Hi friend Nikos! Yes - one long sentence. A fisheye lens - true. Or one long extended tracking shot through the scene. I didn't set out to do that - it just ... overflowed. I had years of intense life seeking expression.
Oh wow, this is incredible - the imagery, the form, the breathlessness, the unrelenting thrum of language, desperation, sun. I will be reading and rereading this. Thank you for sharing it with us here.
Still one of my great favourites. I treasure both my copy of Spinifex and the battered old copy of Bruce's poetry which you so kindly took to Toowoomba and had him sign for me.
Thanks, JK. This is one that just dredged itself out of me. I had no idea what I would write until I did. Bruce was delighted to sign your book. He was an extremely modest and gentle man. We stayed in contact for a couple of years, and I was deeply sad when he signed off from this world in 2020.
Well - that is a very sensible and logical question. There are short and very very long answers. I will go short. Two versions - for Australia generally and then for my Warlpiri friends specifically:
Answer 1 - For Australia Generally: Just as with North America. You can't be a nomadic hunter/gatherer when the land where you lived that way has been forcibly taken away from you, starting in 1788 with the first European invaders and then spreading nation wide. Add to that - terrible mortality rate from the ravages of diseases you have no resistance too, and then many deaths from outright massacre of nomadic family groups. Survivors forced into mission stations and fringe camps around rural towns, where they can no longer live from hunting and gathering, and depend upon European food for survival. Generally low quality European food - high in salt, sugar, fat.... Result: chronic health morbidities - heart disease, kidney disease, diabetes..... And yes - sure - a proportion of people develop an alcohol problem too, because - like all marginalised people - some lose hope.
Answer 2 - My Warlpiri friends and other Central Desert peoples: The "frontier" of European expansion came much later, and most of the Western desert was too arid for farming or grazing cattle. A telegraph line from South to North was built across the middle of the continent in the early 1870's and cattle stations were then established along that line, but further west there was little European activity. A minor gold rush happened in part of Warlpiri country around 1900 - 1910, with a brief resurgence around 1940. The Warlpiri continued their Hunter Gather nomadic lifestyle through all this. Then in 1928 a Dingo (wild dog) trapper in the Eastern edges of Warlpiri land took and raped a Warlpiri woman. We was tracked down and killed by her family. This was on land that had already been taken over for cattle grazing, so there was already tension over access to scarce waterholes. Local police led a group to find the men responsible. Over the course of several weeks they attacked every Warlpiri family they found, killing at least 70 men women and children. There was an official inquiry - because local Missionaries lodged a complaint. The police party members were all acquitted on grounds of self defence. The surviving Warlpiri fled west and North, but in the Central Tanami most Warlpiri had still never seen a European until the 1940s, when the Australian Government decided a policy of "Assimilation" - which was to round up and "civilise" nomadic peoples. So in the 1940's - 50's that is what was done. Government parties rounded up the Warlpiri - and other peoples South and west of Warlpiri country, and made them live in small settlement communities established for this purpose. Lajamanu was one such. People still hunted and gathered locally - but the desert is sparse. You can only live off it in small groups, travelling, following the food and game. So.... prevented from doing that for 20 - 30 years ... the old people became too unwell: salt, sugar, fat, diabetes, heart disease, kidney disease.... And by the time they gained citizenship rights in the 60's, and freedom of travel, a generation had been raised in the communities. A fully nomadic life in the desert is.... hard. So now people lead a hybrid life, with whatever access to modern technology they can get, while spending as much time on traditional lands as they can. The limitations become economic though because, hey, it's a desert.
I was living up there in 1984 when the last full nomads came in to one of the remote communities. If you are interested, this is a version of their story. I know the community, and have met some of the people involved. I think it is an accurate account: https://oneoftwelve.com/the-pintupi-nine/
wow Dave, I just read LAJAMANU MORNING, it's interesting, graphic, a little scary. I don't see that much similarity in our writing styles. You're obviously a brilliant man, your lead up column to the poem was poetic in itself, and incredibly articulate. Thank God for guys like you. I don't punctuate, I leave the rhythm in the words, it has that "avalanchy" effect you mentioned. Anyway, thanks for the great vibes, hopefully we can chat soon. Thanks! Rob
I loved this one, David. It tells the story of a time and place and seems to find that hot, dusty, ancient rhythm.... thanks for pointing me to your poem.
A beautiful poem David, I could feel all the activity of the morning rolling into each other, and the sense that something might happen, but regardless the sun still bears down on you all. Thanks for sharing the journey of this poem.
Hi Kate. You are most welcome. Lajamanu Morning is was my best attempt at an "in the moment" snapshot. My Substack friend Nikos Anagnostou rather wisely described it as a "fish eye lens" view, because I was trying to show everything at once.
