III 
There is a drum upon the plains of Maita
Outside the cavern where he lived – a stone
Hollowed to beat the mutter of the thunder
Moving within the deep Brazilian sky.
There is a season when the wind will blow
Until the branches sway like grass-skirt dancers
And the trunks tremble to a low ground music
The rush of waters swollen by the rains.
Often at evening when the winds are gone
And sky was once again a baby blue
They heard Amalivaca beating rhythms
First haltingly and then with surer power
To capture sound the forest had made before.
Moving its way up through the hollow stone.
This was the orchestration of the storm
When all the forest world is weeping tears
On earth from leaves, from branches and from sky,
And to the families in the neighbouring tents
Caught by the echoing, crisp and darkening air,
It seemed the tears flowed down the forest face
Again, etching the streams to random rivers,
Giant for the sea.
A J Seymour, from “Amalivaca”
Selected Poems (1965)
The legend of Amalivaca, told in poetry by A J Seymour, in prose narrative by Jan Carew and in a picture poem by Mark McWatt, is but one small sample of the vast store of literature that speaks to the country’s indigenous heritage. As this month, September, is set aside to celebrate that heritage, it is highly rewarding to revisit the rich literature.
