I’m in Madrid!

Friends! My absence has been shameful, unpardonable. I miss reading all your wonderful words and am in awe of your commitment to writing and blogging all these years. I am humbled at you even reading this!

I wanted to update you all quickly and let you know that after many years of hard work and study, I am finally living in Madrid for my year of student exchange. In the months leading up to my departure I was consumed with learning the great language, working for the money to travel and generally freaking out so my writing, and hence blogging, were unfairly neglected in the process.

However I have started a new blog relating to my experiences in Spain. Please visit if you would like In all honesty I can’t say if I’ll ever start My Other Book Is a Tolstoy up in earnest again, so I will take the opportunity to say simply  - thank you.

Thank you.

 

http://amidmadrid.wordpress.com

How my screenplay couldn’t quite kill the radio star

Hola friends around the world!

I thought I’d share with you two of the reasons for my glaring absence lately – my play that was lately performed at the University of Technology, Sydney, and my radio appearance last week on ABC Radio National.

I wrote and directed the play, which I titled Exhibit, and this was the first time I have ever written a screenplay – let alone have it acted by wonderful actors and given a chance to direct it.

The play was about two strangers who begin talking at an art exhibition – Simon is a romantic, and Lottie is a cynic. It is revealed as they discuss their very different views on the abstract art before them, that Lottie in fact has a tumultuous history with the artist himself.

The process was incredible. The troupe of actors at my university are professional, fun and talented. I had never been involved in a production before and they were all very supportive. The first time I had my play read out in auditions was surreal – to hear someone speak words you have written with their own interpretation, accent and movement is a very moving and bizarre experience. I was able to choose my actors and then work began immediately.

It was so much fun! Together we figured out the movement and the props, the lighting and the expression. It fuelled even further the motivation I have always had to work in the creative arts industry.

There were two performance nights and I so enjoyed each one and noting the difference as the actors grew even further into their roles in the second night. I can’t wait to write another screenplay and hopefully make it even better!

Here is a picture of my cast in character -

Photo by Stephen Godfrey

And here is one of me with my cast backstage.

The Exhibit team – Liam, myself, Claudia and James. Photo by Stephen Godfrey.

The other thing I have been busy with is my appearance on ABC Radio National last week. I was invited to join their Friday book club discussion in light of winning a Sun Herald competition on Australian literature earlier in the year. The book we discussed was The Harp in the South by Ruth Park.

It was my first time on radio and I was incredibly nervous in the lead up (the morning of the show, I spazzed out completely and took it out on my poor boyfriend – sorry my darling!) but once I arrived at the studio, most of that fluttered away. (It helped that the studio I was in was called The TARDIS – as a massive Doctor Who fan, this alone succeeded in calming me!)

You can listen to the program here:

http://www.abc.net.au/radionational/programs/booksandartsdaily/book-club3a-ruth-park27s-the-harp-in-the-south/4283922 

Thank you all for your patience with me, and I do appreciate and adore every single comment you pass my way. Hope you’re all stupendous and I PROMISE I will catch up with your own exciting work very soon!

 

Dawn

Hi everyone! Apologies for my disgraceful lack of posting. I have been very preoccupied doing a few different things and unfortunately blogging was pushed to the back of the pile. I am in awe of how some of you can continue blogging with such diligence and excellence! Look forward to catching up on all my favourites very soon.

I’ve had two main sources of busyness – firstly, I am going overseas soon for a year of exchange in Madrid, so en este semestre yo he practicado me español mucho (this semester I have been practicing my Spanish a lot.) I’m very excited and very nervous and can hardly believe it has crept up on me after all these years!

Secondly, I have had an amazing experience writing and directing a short play for members of my university’s acting society to perform. I will do a proper post about this soon, when I have access to some decent photos of the production!

Here is a little poem I have written called Dawn. I do hope you enjoy!

 

 

the emerald forest, strangely clotted and

damp with sod soil, never reaching

the hidden sun, although it wants to, remains

pressed into the earth,

low under high palms.

 

it was here the gypsies sang,

it was here they slit open the earth like young skin,

to release the river

it was here I scraped the moss from my heart,

here, you and I began.