Of course - "everything at once" is impossible - so Lajamanu Morning is still a heavily edited cut down version of what exploded out of my head when I wrote the first draft, and it does throw a focus on some of the huge problems and tragedy - all of which are true, but also only part of the story.
The other side is the rich, vibrant, culture and the strength and unbelievable generosity of spirit which I witnessed every day. My poem "Junga Yimi" (also on SUbstack). - I hope shows some of that.
The other Central Australian piece I have on Substack is "Kngwarreye" - which will be meaningful if you have any interest in Central Desert art. It is also a comment on the complexity of dispossession, and cultural appropriation - something I hope I avoid in my writing. Best Wishes - Dave :)
Thanks David, i like the fish eye description. I will check out your other Substack poems on central Australia too. I have visited a few times and each time have found the landscape evocative. Here in Tasmania I have an interest in a sense of place, both for the Tasmanian Indigenous people and also the descendants of those who colonised Tasmania and the recent arrivals. I have always wondered whether I can call Tasmania my home when it does not belong to my people. I love and care for it, but it is not mine. How to sit with these feelings and history and move forward? Just thoughts to explore further in my writing. Cheers, Kate
Good morning Kate. Central Australia is a fascinating and beautiful place. Really - many places, many landscapes and many related but distinct cultures. My writing from there is mostly about issues of culture and history - from my perspective as a non-Aboriginal observer and participant. The land itself is a deep presence in all of them and I have a few landscape/nature pieces which I may also publish, because part of me still wanders the gorgeous mountains of the western desert lands.
As a lover of landscape and wilderness yourself, with a creative soul - yes, you will have a huge interest in the sense of place, and what it means to belong, and how to make sense of the ways in which landscape resonates with you, and within you. Tasmania/Lutruwita.... those lands also speak as you walk through them, and we all create our own meanings and sense out of that. You will be well along that path.
Which is why you ask such good questions, and I'm betting you have reached some conclusions already. There are some answers I can offer myself - which make sense to me - but this is not the place for that. I may write an entire essay on this and publish it on Substack.
I don't want to bore people, and most readers are from other countries - but there are some underlying issues relevant to all colonial societies, and some of what I would say will be relevant to people from places such as Europe.
On a trip to Ireland with my wonderful partner, a few years ago, I had a profoundly interesting experience relevant to my years in the desert.
I've been thinking a lot about the concept of autochthony....
But yeah - this is not the place to go further. I may send you a PM, if that is okay. Maybe we could co-author an essay?
I didn't expect this to necessarily "work" for readers outside of Australia - (or many inside Australia for that matter) - but it has rapidly become my most read and most "liked" poems so far.
You ask a good question.
Some of my work is quite carefully crafted - in the sense of having a structure and a very specific arrangement of thought. "Lajamanu Morning" is not one of those, or at least not in the same way.
The original blast of this just "erupted" out of me one evening, as I have written in another comment. I have written other, more controlled work, about my life in remote Aboriginal communities (see "Junga Yimi" and "Kngwarreye") but most of those pieces are narrative. The narrative poems do capture something very important (for me at least), but they fail to convey the incredibly explosive "Everything At Once!" feeling that I often had. That feeling is a chaos of images and sounds, scent and touch, mingled with a sense of so many different things all happening simultaneously - some good, some heartrending.
So I sat down to write with all that bubbling up to the surface. I knew the focus was opening time at the Lajamanu Store on cheque day (pay day), because that's the day when the chaos is maximal.
I wrote the first line just to open the scene and then - whoosh, everything started to come out. It really was a stream of consciousness flow of images and thoughts and recollections of the things which were driving people - preoccupying them - like the idiot policeman, the effort to keep babies alive, the urgent need to get the initiation ceremonies happening, mixed with the underlying issues of grinding material poverty and shocking public health which drove me mad at the time and still do. I just let it all go splat onto the page with no attempt at grammar right down to the final closing line.
After that - yes - I did a lot of editing. Some elements were just cut. The full "rant" was longer and too unwieldy. It didn't need everything. Everything was too much and still not enough. Better to cut back. I couldn't help the fact that anything I wrote would still be not enough, but by cutting it back I could ensure it was not "too much" - ie people might still actually read it.
Then I worked on the rhythm. All my poetry is meant to be spoken. I have to "hear it in my head."
Last of all, I looked at lines and enjambment, but at this point I have to admit that what you see here on Substack is not actually the poem as first published. The poem as published is a solid "Block" poem, justified on both left and right sides, to create a perfect rectangle. Even the final line ends at the exact right hand "edge."
