ngarrang – Mother

Runner-up

Seven Sea Views by Kathryn Ross & Brendan Bonsack
I have never seen A crow at sea Only Wheeling figures Above the water
In all their shades of grey We climb, a river charged Through crowds of fern
Observe the sea Glinting like a promised land At every clearing And chance
The turbulence of shores While seas hold fast A line, unwavering Against horizons Bury yourself in My rippled floors, I am in league With tenacious moons Whose flux I’ll wager Will unearth you How impossible the boats
Their undersides haloed By sinking light;
My soft ecstatic lungs Submariner’s caw Our tea mist in swirls Hushed song
Through Melaleuca strands;

This wool on wet skin Still the taste of water We spill into the sea As rivers stretched and strifed, You seem to me familiar friend I think I knew your other life.

Third Place

Another Fathers’ Day by SH Lowe
There they were Staring blankly from behind the glass Mesmerising me with their cloudy gaze.
Damp underfoot, flesh in the air I was lost in a semi-daze ‘There’s always the elephant fish,” he said I woke up – he had a kind face “He’s the Quasimodo of the sea. Ugly to the eye, but inside he’s sweet Give him a chance and you’ll see.”
As he wrapped it in paper I read the poem Fathers’ Day
It hit me like a king tide slamming into the sea wall Then after all those years I stood on the pier And finally made the call.

Childrens Category Winner

Whispers by Nancy Fishley (aged eight) The trees blew and the grass grew
As we followed the glimmering trail The ancient trees whispering, come…
Walking through the forest breeze Our legs shaking and starting to seize.
Even though the Otways are sometimes grey They’re just as wonderful as the bay.
Greg Day, award winning and much acclaimed novelist, musician, teacher, and reviewer had taken it upon himself to perpetuate the memory of Christos and each year goes to a lot of trouble to organise and present the Christos prize. Greg is based at Aireys Inlet but because he worked for so many years helping out at the Fisheries, Lorne has well and truly adopted him as one of its own. With thanks too to Anna and Simon of ‘In The Skies’ Art and Music Gallery and Lorne Books. – JV