POETRY LAUNCH TALK: Honeyed Ramblings
Jill Forster
It is a privilege to be able to share Honeyed Ramblings with you. The book is full of joyful moments, laughs, uncertainties and challenges … a little of each of you is in fact entwined in the words.
Starting with my husband, George. He features, for example, in Owed to Autumn - this poem is certainly a deviant variant on Keats’ Ode to Autumn. It is based on our annual pilgrimage to Mt Wilson, New South Wales, to give reverence to the autumn leaves, worth their weight in 24 karat gold. The poem goes beyond the specific instance of smuggling leaves into the car to a more universal understanding where we stand in awe of nature rather than pilfer it. And yes I was his co-conspirator along with our friends from Western Australia. Nor am I saying that he is universal, indeed he’s one of a kind and I am happy to be his accomplice in life.
The joy and care that our daughters have given us is also throughout the poems such as After the Beach, On Reflection, Prayer to Harmony and Forest Handshake. They have unique talents, their own ways of seeing things and loveable personalities and talking of loveable, thanks also to their partners.
My parents too, through their individual frailty, showed me the fragility of life. You can see this in the poems Dust and Bye for example, but nature, whether the moon, the waves or the bees, remained their solace. Also special to me are my sister-in-law and my niece - glad you could be here tonight.
To Alex Stellini, the illustrator – we have had enjoyable French chats and she provided the wonderful bee sketches in the book- je te remercie pour les croquis et ta gentillesse.
I have enjoyed so many friendships through French tête-à-têtes and through many other much-appreciated coffee chats. In addition, in the weekly French scrabble, the to-and-fro of conversation is its own poem of friendship and I am grateful for that.
The “bons moments” continued in the dance classes that had us cavorting like fairies (a worry, I know), rustling with Rimbaud’s frou-frou and with le funk, as we say. Thank you for all that spirit - as my poem goes, ‘The dance is all there is’.
There are, of course, good and furiously bad fairies, as in my poem The Mind’s Faeries - wrestling with indecision and determination. In fact it was the famous French poet Baudelaire who spoke of fairy palaces… and Igor Stravinsky spoke of the sorcery of words, so I give thanks that all those famous creatives wrote down their words. In my poems Relentless Rhythms and Tinker, Tailor… Muse there is an urgent clattering of words which we stitch up into a new sense, transfiguring what was there before us.
Also be on the lookout, for the talk of sunsets – the inevitable but precious crépuscule which has tied into so many enjoyable conversations, as in the poem Cross-Cultural Citrus, in the section titled Meaning in the Minutiae, day- by- day and small things revealing truths. Perhaps all of us are seeking out the je ne sais quoi … as in the poem Travel Safely. This is a poem that the travel writer, Mike Gebicki, enjoyed - thanks for being here and for your great turn of phrase.
There are the wonderful tennis friends – Crown Imperial and the Lane Cove West champion ladies – or ladies champions – they particularly might like the Tune of Tuscany and also One Tern Deserves Another.
There are neighbours , friends of friends and partners of friends, and members of The Women's Club - I’m delighted to share an interest in poetry with you because, poetry reminds us , as John F. Kennedy said, of the “richness and diversity of existence” and so many of you have expressed an interest in poems that have been important to you.
Among you there are work colleagues who have come to mean so much more, and share also in my quest for further creativity in our classrooms and work places … thanks to you all for your friendship and resolve.
There are “discussion group” or book club friends, talk about ramblings, though all good of course - and this happily over the space of 30 years this year. Perhaps you would enjoy Mesmerising the Muse, a poem of storytelling.
There are the Friday lunching friends whose chatter about travel, which we can do ad infinitum - is full of joie de vivre which they bring by coming here. Poems such as Never-ending might have some appeal.
Talking of chatter, thanks to an Italian friend for her Italian chats. In the poem Cicada Chioruscuro she cast a benevolent eye across the words steering me to the use of chiacciericcio, as slightly more on the mark than chiachiere, in describing the cicadas’ incessant prattle. It’s great to talk words and the meaning of life- grazie mille per l’aiuto – ti sono enormemente grata. The cicadas in the poem sing their hearts out while they can, but unlike La Fontaine’s cicada, they dance with mariarchi rhythms and a chilli chimichurri salsa beat – and that of course is a nod to all the Spanish speaking among you.