To do that, I had to compromise with some of the enjambments, play with fonts (because they all have slightly different sizing and spacing) and I even had to enter a few "cheat" extra character spaces.
The effect was of a little "monolith of text." In a sense, I was trying to say: "It's not just a series of things. I had to write it one word and one image at a time but I want you to see the whole scene at once - like this dense BLOCK of text. So yeah - read it sequentially because you have to - but think of it as an intricate picture, hung on a wall, or a sculpted block of solid fact."
My wise partner/wife Meg laments that the version here does not achieve that. The reason is that Substack's text editing just isn't up to the task. The alternative was to screenshot or PDF the original and paste it in as an image - but when I tried that it lost size and definition and it was too hard to read. I may add it as an image anyway - at the end - just so people can see the original.
Thank you for the thoughtful response! I believe that your explosion of feeling and place is beautifully conveyed. I have often (almost always - working on this) written poetry in this fashion - where there is some animating motive or sense of fleeting truth.
One like that I did is:
In terror I am blind
Flushed from my redoubt
Into terror unseen
Vision clouded instincts singing:
“Come! I dare you.”
Gleaning survival in confrontation
My soul cries and rears to demand the terror unleash
Thank you for the explanation of the background knowledge to the poem. Especially about the Warlpiri people. It helped me appreciate the poem. Since I am a foreigner, it would have been otherwise been lost.
Today, I happened to find your Substack by chance. But what a happy coincidence! I have read two of your past posts and will be reading more.
Hi Mai. You are welcome! I’m so glad you enjoyed it. I thought hard before publishing that piece - because it does require explanation. Consider Subscribing - my subscriptions are totally free, and you will be notified of all new posts.
Apologies for the slow reply. I was going to bed late at night when I saw your comment and I tapped out a quick answer before turning off the light. I'm so happy to have you as a Subscriber! I write for my own joy (or grief sometimes), but I have come to Substack to communicate - after 22 years of "silence" in which I stopped all publication. (It's a long story. I've written a bit about that elsewhere on Substack).
I'm glad the background explanation helped. I have two other poems(so far) published here on Substack which relate to my years living and working in remote Aboriginal communities ("Junga Yimi" and "Kngwarreye.") I have just added important explanations to both of those too. I hope you get to read them.
So - welcome to "Dave's Substack Poetry Shack" and yes - please do call me Dave. My wonderful wife Meg does, and so do my friends.
Oh no! There’s absolutely no need to apologize. I try to be off the Internet for parts of the day so my replies might be slow. But I also value personal connections. It’s the reason I chose Substack. Pleasure to meet you too:)
I am from Japan. I visited Australia on a school trip when I was 14 but was too young to understand the rich culture and some of its tragic history. It’s so nice to read personal stories and poetry now. I spent the afternoon enjoying your writing. I read the other two poems. So thoughtful to go back and add explanations. It’s much appreciated.
Thankyou, Mai. I'm glad you liked them - and you have been to Australia! I have not visited Japan, though one of our Sons was in your country a few years ago, and I have a friend who spends part of each year living somewhere near Kyoto.
And the sun and the sun… A heartbreaking and breathtaking poem, David. I was there seeing Australia in between and under every word, talking to my senses from your endless and relentless single sentence.
Hi Rotislava. Thankyou! That is such a lovely thing to say. I could write many thousands of words about this subject, in a factual sense, but those words would not convey the intense reality. Poetry is my attempt to communicate that, and it delights me if my writing brings you there….
Thank you, friend Ronnie. I look forward to reading more of your own work, too. I joined Substack to start communicating through my writing - after 22 years of not publishing - but the unexpected delight for me is that I am meeting wonderful writers, who are also kind and gentle people. I am making new friends and reading things that help stimulate my own creativity.
I tend to really dislike the endless run-on form (no punctuation/sentences), but I found this piece mesmerizing and immersive and quite stunning in painting a landscape and place and time. Always nice to be surprised in a good way. Thanks David!
I like how you're describing the "shock of the new" David, and the huge adaptive challenge we face in those moments.
Those pieces that just "erupt" out of us, fully formed, are rare and miraculous. They show us that our "mind" is a bigger operation than our linear intentional one. By way of example, here is a movie (aka dream) that my mind created while "I" was asleep. ⬇️
Hi Baird. Yes - the shock of the new. We tend to then lose that initial impression, but it can be a great spur to creativity, opening us to new learning. I'm really keen to read your Post. Just a couple of things to do first. Best Wishes - Dave :)
Hi Baird. Thankyou for such a very kind comment. Yes - it's a form which can easily be overdone. My other desert poems - a couple of them now on Substack - are mostly narrative, because that suits the many journeys and events of my life in those years, but telling a sequential story - though true - does miss the explosive "nowness" and overwhelming physicality of just being there. When I first arrived at Lajamanu that physicality and chaos was bewildering. I was still in my own country - but I felt like I had travelled to another planet. Over time, as I listened and observed and developed friendships, I could start to learn the many many strands and layers of history, culture and circumstance of which that apparent chaos was composed. I didn't plan "Lajamanu Morning" - it just erupted out of me - but it's my attempt to snapshot the "Here! Now!" feeling we all get when plunged into a culture and place radically different to our own, while showing some of the structure and strands of which the apparent chaos is really built. That poem is my initial impression - informed by years of later knowledge.
