Coolabah, Nr 28, 2020, ISSN 1988-5946, Observatori: Centre d’Estudis Australians i Transnacionals / Observatory: Australian and Transnational Studies Centre, Universitat de Barcelona 13 Tribute to Geoff Davis Justina Hart justinahart@mac.com Copyright© 2020 Justina Hart. This text may be archived and redistributed both in electronic form and in hard copy, provided that the author and journal are properly cited and no fee is charged, in accordance with our Creative Commons Licence. Abstract: A tribute to Geoff Davis and a poem inspired by meeting him Keywords: Geoff Davis, inspiration, generosity I met Geoffrey Davis only once: during the three-day SPACLALS conference at UNE in Parramatta in February 2019, to which I had travelled from England to give a paper as a UK poet and fiction writer, thanks to an Artists' International Development Fund from the British Council/Arts Council England. After his keynote speech about literature and activism, which I found deeply inspiring and which raised new possibilities for my own work, I went up to where he was sitting and asked if he might email me a copy. He thanked me and instantly took from his briefcase his only spare hard copy of the speech, neatly typed and paper-clipped, and handed it to me to keep. His spirit of kindness and generosity shone through that one encounter. Geoffrey showed me how, with a single speech, conversation, or unexpected gesture, you can change a life. I shall not forget him. The following poem was written for a close friend, Joy Vellapah, who I heard had died when I was in Cairns after the SPACLALS conference. Joy was of Mauritian heritage and she and I worked together at the British Council in Spring Gardens, London, in the noughties. This poem had added poignancy for me when I received the news about Geoff. mailto:justinahart@mac.com Coolabah, Nr 28, 2020, ISSN 1988-5946, Observatori: Centre d’Estudis Australians i Transnacionals / Observatory: Australian and Transnational Studies Centre, Universitat de Barcelona 14 In Cairns I take refuge from tropical deluge in a church, shake out my brolly. Eight huge ceiling fans are switched off as there’s no one here: the air’s left to cool itself – blowing through open, facing doors like sound drifting in one ear and out the other. After glancing at the 1918 memorial cross and a leaflet informing ministers about new same-sex marriage laws, I take a pew, shut my eyes, run through all those I know who are ill or under my umbrella. But I forget the friend who cried for help before Christmas; and who, I’m to hear that night, died the day I flew out. Bionote: Justina Hart is an award-winning British poet, fiction writer, and singer- songwriter, who has performed her work internationally. For more information, see justinahart.com.