Yearly Archives

2015

Dec 20 2015
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Small Town Soundtrack ~ Brendan Ryan

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Extracts from the launch of Small Town Soundtrack

Warrnambool Books Dec 2015  by E A Gleeson

“ The book is divided into four sections one of which is called Towns of the Mt Noorat Football League. What an enormous thrill it was to know every district with which this section dealt …not just in terms of geography but also in concept.

We know there are no mansions in Ecklin and we know there are people cutting back blackberry amongst the ferns, just as many of us have perhaps waited for a thousand cows at Occupation Lane. This is poetry with an eye for detail and a voice for truth. We know the country we’re being driven through; Baxter country, Kenna country. Coolahan country, just as we know how legal teams have chipped away at this country or as in the poem Glenormiston why a waterway was named Murdering Gully. We know it but perhaps it is Brendan Ryan’s poetic slant, his particular phrasing, his unmistakable lexicon that makes us revisit with more astute eyes and ears..………

 

The Australian poet Philip Hodgins has long been considered one of Australia’s most significant rural poets. While he was instrumental in reclaiming rural life as a source of contemporary Australian poetry, in the late 1980s and early 1990s, this work ended with his death in the mid 1990s.

It is Brendan Ryan who has taken the baton, Ryan, like Hodgins, does not glorify farming life or create an idealistic romantic view of living in the country. Ryan tells it as it is and uses the tools of poetry to convey moments, some of which are raw and brutal, others are poignant and moving. Either way this is poetry that has been created with respect and humanity. Both poets write of their characters with tenderness and humility. They write of the physicality of farming in ways that can be disturbing or exhilarating and those of who have lived the life know the sharpness of that knife edge.

Jun 01 2015
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Chasing poetry in Scotland.

By | Poetry, Travel | No Comments

What an extraordinary poetry filled trip through Scotland and Ireland. On Kathleen Jamie’s advice I visited the Scottish Poetry Library in Edinburgh. We were in Edinburgh for the National Association of Funeral Directors Conference and being of the belief that every conference can be improved by an afternoon of poetry I headed into town for one of the afternoons.

Alas when I arrived for the discussion on Tomas Transtromer, the library was boarded up for renovations and despite my best efforts to find the group eventually abandoned the chase. Alas.

One day as she rinsed her wash from the jetty,

the bay’s cold grave rose up through her arm

and into her life.

This first verse is from Transtomer’s poem From the Island 1860 – hauntingly beautiful in the true sense of both words.

 I consoled my self in a bookshop and discovered Jamie’s essays, Sightlines and Findings, so all was not lost though my bag was a little heavier.

I wonder when Australia will have a poetry library.

May 21 2015
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Listowel Writers’ Week 2015

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Sometimes you go to a writing festival and you feel that life is going to be different forever after. That’s how it was at Listowel. Such a rich few days.

Everything from the easy companionship from events to lunch to other events, the vitality of the pubs and Woulfe’s book store, the decorated windows and the gorgeousness of the town itself.

Not surprisingly the highlight for me was doing the series of Master Writing classes with Peter Fallon. I’ve loved his poetry for quite a while and now I’ve discovered the man; clever, humble, witty, kindhearted and a stunning poet. I think the group of us was so enriched by what he responded to in our poetry and the poetry of others.

I’ve been writing poetry for twenty years, but it is only now that I’m considering the lines of poetry as an auditory unit and from that stems the questions. What is the effect in the poem of this particular line? To achieve …. such and such an effect how should I shape the line, how should this line sound?

And so now I write with my PF eye and ear on what I’m doing. I keep another eye and ear out for future festivals of such quality and my third eye on the work of the writers I met and to whom we listened. Writing festivals at their best provide a way of living that I love; of complete immersion in the moment, a way of soaking it in and carrying it with you when you get on the plane and eventually arrive home and take up the pen at your own writing desk.

Apr 29 2015
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Today I will wear silence

By | Writing | One Comment

Today I will wear silence

I will not watch the re-runs. I will not stare into the grief. I will not give media a reason to shove cameras and microphones into the faces of the devastated. I will not endorse the theft of precious moments or the intensifying of their tortuous journey of grief.

I will not watch the calls for retribution, revenge, recall. I will not advocate for action that will make life harder for people whose life is already hard beyond my imagining.

In the silence I will take up my pen and write. I will write to Tanya Plibersek and tell her that I thought her revelatory speech was the bravest thing I had ever heard spoken in the parliament of this country. I will write to Julian McMahon. I do not know what I will say to this man who gave his all at a cost to self that most of us would never countenance. Perhaps in the silence the words will come.

I will work today with the quiet gratitude of one who is reminded of the preciousness of each moment that we have. I will work humbly with the focus and attention of one who has been reminded of the flaws of each of us. In the quiet of today, I will consider the humanness we share, the inherent problems of egocentric weak leadership and the capacity of generous strong leadership and the option we have to choose either in every day we live.

Today my pen will be my companion. Perhaps in this time of self and national reflection, when we have been made so aware of the power of story, it is a good companion to have.

Today I will wear silence like a cloak, bunkering down into it, giving grief and loss its due.