David, this is beautiful and so heartbreaking. Thank you so much for both the prose and for your explainer about the First Nations and the Warlpiri in particular. You did indeed paint a vivid picture. I could see and hear and feel it all. You also gave me a new insight. I had never really registered the impact of the change of diet from fresh food with no fat and no toxic preservatives to one full of salt and fat and godknowswhat. Just one more atrocity to add to the list of what we have done to these many, original, successful, collaborative, joyful communities. These acts against the First Nations were just the first step of our slow but steady destruction of humanity.
Hi Lori - Thankyou also for writing those words. My abiding memories of life in the remote communities are of joy, mingled with grief. Poetry tends to be about emotion and evocation, but I passionately believe that it can also teach. The diet issue is a dire and deadly problem in the communities. Australia is a wealthy "developed" nation, but out there in the desert, and in the tropical monsoonal savannah of Arnhem Land, there is another country - or really a constellation of them, with a rich diversity of cultures and subtle differences of history and geography. There are many strong, articulate and passionate Aboriginal/First Nation leaders. They do not need me to speak for them, but I can bear witness to what I have seen and do what I can to encourage my nation to listen to those leaders, and to help them implement better long term solutions to complex problems.
Heartbreaking - yes. I cannot read Lajamanu Morning aloud because it unleashes a flood of raw emotion that I am genuinely unable to control. This was a problem when it won the Bruce Dawe Poetry Prize! The headline could have read "Blubbering Poet sobs on stage."
The thing I want to stress, however, is that the poem does not capture the joy, the laughter, the warmth and the strength of my Warlpiri friends, or the rich depths of their culture. One poem can only do so much. My related poems - "Junga Yimi" and "Kngwarreye" - both published here, may be worth a read, though I need to write a bit more explanation to both. Eventually, I will put up a couple of short stories too. Thankyou again, Lori.
A truly great piece, Dave! It works so well, and so observant. Not only fascinating for this Canadian, but quite resonant of similar realities and history here. Thanks for putting it up!
Thankyou, Alan. I'm glad you like it. You may be interested in the two companion poems I have published on my Substack - "Junga Yimi" and "Kngwarreye."
Yes - I believe there are strong similarities with the situation in remote First Nation communities of your country. In the mid 90's I had the fascinating experience of sitting in on a video conference between people at a remote Central Desert community and people in a First Nation community somewhere in Canada's North (I cannot recall the name, at this distance in time).
A Central Desert community controlled Association was experimenting with Satellite technology, to assist in education and other programs, and somehow someone lined up a joint tech demo with the Canadian community.
Someone at the other end was introduced as a "Chief." There is simply no equivalent in Australian Aboriginal societies, which have a far more decentralised social structure, but at our end there was a group of around a dozen senior men and women.
There was a degree of reserve on both sides, but then a small child jumped up onto one of the women at our end, and someone on the Canadian side lifted up a baby.... Conversations started - in broken English (for the people at our end - and I think your end - English was a second or third language). After a while I think they felt they had a fair bit in common. I'm sure all Indigenous peoples subjected to a colonial invasion do.
Certainly, from what I have read, the health problems are similar, and from similar causes....
One long sentence! Very vivid, David! To use a photographic term, like captured with fisheye lens.
Hi friend Nikos! Yes - one long sentence. A fisheye lens - true. Or one long extended tracking shot through the scene. I didn't set out to do that - it just ... overflowed. I had years of intense life seeking expression.
Oh wow, this is incredible - the imagery, the form, the breathlessness, the unrelenting thrum of language, desperation, sun. I will be reading and rereading this. Thank you for sharing it with us here.
Thankyou, Rebecca. All Poetry is from my heart, but this was from my soul as well.
Still one of my great favourites. I treasure both my copy of Spinifex and the battered old copy of Bruce's poetry which you so kindly took to Toowoomba and had him sign for me.
Thanks, JK. This is one that just dredged itself out of me. I had no idea what I would write until I did. Bruce was delighted to sign your book. He was an extremely modest and gentle man. We stayed in contact for a couple of years, and I was deeply sad when he signed off from this world in 2020.