As much of this poetry is about sharing moments and the rituals of our days, the poem Morning Walk is a short record of a time when my husband and I had already walked, swum, showered, dressed, slicked back the hair and were ready for the reward of coffee when we were glad to bump into long- time friends on a later shift heading up yet another hill with many steps ahead on the way to Palm Beach - a small instance but significant in our day by day.
To Jamie Grant, editor, poet and literary judge – thank you for your interest in my poetry and for generously giving your time– and thanks for telling me I was doing myself a disservice by calling them Ramblings!
To the publishers at Origin Imprint especially Philip Walker who was enthusiastic about publishing and determined in his efforts, I am very appreciative. When we discovered one line in a poem that was too long for the page layout he urged me not to give up my art for the sake of form – I liked that... And I think he must have been counting bees in his sleep - his wife, to whom I also give my thanks - must have been hearing a buzz in his snoring. Thanks also to Philip Mortlock and to Amber Quin with her patient and careful organization and to the whole team, including Nick Young & Julia Vitiello.
I’d like to take the time to recognise also those across the globe who have their souls laid bare in their plights - homelessness, seeking refuge, illness, grief, old age... Some of that rawness and distress is imbued in the words of such poems as Meaning Maker, Cultivated Neglect and Infinitely Normal - where the world’s promise to the innocent was broken. But the book overall upholds what is within us and how we make sense of conflict and tensions, as in the poems Direction and The Call and Beckon Beyond. People may seek grace in the human embrace or in the embrace of nature where actually there is no judgment at all. The ocean looms large in my book and in my ramblings, in the lull between the waves as in Languor or in the White Noise of sea-foam, as one poem goes – there we listen for the silence and the solitude and the sense.
I’ve heard said that the role of a poet is to stop the people from going to sleep....so I’ll be brief but just finally express my gratitude to old school friends and old friends generally – I mean the span of years rather than any sense of decrepitude. We’ve drawn on the common thread of time moving on and of being reborn after each unraveling dilemma which you’ll see in poems such as Thread, Where’s the Weft? And Webbed Prayer.
I am very glad that you cared enough to be here and that I can share with you through these poems some imagination and thoughts that might strike a chord with you. Ultimately, as T.S. Eliot said, “What a poem means is as much about what it means to others as to the author”. I wish you all wonderful ramblings of your own - hopefully mostly honeyed - and here’s an extract from a poem called Santé - it’s to all of you:
Champagne chimera over the sea,
Bubble-filled flute,
Here's to life's revelry…
…Languorous laughing,
Beyond time’s reverie.
Santé … Salute… Salud
Starting with my husband, George. He features, for example, in Owed to Autumn - this poem is certainly a deviant variant on Keats’ Ode to Autumn. It is based on our annual pilgrimage to Mt Wilson, New South Wales, to give reverence to the autumn leaves, worth their weight in 24 karat gold. The poem goes beyond the specific instance of smuggling leaves into the car to a more universal understanding where we stand in awe of nature rather than pilfer it. And yes I was his co-conspirator along with our friends from Western Australia. Nor am I saying that he is universal, indeed he’s one of a kind and I am happy to be his accomplice in life.
The joy and care that our daughters have given us is also throughout the poems such as After the Beach, On Reflection, Prayer to Harmony and Forest Handshake. They have unique talents, their own ways of seeing things and loveable personalities and talking of loveable, thanks also to their partners.
My parents too, through their individual frailty, showed me the fragility of life. You can see this in the poems Dust and Bye for example, but nature, whether the moon, the waves or the bees, remained their solace. Also special to me are my sister-in-law and my niece - glad you could be here tonight.
To Alex Stellini, the illustrator – we have had enjoyable French chats and she provided the wonderful bee sketches in the book- je te remercie pour les croquis et ta gentillesse.
I have enjoyed so many friendships through French tête-à-têtes and through many other much-appreciated coffee chats. In addition, in the weekly French scrabble, the to-and-fro of conversation is its own poem of friendship and I am grateful for that.
The “bons moments” continued in the dance classes that had us cavorting like fairies (a worry, I know), rustling with Rimbaud’s frou-frou and with le funk, as we say. Thank you for all that spirit - as my poem goes, ‘The dance is all there is’.
There are, of course, good and furiously bad fairies, as in my poem The Mind’s Faeries - wrestling with indecision and determination. In fact it was the famous French poet Baudelaire who spoke of fairy palaces… and Igor Stravinsky spoke of the sorcery of words, so I give thanks that all those famous creatives wrote down their words. In my poems Relentless Rhythms and Tinker, Tailor… Muse there is an urgent clattering of words which we stitch up into a new sense, transfiguring what was there before us.
