Purple trees in early evening
in tiny, pretty Bangalow,
and my friends conducting me
to an illustrated talk on Venice,
beloved Venice, in the paintings
of Canaletto, who loved it too.
‘What is the name of these trees?’ I asked.
‘Teeboocheena,’ my friends replied
and spelt it: Tibouchina. I Googled later.
Pronounced Tibbookyna (y as in ‘try’).
Beautiful whatever the name. Like Venice,
that dream, and the paintings of Canaletto.
(The lecturer postulated that Venice has long been more dream or myth than city – not evolving, nothing replaced, but continually preserved and restored.)
Written for Writing Ourselves Alive, week 1: Curiosity
Written for Writing Ourselves Alive, week 1: Curiosity
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