Why did they stop their roaming? Why are they no longer nomads?
Hey Rebecca
Well - that is a very sensible and logical question. There are short and very very long answers. I will go short. Two versions - for Australia generally and then for my Warlpiri friends specifically:
Answer 1 - For Australia Generally: Just as with North America. You can't be a nomadic hunter/gatherer when the land where you lived that way has been forcibly taken away from you, starting in 1788 with the first European invaders and then spreading nation wide. Add to that - terrible mortality rate from the ravages of diseases you have no resistance too, and then many deaths from outright massacre of nomadic family groups. Survivors forced into mission stations and fringe camps around rural towns, where they can no longer live from hunting and gathering, and depend upon European food for survival. Generally low quality European food - high in salt, sugar, fat.... Result: chronic health morbidities - heart disease, kidney disease, diabetes..... And yes - sure - a proportion of people develop an alcohol problem too, because - like all marginalised people - some lose hope.
Answer 2 - My Warlpiri friends and other Central Desert peoples: The "frontier" of European expansion came much later, and most of the Western desert was too arid for farming or grazing cattle. A telegraph line from South to North was built across the middle of the continent in the early 1870's and cattle stations were then established along that line, but further west there was little European activity. A minor gold rush happened in part of Warlpiri country around 1900 - 1910, with a brief resurgence around 1940. The Warlpiri continued their Hunter Gather nomadic lifestyle through all this. Then in 1928 a Dingo (wild dog) trapper in the Eastern edges of Warlpiri land took and raped a Warlpiri woman. We was tracked down and killed by her family. This was on land that had already been taken over for cattle grazing, so there was already tension over access to scarce waterholes. Local police led a group to find the men responsible. Over the course of several weeks they attacked every Warlpiri family they found, killing at least 70 men women and children. There was an official inquiry - because local Missionaries lodged a complaint. The police party members were all acquitted on grounds of self defence. The surviving Warlpiri fled west and North, but in the Central Tanami most Warlpiri had still never seen a European until the 1940s, when the Australian Government decided a policy of "Assimilation" - which was to round up and "civilise" nomadic peoples. So in the 1940's - 50's that is what was done. Government parties rounded up the Warlpiri - and other peoples South and west of Warlpiri country, and made them live in small settlement communities established for this purpose. Lajamanu was one such. People still hunted and gathered locally - but the desert is sparse. You can only live off it in small groups, travelling, following the food and game. So.... prevented from doing that for 20 - 30 years ... the old people became too unwell: salt, sugar, fat, diabetes, heart disease, kidney disease.... And by the time they gained citizenship rights in the 60's, and freedom of travel, a generation had been raised in the communities. A fully nomadic life in the desert is.... hard. So now people lead a hybrid life, with whatever access to modern technology they can get, while spending as much time on traditional lands as they can. The limitations become economic though because, hey, it's a desert.
I was living up there in 1984 when the last full nomads came in to one of the remote communities. If you are interested, this is a version of their story. I know the community, and have met some of the people involved. I think it is an accurate account: https://oneoftwelve.com/the-pintupi-nine/
D
Thank you.
wow Dave, I just read LAJAMANU MORNING, it's interesting, graphic, a little scary. I don't see that much similarity in our writing styles. You're obviously a brilliant man, your lead up column to the poem was poetic in itself, and incredibly articulate. Thank God for guys like you. I don't punctuate, I leave the rhythm in the words, it has that "avalanchy" effect you mentioned. Anyway, thanks for the great vibes, hopefully we can chat soon. Thanks! Rob
I loved this one, David. It tells the story of a time and place and seems to find that hot, dusty, ancient rhythm.... thanks for pointing me to your poem.
Thankyou, Rajani. I fell in love with the people and their land. Part of me is still out there, in the desert....
David, one long deep exhaled breath. Yes, indeed poetry can teach, and teach from the heart. 🙏♥️
Thankyou Sharon. I hope your weekend is wonderful!
Best Wishes - Dave :)
A beautiful poem David, I could feel all the activity of the morning rolling into each other, and the sense that something might happen, but regardless the sun still bears down on you all. Thanks for sharing the journey of this poem.
Hi Kate. You are most welcome. Lajamanu Morning is was my best attempt at an "in the moment" snapshot. My Substack friend Nikos Anagnostou rather wisely described it as a "fish eye lens" view, because I was trying to show everything at once.
Of course - "everything at once" is impossible - so Lajamanu Morning is still a heavily edited cut down version of what exploded out of my head when I wrote the first draft, and it does throw a focus on some of the huge problems and tragedy - all of which are true, but also only part of the story.