 

you see, (but I may not)

the jungle-dwellers with clammy skin

and parchments of old love letters

fumble,

stumble,

blindly tumble

into the roaring river

(it makes a sound like waking lions)

 

one day, a zipper pulled apart the clouds;

it punctured deep holes in my face.

I squinted and cried and tried to survive

but seeing the sun at first, hurts.

 

what are those strange voices that cling

like moss, to the corners of your heart?

what do they sing in such dreary flats?

what made them come here and…what’s more,

why do they persist

in staying?

 

it wasn’t until the gypsies released the sun

and it covered me

head to toe with it’s liquid gold, and I sweated

clear pearls of cold relief -

that at last I dropped the old parchment from

my withered hand,

to forget what had past,

and silence those weary songs.

 

Preheat

we were pitting cherries over the sink, side by side, and

think, it even hurts to burrow the seed

from the flesh,

to separate the sour from the sweet.

 

meeting, do you remember sweetie, fleeting

across the snow-topped city,

and I stitched chequered red picnic blankets because

I don’t want to stay out, not tonight.

 

fight, fighting the true centre of the mind

where, bejewelled and slightly mossy lies

the eye of the storm -

chinking the high walls of

the snow-topped city and the fine china

teacup. two sugars, no milk and

plenty of white rage.

 

flour dusts the bench like morning frost and

flowers trim the dresser

and I

shower

you with all the love I can extract

from baking powder and dark chocolate.

 

180 degrees. the pitted cherries tower high and the

oven isn’t warm.

Louise Jaques: Inspired Poet

Reblogged from neelthemuse:

My second interview is with poet blogger Louise Jaques.

Louise is a young writer living in Sydney who dabbles in performance poetry, baking, and napping in her spare time.

What compels you to blog poetry?

Initially, I began blogging poetry because I was tired of having scattered word documents floating around my computer, not being put to any real use.

Read more… 745 more words

My friend Neelima over at Neel the Muse was lovely enough to interview me on her series of interviews with poets who blog their work. Her blog is a joy - check it out!

My citrus peel heart

(This image does not belong to me)

 

my heart is made of citrus peel

I have capers in my eyes

take good care when zesting my organs

it could spell my demise

 

my heart is made of glass and bones

I put them into jars

when can I see you up close once more?

right now you seem so far

 

my heart is made of falling leaves

I rake them up in sacks -

feet tap on cold museum tiles,

let’s turn corners, not our backs

 

my heart is made of knotted ribbons

shaped just like a globe

hold it, taste it, keep it warm,

stroke each tiny lobe

 

what other way can I say it?

how many times until you see?

though my heart is made of citrus peel

you will always have it, and me

Trigger

trigger,

say, there’s a spot of cold blood

on your shirt collar.

triggered, triggering, to be triggered.

 

modulation, intonation,

let the words fall out of your mouth and swim around

on the plate, they are still alive and can climb

walls with small padded palms, sticky to the touch.

visceral, to the point

 

it makes you squirm, hold the worm

on your tongue, or perhaps

a small rodent, suck off the dirt till you’re spent.

 

next, oil the skin to bake in high summer sun,

when the knife comes out clean, you’re done.

 

triggers, cellos resting on rainy balconies and

hems of petticoats, not quite stitched correctly…

until they’re lifted.

my father used to tell me to

commit to absolute bias or else

you’re a fraud. journalism school drop out,

he never could take his alcohol.

 

look, look, how the light becomes riper

like a piece of young fruit weighing down the

branches of its ageing mother.

as I watched you with great patience examining

avocados,

pressing them for softness,

I wandered at the phrasing which removes us from meaning.

was it intellectual, or merely awkward? don’t forget spell check.

 

clickety-clack, and a round of .22s, no fries.

movement speeds up, spurred along by this unresolved passion like

wanted posters peeling off the walls of a

crapped out postal office, but the bastard’s still dead. WANTED.

FOR SALE. baby shoes, never worn,

(the shortest story ever told. shall I tell you the longest?

I still love you and always will.)

just don’t pull the

trigger.

