The Taste of River Water

I heard about Cate Kennedy's latest book on Radio National's wonderful Book Show. The Taste of River Water is a collection of poetry on every phase of Australian life, but particularly life in rural Australia. A woman's response to bush people and happenings, to the loss of a baby, as well as to experiences of Australians abroad.

Cate neatly captures the stoicism and laconic attitude of country people. I worked with farmers and their animals for the first 30 years of my professional life and know well the kind of people who leave the town photographic competition for:


                                          "the long drive home,
                                          to the big bone-dry expanse of land beyond salvaging
                                          with a second prize certificate
                                          and so few words between them


                                          no speaking up
                                          no protest or complaint
                                          no claim of being wronged, or misrepresented"


She slips her knife of words between readers' complacency and piety in poems about contemporary issues. Irish commissioners too busy eating their dinner to save starving famine victims at their door are compared to our current treatment of refugees in her clever The Poor Commissioners.

"But they are with us,
trudging with the last of their energy,
thousands of miles now, from poorhouses and famine fields,
chilled and exiled, holding pitchforks or children
or unsigned paperwork,
forged, faded identifications, the wrong currencies,
they are with us and we will not see them
as they come through the valley,
spurred by a mirage of lit windows
and laughable hopes of some borrowed hearth,
they are with us, and we are done with them,
we will not meet their eyes."


Every word works to draw us in and make us culpable. The language, alliterations ('forged, faded identifications'), repetitions of phrases ('they are with us'), and metaphors reinforced with the marching rhythm skilfully lead us on.
This is an excellent and consistent collection of poetry available in e-book or hard copy from  Kobo.

Self as a work of art

"From the idea that the self is not given to us, I think that there is only one practical consequence; we have to create ourselves as works of art." Michel Foucault
I suspect that this is what I have been doing in my journals.  By putting words on paper I come to understand what I think and feel. Many times I have not understood something about myself or my situation until I have written it down. In some circular way I am creating myself in my writing.
Life Matters on ABC Radio National this morning explored journal and diary writing.  A lot of people, many women, said they wrote diaries when they were teenagers but stopped once they matured.  Others wrote diaries during difficult passages in their lives.  Some women wrote a diary of a child's birth and early years as a gift for the child.  Some, like me, have written journals all their lives and consider them as companions on the way.
The contents and form of my journals have changed over the years.  As child and teenager my diary was the repository of daily events, teenage gossip, angst and hopes. Although vestiges of this remain, their present function is as a resource and tool for my creative writing.  I doodle with words, opinions and ideas on those irresistible blank pages.
Daily I (re-)create myself as a work of art?