The other side is the rich, vibrant, culture and the strength and unbelievable generosity of spirit which I witnessed every day. My poem "Junga Yimi" (also on SUbstack). - I hope shows some of that.
The other Central Australian piece I have on Substack is "Kngwarreye" - which will be meaningful if you have any interest in Central Desert art. It is also a comment on the complexity of dispossession, and cultural appropriation - something I hope I avoid in my writing. Best Wishes - Dave :)
Thanks David, i like the fish eye description. I will check out your other Substack poems on central Australia too. I have visited a few times and each time have found the landscape evocative. Here in Tasmania I have an interest in a sense of place, both for the Tasmanian Indigenous people and also the descendants of those who colonised Tasmania and the recent arrivals. I have always wondered whether I can call Tasmania my home when it does not belong to my people. I love and care for it, but it is not mine. How to sit with these feelings and history and move forward? Just thoughts to explore further in my writing. Cheers, Kate
Good morning Kate. Central Australia is a fascinating and beautiful place. Really - many places, many landscapes and many related but distinct cultures. My writing from there is mostly about issues of culture and history - from my perspective as a non-Aboriginal observer and participant. The land itself is a deep presence in all of them and I have a few landscape/nature pieces which I may also publish, because part of me still wanders the gorgeous mountains of the western desert lands.
As a lover of landscape and wilderness yourself, with a creative soul - yes, you will have a huge interest in the sense of place, and what it means to belong, and how to make sense of the ways in which landscape resonates with you, and within you. Tasmania/Lutruwita.... those lands also speak as you walk through them, and we all create our own meanings and sense out of that. You will be well along that path.
Which is why you ask such good questions, and I'm betting you have reached some conclusions already. There are some answers I can offer myself - which make sense to me - but this is not the place for that. I may write an entire essay on this and publish it on Substack.
I don't want to bore people, and most readers are from other countries - but there are some underlying issues relevant to all colonial societies, and some of what I would say will be relevant to people from places such as Europe.
On a trip to Ireland with my wonderful partner, a few years ago, I had a profoundly interesting experience relevant to my years in the desert.
I've been thinking a lot about the concept of autochthony....
But yeah - this is not the place to go further. I may send you a PM, if that is okay. Maybe we could co-author an essay?
Best Wishes - Dave :)
This is lovely. The ending is reminiscent of “Tomorrow, tomorrow and tomorrow”. Can you speak to how you paced it?
Hi Quentin. Thankyou!
I didn't expect this to necessarily "work" for readers outside of Australia - (or many inside Australia for that matter) - but it has rapidly become my most read and most "liked" poems so far.
You ask a good question.
Some of my work is quite carefully crafted - in the sense of having a structure and a very specific arrangement of thought. "Lajamanu Morning" is not one of those, or at least not in the same way.
The original blast of this just "erupted" out of me one evening, as I have written in another comment. I have written other, more controlled work, about my life in remote Aboriginal communities (see "Junga Yimi" and "Kngwarreye") but most of those pieces are narrative. The narrative poems do capture something very important (for me at least), but they fail to convey the incredibly explosive "Everything At Once!" feeling that I often had. That feeling is a chaos of images and sounds, scent and touch, mingled with a sense of so many different things all happening simultaneously - some good, some heartrending.
So I sat down to write with all that bubbling up to the surface. I knew the focus was opening time at the Lajamanu Store on cheque day (pay day), because that's the day when the chaos is maximal.
I wrote the first line just to open the scene and then - whoosh, everything started to come out. It really was a stream of consciousness flow of images and thoughts and recollections of the things which were driving people - preoccupying them - like the idiot policeman, the effort to keep babies alive, the urgent need to get the initiation ceremonies happening, mixed with the underlying issues of grinding material poverty and shocking public health which drove me mad at the time and still do. I just let it all go splat onto the page with no attempt at grammar right down to the final closing line.
After that - yes - I did a lot of editing. Some elements were just cut. The full "rant" was longer and too unwieldy. It didn't need everything. Everything was too much and still not enough. Better to cut back. I couldn't help the fact that anything I wrote would still be not enough, but by cutting it back I could ensure it was not "too much" - ie people might still actually read it.
Then I worked on the rhythm. All my poetry is meant to be spoken. I have to "hear it in my head."
Last of all, I looked at lines and enjambment, but at this point I have to admit that what you see here on Substack is not actually the poem as first published. The poem as published is a solid "Block" poem, justified on both left and right sides, to create a perfect rectangle. Even the final line ends at the exact right hand "edge."
To do that, I had to compromise with some of the enjambments, play with fonts (because they all have slightly different sizing and spacing) and I even had to enter a few "cheat" extra character spaces.