Trust your obsessions

Last Wednesday, I had the excellent opportunity to attend a poetry workshop held by Sydney’s City Poet, Kate Middleton (not the Duchess of Cambridge, just her namesake!) Kate is an established poet funded by Arts NSW to promote new poetry in Sydney. I had submitted an old poem, Feelers, which was chosen along with 8 other young poets to be reviewed in the workshop.

It was a truly tremendous experience! Before the workshop commenced we were sent copies of the other poets’ work and asked to give feedback to each. They ranged from the traditional, to the wildly experimental, some brilliant, others that needed work. After introducing ourselves and what our favourite poets were (Allen Ginsberg and John Keats, in case you were wondering!) someone was elected to read someone else’s poem, before the author read it themselves. Throughout, we gave each other thoughts and feedback, with Kate leading the discussion and offering her professional advice.

In amongst my harried scribbling, here are some gems of advice that Kate dished out about writing poetry –

• Aim to set up the tone from inception, be consistent, but always surprise the reader at the end.
• Extend your metaphors to open out images and return to the point of beginning – this gives the reader closure and contentment.
• Avoid piles of abstraction, especially for abstraction’s sake. Try to be more visceral.
• Play with line breaks to create surprise. Update the image in the next line – try not to use the natural pause in the sentence as your line break.
• Think about where language comes from etymologically – this can be very powerful (Kate herself seemed very learned on this subject!)
• Every stanza in a poem is a room – stanzas are leading the reader room to room around the house of the poem.
• If you become stuck with an image or stanza, try to rewrite the phrase in prose to simmer in down and re-understand what you are trying to say.
• Try to make better than sense.
• Think of ways to make it strange.
• A fun exercise – play around with removing all punctuation in a poem, see how it changes.
• If your style is maximal and wild, switch to minimal and austere – always challenge yourself.
• Don’t be cryptic to the point someone else can’t interpret it.
• Trust your obsessions.

I think I like the last one the best!

Later, I am going to post the unedited, original of my poem Feelers, and a version I wrote taking into account the feedback I received from Kate and the other writers.

I look forward to catching up with all of you. My exams are over and I plan to start blogging much more regularly!

Below, there is a picture of the notes I took on my poem. Following that is the beautiful set of books I received a few weeks ago as my prize for the Competition on Australian Literature. 30 brand spanking new Australian classics! They are so beautiful.

Light through perspex

it all began with a spine,

when you, with the softness of a flower petal,

ran your fingertips down my back,

and my insides whirred like a cold stack of falling dominoes.

 

we watched the early morning fog net together

with the sun and

bust its way out of the stronghold of the heavy, winter clouds.

it’s light fell through the cracks of tree branches and

split into pyramids of golden sheen,

like shining light through perspex.

 

we watched it all from the window,

we watched it all from the door,

we watched it rain, we watched it snow,

we watched as time froze cold.

 

and in summer, full of burned sausages and

pink skies, and waiting for the post to arrive,

the doorframes stood to attention like soldiers,

framing our love

like freshly painted portraits hung in galleries,

where our feet tread the same rooms,

walking new paths.

“Turn pages of time for a great read.”

 

Today, I have had the wonderful opportunity to be featured on page 21 of the Sydney newspaper The Sun-Herald. I recently entered a competition where I had to describe in 100 words or less what my favourite Australian novel is, and why.

 

I was the winner!

 

I’m chuffed to be in the Herald today, and during the week I am expecting the second part of my prize in the mail – a set of 30 Australian classic novels produced by Text Publishing. You can read the article here.

 

I wrote about The Harp in the South by Ruth Park. Read my excerpt below to find out why it’s my favourite!

 

This book examines with patience and no judgement the everyday toils of the 1940’s working class that built the Australia we now enjoy. The working class who lived in squalor, but with their families. The working class who were born into bad luck, but kept smiling. Ruth Park’s moving and gentle story of the Darcy family, of timid Rowena, of tough Hughie, of dreamer Dolour and strong Mumma tenderly prodded me into adulthood. It uncovered the sordidness that can come with life – abortion, violence, prostitution and poverty – but more importantly, the stalwartness of character and love that can overcome it.