Ali Eckermann

Rating: 4.33
Rating: 4.33

Ali Eckermann Poems

She gives him a cloud of parrots
He expects her to peel the carrots
She gives him a safari cruise
He expects her to hide the bruise

There is no life
but Family.

When I am young

old Mr Uluru
a proud man
the day the Rock
was handed back

Sit down sorry camp
Might be one week
Might be long long time

When john howard said
let’s have an intervention
the women shouted yes!

You call it 3 bedroom house
I call it big lotta trouble

You call it electricity

they’re here now
the Guardians
sitting on a rock

Sit down in the dirt and brush away the flies
Sit down in the dirt and avoid the many eyes

I never done no wrong to you, so why you look at me?

in an aisle
of middens
he blocks her

Mallets pound fence posts
in tune with the rifles
to mask massacre sites
Cattle will graze


(in memory of my friend)
hey kungka
you want husband yet?
the old man sings out

Urgent darkness hunts us south, while my stomach churns with childbirth
He waits.

‘See you’ I said to the children
as I memorised
their Anangu faces
filled with laughter

I walk to the south I walk to the north
where are you my Warrior?

Interventionists are coming interventionists are coming
the cries echo through the dusty community
as the army arrive in their chariots.

high on compensation
they tell me right from wrong
say the old days are over
you gotta sign the paper

My friend was at the A & E, he wasn’t feeling good
I was at the barbecue, just like he said I should.
The phone call from the hospital shocks me with fear and fright –
‘You better come to ICU, he might not make it through the night.’

a whisper arrives. two thousand. two thousand or more. did you hear it?
that bomb. the torture of red sand turning green
the anguish of earth turned to glass
did you hear it? two thousand. two thousand or more
yams cremated inside the earth. poison trapped
in glass like a museum. did you hear it?
two thousand. two thousand or more
tears we cried for our Land
for the fear you gave us, for the sickness and the dying two thousand years of memory here
two thousand. two thousand or more
peaceful place this place. happy place till you come with your bombs
you stole our happiness with your poison ways
you stole our stories
two thousand. two thousand or more
our people gone missing. did you hear it?
where's my grandfather? you seen him?
where's my daughter? you seen her?
Mummy! you seen my mum? Dad!
two thousand. two thousand or more
times I asked for truth. do you know where they are?
two thousand. two thousand or more
trees dead with arms to the sky. all the birds missing. no birdsong here
just stillness. like a funeral. two thousand or more
a whisper arrives. did you hear it?
two thousand. two thousand or more
it sounds like glass. our hearts breaking. but we are stronger than that
we always rise us mob. two thousand. two thousand or more
you can't break us. we not glass. we are people!
two thousand. two thousand or more
our Spirit comes together. we make a heart
did you see it? in the fragments. it's there in the glass
two thousand. two thousand or more
our hearts grow as we mourn for our Land
it's part of us. we love it. poisoned and all

despite the cost a new gaol has been built
it seems the incarceration rates are trebling
I only came here in the role
of a Deaths In Custody inspector
all the cells are stark and spotless
blank screens watch from the corner
the offices have the highest technology
the faces of the staff still look the same

when I walk down this wing and peer
into this filthy room the door closes behind me
the feeling in my heart is changing
from a proud strength of duty to fear
all the stories I have ever heard
stand silent in the space beside me — 
a coil of rope is being pushed
under the door of this cell

Mallets pound fence posts
in tune with the rifles
to mask massacre sites
Cattle will graze
sheep hooves will scatter
children's bones
Wildflowers will not grow
where the bone powder

Ali Eckermann Biography

Ali Cobby Eckermann is an up and coming poet, and lives in Koolunga, South Australia. She identifies with the Yankunytjatjara / Kokatha from the north west desert country of South Australia Ali was born in 1963 on Kaurna country, at Brighton in Adelaide, within the confines of the Cate Cox Baby Home. Through adoption she was raised on Ngadjeri country, with the Eckermann family, on a farm property at Hart. She was educated at Brinkworth Area School and Clare High School, in the mid north of South Australia. Growing up in an environment devoid of Aboriginal friendship and influence was difficult. My journey to search for truth began when I was 17 years old, when I ran away to the desert regions of central Australia. I worked as a cook, cleaner, camel catcher and 'check out chick' at Yuendumu before following more stable avenues of employment. In my mid thirties I found my birth mother Audrey, and four years later I found my only child Jonnie. The reunions with my Yankunytjatjara / Kokatha Aboriginal family were my happiest and best years; meeting my family saved my life. Today Ali continues to spend time with her traditional family in the southern central desert regions of SA and NT, to learn and to heal. She has also retained loving relationships with her adopted family, especially her adopted siblings and Mum Frieda. After nearly 30 years in the NT Ali’s journey returned her to Ngadjeri country, where she is restoring the 130 year old general store in Koolunga, to establish an Aboriginal Writers Retreat. This is my haven from the world, where I am provided the sanctuary and security to write and share my life with friends and family. Ali was a guest of Sydney Writers Festival 2010, and she has featured on Radio National's Poetica program. Her 27-poem monograph Little Bit Long Time was published in 2009 by the Australian Poetry Centre in their New Poets Series.)

The Best Poem Of Ali Eckermann

A Promise

She gives him a cloud of parrots
He expects her to peel the carrots
She gives him a safari cruise
He expects her to hide the bruise
She gives him a blue magic rabbit
He expects her to feed his habit.

He gives her a kicking horse
She expects his true remorse
He gives her a rotting plum
She expects a little freedom
He gives her his silver spoon
She expects she’ll kill him soon.

Ali Eckermann Comments

Thomas Goodman 21 May 2020

Ali you sound strong in your deep search for self. Im sure the force is with you. blessings

0 0 Reply
Lyn Paul 18 October 2019

Congratulations Ali. Love your Poet's Page and your work. . A truly amazing journey so far. Good luck with the next venture.

2 0 Reply

Ali Eckermann Popularity

Ali Eckermann Popularity

Error Success