The effect was of a little "monolith of text." In a sense, I was trying to say: "It's not just a series of things. I had to write it one word and one image at a time but I want you to see the whole scene at once - like this dense BLOCK of text. So yeah - read it sequentially because you have to - but think of it as an intricate picture, hung on a wall, or a sculpted block of solid fact."
My wise partner/wife Meg laments that the version here does not achieve that. The reason is that Substack's text editing just isn't up to the task. The alternative was to screenshot or PDF the original and paste it in as an image - but when I tried that it lost size and definition and it was too hard to read. I may add it as an image anyway - at the end - just so people can see the original.
Best Wishes - Dave :)
Thank you for the thoughtful response! I believe that your explosion of feeling and place is beautifully conveyed. I have often (almost always - working on this) written poetry in this fashion - where there is some animating motive or sense of fleeting truth.
One like that I did is:
In terror I am blind
Flushed from my redoubt
Into terror unseen
Vision clouded instincts singing:
“Come! I dare you.”
Gleaning survival in confrontation
My soul cries and rears to demand the terror unleash
And claim its due
—-
Written in a brief vivid moment.
Hi Quentin. Yes! Powerful words….
When the words just come to you, it is a gift, is it not? It makes you understand why the ancient Greeks believed in the Muses…
Best Wishes - Dave
Thank you for the explanation of the background knowledge to the poem. Especially about the Warlpiri people. It helped me appreciate the poem. Since I am a foreigner, it would have been otherwise been lost.
Today, I happened to find your Substack by chance. But what a happy coincidence! I have read two of your past posts and will be reading more.
Hi Mai. You are welcome! I’m so glad you enjoyed it. I thought hard before publishing that piece - because it does require explanation. Consider Subscribing - my subscriptions are totally free, and you will be notified of all new posts.
Very best wishes Dave :)
Hi David! Or would you like to be called you Dave?
I could see that you put a lot of thought into it.
I subscribed soon after I commented. So I am now your new subscriber:)
Oh! Mai - thank you!
Apologies for the slow reply. I was going to bed late at night when I saw your comment and I tapped out a quick answer before turning off the light. I'm so happy to have you as a Subscriber! I write for my own joy (or grief sometimes), but I have come to Substack to communicate - after 22 years of "silence" in which I stopped all publication. (It's a long story. I've written a bit about that elsewhere on Substack).
I'm glad the background explanation helped. I have two other poems(so far) published here on Substack which relate to my years living and working in remote Aboriginal communities ("Junga Yimi" and "Kngwarreye.") I have just added important explanations to both of those too. I hope you get to read them.
So - welcome to "Dave's Substack Poetry Shack" and yes - please do call me Dave. My wonderful wife Meg does, and so do my friends.
Pleased to met you, Mai. Where are you from?
Best Wishes - Dave :)
Dave,
Oh no! There’s absolutely no need to apologize. I try to be off the Internet for parts of the day so my replies might be slow. But I also value personal connections. It’s the reason I chose Substack. Pleasure to meet you too:)
I am from Japan. I visited Australia on a school trip when I was 14 but was too young to understand the rich culture and some of its tragic history. It’s so nice to read personal stories and poetry now. I spent the afternoon enjoying your writing. I read the other two poems. So thoughtful to go back and add explanations. It’s much appreciated.
Thankyou, Mai. I'm glad you liked them - and you have been to Australia! I have not visited Japan, though one of our Sons was in your country a few years ago, and I have a friend who spends part of each year living somewhere near Kyoto.
And the sun and the sun… A heartbreaking and breathtaking poem, David. I was there seeing Australia in between and under every word, talking to my senses from your endless and relentless single sentence.
Hi Rotislava. Thankyou! That is such a lovely thing to say. I could write many thousands of words about this subject, in a factual sense, but those words would not convey the intense reality. Poetry is my attempt to communicate that, and it delights me if my writing brings you there….
It truly did! And please, call me Ronnie, as all my friends do😊
Thank you, friend Ronnie. I look forward to reading more of your own work, too. I joined Substack to start communicating through my writing - after 22 years of not publishing - but the unexpected delight for me is that I am meeting wonderful writers, who are also kind and gentle people. I am making new friends and reading things that help stimulate my own creativity.
I hope you are having a wonderful weekend!
Best Wishes - Dave :)
I tend to really dislike the endless run-on form (no punctuation/sentences), but I found this piece mesmerizing and immersive and quite stunning in painting a landscape and place and time. Always nice to be surprised in a good way. Thanks David!
I like how you're describing the "shock of the new" David, and the huge adaptive challenge we face in those moments.
