Twelve Poems of family memory, place and the lives that shaped my imagination. Irish catholic upbringing, Irish diaspora in Australia. Gold rush. Ballarat.
What stayed with me most is how these poems never separate memory from landscape.
The paddocks, fences, kitchens, sheds, roads and creeks do not feel like settings, but like living extensions of the people themselves.
There’s a quiet dignity moving through these pieces.
Not romanticized hardship, but lives carried through weather, labour, silence, waiting, and small gestures that somehow continue speaking long after the people are gone.
Do you draw or paint, Damian? I feel the artist's brushstrokes in the descriptions. What a wonderful record deeply settled in the Australian landscape woven through with Irish Catholic history that provides a rich perspective.
Thanks Richard. No I don’t draw or paint, but I wish I did. We paint with words don’t we. I was just reading a piece of your writing about a road, and a motel and a river with crocodiles, in southern Zimbabwe and I was imagining the landscape in my head even though you gave me so few words. That’s the art.
Thanks, Damian. I wonder if I were to ever return if memory and actuality would come together at that moment. I hope so! I think that is why I find your work with landscape, memory, the goldfields and the Irish Catholic influence so appealing, almost haunting for me.
What stayed with me most is how these poems never separate memory from landscape.
The paddocks, fences, kitchens, sheds, roads and creeks do not feel like settings, but like living extensions of the people themselves.
There’s a quiet dignity moving through these pieces.
Not romanticized hardship, but lives carried through weather, labour, silence, waiting, and small gestures that somehow continue speaking long after the people are gone.
Thank you Antonio. That’s what I was aiming for. Isn’t amazing how we can share our imagination through the medium of writing.
You hit the nail on the head with your line about the hardship. I was grateful that you named it.
That’s an incredible collection, Damian. I’m sure your mother would have loved it. Touching tribute x
Do you draw or paint, Damian? I feel the artist's brushstrokes in the descriptions. What a wonderful record deeply settled in the Australian landscape woven through with Irish Catholic history that provides a rich perspective.
Thanks Richard. No I don’t draw or paint, but I wish I did. We paint with words don’t we. I was just reading a piece of your writing about a road, and a motel and a river with crocodiles, in southern Zimbabwe and I was imagining the landscape in my head even though you gave me so few words. That’s the art.
Thanks, Damian. I wonder if I were to ever return if memory and actuality would come together at that moment. I hope so! I think that is why I find your work with landscape, memory, the goldfields and the Irish Catholic influence so appealing, almost haunting for me.
Thank- you. I could help but write out all. We are emergent beings I suppose, when I think about it now.