What is your favorite creative work? Your stories, your poems, your art? Poems.
What serious topics do you write about? Mental Health, Death, ECT.
And what do you like to make fun of?
I try and make fun of everything.
What motivates you to write? Going through my struggles in life and being able to express my feelings to others.
What can get in the way of writing? Losing my memory and having trouble putting words together.
Ravens often appear in your poems. What is special about ravens to you? When I spent six months in Westmead Hospital, Mum and Dad took me outside to sit and the ravens used to come around and visit me.
Some of your writing “pulls no punches” about issues of health. Can you comment on that? Having been through a lot in my life, I write it down to explain exactly what I have been through.
Who do you find are the people who most relate to your work? My friends at Northside West clinic.
You’ve published three volumes of poetry and art so far. What is your future plan? Not sure at this time. I have lost my memory and have not got back into writing as yet.
Finally, can you tell us a little about living in Parramatta. What does this city mean to you? At the moment, with light rail work being done and COVID-19, it has made it hard to get around. One of my favorite places to go was the Mars Hill Café where we writers used to meet. It catered for everyone.
A Parramatta resident, Belinda Curby is a member of NWG Inc. Despite recurring medical challenges, Belinda retains her humour and renews her creativity. We are sure she’ll be back to writing soon … we have included one of her published poems.
MARS HILL CAFÉ
It was my place of inspiration
My writing haven
It was where my heart fell in love
With the art of poetry
Where live music married me
And local artists painted
Sweet masterpieces in my mind
Sitting for hours creating
Words poured out of me
Dancing on my page
My birth as a new poet
Two years since they closed
People look at its skeletal remains
Lights switched out, windows empty
Its epitaph Mars Hill Cafe
Etched in a sign like granite
Standing like a gravestone
Cars still line the streets like coffins
And people unconsciously form a procession
Embraced in a sombre silence
I reminisce about the old times
But to me it still lives on
When I close my eyes
Shapes like ghosts form in the empty window
And the café fills once more
works of art come to life on the walls
Music seeps through the front doors
The smell of coffee and cake wafts through
I hear the chatter of people
The laughter, it echoes
And I imagine myself once again reading my poetry
Holding the microphone tightly in my hand
The room fills with warmth
Emotions like fire rage within me
I try not to extinguish any words
Blindly delivering with a smile
Watched on by friends
The audience inspires me
As words dance from my lips
I open my eyes, the room is empty
A huge tear on my cheek