Those pieces that just "erupt" out of us, fully formed, are rare and miraculous. They show us that our "mind" is a bigger operation than our linear intentional one. By way of example, here is a movie (aka dream) that my mind created while "I" was asleep. ⬇️
https://bairdbrightman.substack.com/p/the-meaning-of-life
Cheers! ✌️
Hi Baird. Yes - the shock of the new. We tend to then lose that initial impression, but it can be a great spur to creativity, opening us to new learning. I'm really keen to read your Post. Just a couple of things to do first. Best Wishes - Dave :)
Hi Baird. Thankyou for such a very kind comment. Yes - it's a form which can easily be overdone. My other desert poems - a couple of them now on Substack - are mostly narrative, because that suits the many journeys and events of my life in those years, but telling a sequential story - though true - does miss the explosive "nowness" and overwhelming physicality of just being there. When I first arrived at Lajamanu that physicality and chaos was bewildering. I was still in my own country - but I felt like I had travelled to another planet. Over time, as I listened and observed and developed friendships, I could start to learn the many many strands and layers of history, culture and circumstance of which that apparent chaos was composed. I didn't plan "Lajamanu Morning" - it just erupted out of me - but it's my attempt to snapshot the "Here! Now!" feeling we all get when plunged into a culture and place radically different to our own, while showing some of the structure and strands of which the apparent chaos is really built. That poem is my initial impression - informed by years of later knowledge.
David, this is beautiful and so heartbreaking. Thank you so much for both the prose and for your explainer about the First Nations and the Warlpiri in particular. You did indeed paint a vivid picture. I could see and hear and feel it all. You also gave me a new insight. I had never really registered the impact of the change of diet from fresh food with no fat and no toxic preservatives to one full of salt and fat and godknowswhat. Just one more atrocity to add to the list of what we have done to these many, original, successful, collaborative, joyful communities. These acts against the First Nations were just the first step of our slow but steady destruction of humanity.
Hi Lori - Thankyou also for writing those words. My abiding memories of life in the remote communities are of joy, mingled with grief. Poetry tends to be about emotion and evocation, but I passionately believe that it can also teach. The diet issue is a dire and deadly problem in the communities. Australia is a wealthy "developed" nation, but out there in the desert, and in the tropical monsoonal savannah of Arnhem Land, there is another country - or really a constellation of them, with a rich diversity of cultures and subtle differences of history and geography. There are many strong, articulate and passionate Aboriginal/First Nation leaders. They do not need me to speak for them, but I can bear witness to what I have seen and do what I can to encourage my nation to listen to those leaders, and to help them implement better long term solutions to complex problems.
Heartbreaking - yes. I cannot read Lajamanu Morning aloud because it unleashes a flood of raw emotion that I am genuinely unable to control. This was a problem when it won the Bruce Dawe Poetry Prize! The headline could have read "Blubbering Poet sobs on stage."
The thing I want to stress, however, is that the poem does not capture the joy, the laughter, the warmth and the strength of my Warlpiri friends, or the rich depths of their culture. One poem can only do so much. My related poems - "Junga Yimi" and "Kngwarreye" - both published here, may be worth a read, though I need to write a bit more explanation to both. Eventually, I will put up a couple of short stories too. Thankyou again, Lori.
Best Wishes - Dave :)
Fantastic poem, David. This one has inspired me
Hi Caroline
Thankyou! About to turn off my light and go chase poetry through my dreams - so your lovely comment is a wonderful thing to end my day.
Best Wishes - Dave:) 🌛
A truly great piece, Dave! It works so well, and so observant. Not only fascinating for this Canadian, but quite resonant of similar realities and history here. Thanks for putting it up!
Thankyou, Alan. I'm glad you like it. You may be interested in the two companion poems I have published on my Substack - "Junga Yimi" and "Kngwarreye."
Yes - I believe there are strong similarities with the situation in remote First Nation communities of your country. In the mid 90's I had the fascinating experience of sitting in on a video conference between people at a remote Central Desert community and people in a First Nation community somewhere in Canada's North (I cannot recall the name, at this distance in time).
A Central Desert community controlled Association was experimenting with Satellite technology, to assist in education and other programs, and somehow someone lined up a joint tech demo with the Canadian community.
Someone at the other end was introduced as a "Chief." There is simply no equivalent in Australian Aboriginal societies, which have a far more decentralised social structure, but at our end there was a group of around a dozen senior men and women.
There was a degree of reserve on both sides, but then a small child jumped up onto one of the women at our end, and someone on the Canadian side lifted up a baby.... Conversations started - in broken English (for the people at our end - and I think your end - English was a second or third language). After a while I think they felt they had a fair bit in common. I'm sure all Indigenous peoples subjected to a colonial invasion do.
Certainly, from what I have read, the health problems are similar, and from similar causes....
Best Wishes - Dave