Apr 11 2015
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Loving the Poetry in Geelong

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FRIDAY 20 March Wool Museum Geelong

What a delight to attend one of the best poetry readings ever from some of the Geelong poets who featured in Best Australian Poems 2014. Fantastic venue and involvement from The Council and the Library. Great to catch up with poetry friends from way back. And what a joy to listen to excellent poetry being read in voices that allowed the musicality of the poetry to do its own thing. But the highlight for me was the interest of the poetry. This was poetry worth hearing.

SATURDAY 21 March Ocean Grove library

A smaller group hosted by the library but a few poems and plenty of chat but where were those readers?

SUNDAY 22 March Camperdown Botanic Gardens

I presented my poems and mini-workshop to the partners of the Lions delegates in Camperdown for the weekend. Hosted by Judi Oakes in one of Camperdown’s iconic settings. An interesting responsive group, a charming host and a stunning setting..perfect for poetry.

Mar 05 2015
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The gift of impatiens

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I could see it budding, a tiny drop of violet. I knew the sensible thing was to pluck it out, to not have the plant energy going into this flower but rather have it form leaves, roots, green strength. But I was already in love with the idea of a purple impatiens.

I let it go and then on one of those intense days when one fears breaking, I walked into the kitchen and it was there; a perfectly formed deep violet impatiens flower grinning at me.

It is still there. For ten days it sat brightening every morning, a calm greeting in the afternoons, my companion at dishes’ time.

I was way beyond any thought of pulling it from its green stem when another perfectly formed impatiens flower popped open. Perhaps root tendrils will form, perhaps not. That no longer seems important. It is enough to have these gems now, in this moment, this day.

Feb 18 2015
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International Women’s Day

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Another International Women’s Day beckons with the theme Make it Happen. Each year I wonder about the women who inspired this poem and these girls from Queen Salote College. Where are you now?

International Women’s Day

Women’s voices drift above the palms
across the edge of night, colouring

the Tongan morning with holy songs
a benediction for the waking world.

Filtering through western latitudes
into coffee shops brimming with chatter

the day passes in the telling of stories
the night throbs with the dancing

and stomping of women till the darkness
is full of the sound of breaking glass.

The women who first blessed the day
sit in the glow of the new morning

gouging at coconuts, the white flesh
Falling into a pile of soft wafers.

(In between the dancing)

Feb 01 2015
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Signing off on Maisie

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Autographing a book has got to be one of the most satisfying of literary actions. I suppose it’s a sign of acceptance and completion – of accepting that this is what I have been able to do now, of handing the book over, of allowing the created poems to become newly created in the reader’s mind. I am literally signing off.

I listened to Lionel Shriver speaking about her book Big Brother (a very different use of the term from the same named TV series). Shriver argues for the importance of a project; for the heavy person, it might be losing weight, for the novelist, writing the book, but, she asks, what is to happen then?

I think of satisfying poems that encapsulate the notion of project and yet how ambivalent are their endings. In the poem, It’s Late Jennifer Harrison recalls
Miss Wickham (saying)
That every fisherman is unhappy with his catch
And most happy when he has caught nothing
and, as the narrator watches a fisherman journey homewards, recalls another fisherman leaving the beach and the shells of the abalone.
and the light begins to dry over
all that will be abandoned differently.

Bruce Dawe laments that he did not accept the supportive care that was offered alongside his wife’s palliative care (White-water Rafting and Palliative Care).
I’d have found it easier then to simply hold you
instead of bobbing to and fro so much,
for it was you who seemed to be more tranquil
– and I whom death reached out to touch.

Harrison, Jennifer (1996) Cabramatta/Cudmirraa. Black Pepper Press, Nth Fitzroy, Australia
Dawe, Bruce (2011) Slow-Mo Tsunami and Other Poems Puncher and Wattman, Glebe, Australia

I’m happy to let you know that though I signed off on Maisie in 2012, she is now in her second print run. So if you missed out or would like an extra copy, get in touch via the Contact page of this website.

Jan 15 2015
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Discovering Estonia

By | Inspiration, Travel | No Comments

I first encountered Estonia through the Funeral Industry. In my work as a Celebrant, I was invited to create a funeral for an older Estonian woman. The family was keen for me to create a ceremony that honoured the whole of this woman’s life particularly her harsh childhood and youth in Estonia and the passion for that country that stayed with her for as long as she lived.

I began researching; listening to the music, the poetry and the stories of Estonia. I became obsessed with this country and its story of triumph through terrible adversity. I was inspired by the passive, musical resistance that characterized the Singing Revolution. In 2013 I travelled in the north of Estonia, listening to the recollections of older people and the exuberance of the young.

I learnt about the beauty and traditions of the textiles and ceramics and the astonishing technological lead this country has taken. I sat in buildings older than I have ever been in and walked through kilometres of villages and wetlands. In this photo I am walking through the wetlands near Haapsalu; a beautiful way of encountering the locals and appreciating the reclamation work that has occurred here.

Jan 01 2015
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Kathleen Jamie bringing me into the New Year

By | Inspiration, Poetry | No Comments

It’s the year of the blog for me. As I move to less time working, I move to more time writing – a quieter place for me, both metaphorically and literally – a space for reading, writing, being.

……. All week,
squalls, tattered mists:

alder, who unfolded
before the receding glaciers

first one leaf then another,
won’t you teach me

a way to live
on this damp ambiguous earth?

Kathleen Jamie ‘Alder’ The Tree House (2004)