This chimed A LOT. I am writing about my own mother at the moment but, in the silence, struggle to find her voice. Very moved by this, Damian. This might well move me on. Thanks.
Yes. It's a struggle for me to, if I am writing poetry about my mother. I am reading a book called The Poetics of Space by Gaston Bachelard. I am lucky enough to have some writing of hers about her childhood home, farm and experiences. So I am exploring writing from the places that she may have 'Daydreamed' as such, in the possibly a Jungian sense. At least I am trying too. It's feels pretty experimental for me. Next, I think I will be delving into the the family's kitchen and stove/fireplace from her writing. I am not sure where that will take me.
Thanks for your beautiful words Deborah. It’s interesting exploring where our life language and the way we see the world comes from isn’t it? What was past on to us - it’s a bit of a miracle really. And I think about what our people must have known a hundred generations back- the volume of wisdom we don’t even know we’ve got.
This is so beautiful, the way you write about your mother, the way you breathe life into her, that photo of her in her last years, this silent, strong woman, and her own words writing about herself and her world, the beauty and magic and stillness of it. Your own poems channeled through her are so lovely and moving. I'm feeling a bit like I know her too now, her spirit, her stillness, her love of the place where she grew up and came to be, that embodied her and whom she embodied. Thank you for sharing her with us.
This is a fascinating, and moving, echo of your Mother's life, Damian.
Wonderful to have her hand written record - and the map.
I read the photo of her words before I read your poem, and I could visualise it vividly. It reminded of a day - quite some years ago now - when I came out of the bush after a walk through a wild part of the Wollemi national park, and just beyond the edge of the forest there was an old abandoned farmhouse, with yellowed newsprint pasted to hessian on the walls. I remember reading a banner headline: "Hitler invades Russia!"
Hi David, Thanks for restacking and your thoughtful comment. I too remember exploring an abandoned farmhouse too, when I was a kid and reading in the newspaper on the walls what a german soldier's uniform looked like. What was it about using newspaper from wartime in walls?
What a beautiful, melancholic journey, an homage to your mother.
Thank-you Janaka.
This chimed A LOT. I am writing about my own mother at the moment but, in the silence, struggle to find her voice. Very moved by this, Damian. This might well move me on. Thanks.
Yes. It's a struggle for me to, if I am writing poetry about my mother. I am reading a book called The Poetics of Space by Gaston Bachelard. I am lucky enough to have some writing of hers about her childhood home, farm and experiences. So I am exploring writing from the places that she may have 'Daydreamed' as such, in the possibly a Jungian sense. At least I am trying too. It's feels pretty experimental for me. Next, I think I will be delving into the the family's kitchen and stove/fireplace from her writing. I am not sure where that will take me.
I have finally got there with a piece. I still feel I am holding back.
I love these poems. Your attention to detail. Thank you for sharing.
Thank you for reading.
Thanks for your beautiful words Deborah. It’s interesting exploring where our life language and the way we see the world comes from isn’t it? What was past on to us - it’s a bit of a miracle really. And I think about what our people must have known a hundred generations back- the volume of wisdom we don’t even know we’ve got.
This is so beautiful, the way you write about your mother, the way you breathe life into her, that photo of her in her last years, this silent, strong woman, and her own words writing about herself and her world, the beauty and magic and stillness of it. Your own poems channeled through her are so lovely and moving. I'm feeling a bit like I know her too now, her spirit, her stillness, her love of the place where she grew up and came to be, that embodied her and whom she embodied. Thank you for sharing her with us.
This is a fascinating, and moving, echo of your Mother's life, Damian.
Wonderful to have her hand written record - and the map.
I read the photo of her words before I read your poem, and I could visualise it vividly. It reminded of a day - quite some years ago now - when I came out of the bush after a walk through a wild part of the Wollemi national park, and just beyond the edge of the forest there was an old abandoned farmhouse, with yellowed newsprint pasted to hessian on the walls. I remember reading a banner headline: "Hitler invades Russia!"
Best wishes
Dave :)
Hi David, Thanks for restacking and your thoughtful comment. I too remember exploring an abandoned farmhouse too, when I was a kid and reading in the newspaper on the walls what a german soldier's uniform looked like. What was it about using newspaper from wartime in walls?