Also be on the lookout, for the talk of sunsets – the inevitable but precious crépuscule which has tied into so many enjoyable conversations, as in the poem Cross-Cultural Citrus, in the section titled Meaning in the Minutiae, day- by- day and small things revealing truths. Perhaps all of us are seeking out the je ne sais quoi … as in the poem Travel Safely. This is a poem that the travel writer, Mike Gebicki, enjoyed - thanks for being here and for your great turn of phrase.
There are the wonderful tennis friends – Crown Imperial and the Lane Cove West champion ladies – or ladies champions – they particularly might like the Tune of Tuscany and also One Tern Deserves Another.
There are neighbours , friends of friends and partners of friends, and members of The Women's Club - I’m delighted to share an interest in poetry with you because, poetry reminds us , as John F. Kennedy said, of the “richness and diversity of existence” and so many of you have expressed an interest in poems that have been important to you.
Among you there are work colleagues who have come to mean so much more, and share also in my quest for further creativity in our classrooms and work places … thanks to you all for your friendship and resolve.
There are “discussion group” or book club friends, talk about ramblings, though all good of course - and this happily over the space of 30 years this year. Perhaps you would enjoy Mesmerising the Muse, a poem of storytelling.
There are the Friday lunching friends whose chatter about travel, which we can do ad infinitum - is full of joie de vivre which they bring by coming here. Poems such as Never-ending might have some appeal.
Talking of chatter, thanks to an Italian friend for her Italian chats. In the poem Cicada Chioruscuro she cast a benevolent eye across the words steering me to the use of chiacciericcio, as slightly more on the mark than chiachiere, in describing the cicadas’ incessant prattle. It’s great to talk words and the meaning of life- grazie mille per l’aiuto – ti sono enormemente grata. The cicadas in the poem sing their hearts out while they can, but unlike La Fontaine’s cicada, they dance with mariarchi rhythms and a chilli chimichurri salsa beat – and that of course is a nod to all the Spanish speaking among you.
As much of this poetry is about sharing moments and the rituals of our days, the poem Morning Walk is a short record of a time when my husband and I had already walked, swum, showered, dressed, slicked back the hair and were ready for the reward of coffee when we were glad to bump into long- time friends on a later shift heading up yet another hill with many steps ahead on the way to Palm Beach - a small instance but significant in our day by day.
To Jamie Grant, editor, poet and literary judge – thank you for your interest in my poetry and for generously giving your time– and thanks for telling me I was doing myself a disservice by calling them Ramblings!
To the publishers at Origin Imprint especially Philip Walker who was enthusiastic about publishing and determined in his efforts, I am very appreciative. When we discovered one line in a poem that was too long for the page layout he urged me not to give up my art for the sake of form – I liked that... And I think he must have been counting bees in his sleep - his wife, to whom I also give my thanks - must have been hearing a buzz in his snoring. Thanks also to Philip Mortlock and to Amber Quin with her patient and careful organization and to the whole team, including Nick Young & Julia Vitiello.
I’d like to take the time to recognise also those across the globe who have their souls laid bare in their plights - homelessness, seeking refuge, illness, grief, old age... Some of that rawness and distress is imbued in the words of such poems as Meaning Maker, Cultivated Neglect and Infinitely Normal - where the world’s promise to the innocent was broken. But the book overall upholds what is within us and how we make sense of conflict and tensions, as in the poems Direction and The Call and Beckon Beyond. People may seek grace in the human embrace or in the embrace of nature where actually there is no judgment at all. The ocean looms large in my book and in my ramblings, in the lull between the waves as in Languor or in the White Noise of sea-foam, as one poem goes – there we listen for the silence and the solitude and the sense.
I’ve heard said that the role of a poet is to stop the people from going to sleep....so I’ll be brief but just finally express my gratitude to old school friends and old friends generally – I mean the span of years rather than any sense of decrepitude. We’ve drawn on the common thread of time moving on and of being reborn after each unraveling dilemma which you’ll see in poems such as Thread, Where’s the Weft? And Webbed Prayer.
I am very glad that you cared enough to be here and that I can share with you through these poems some imagination and thoughts that might strike a chord with you. Ultimately, as T.S. Eliot said, “What a poem means is as much about what it means to others as to the author”. I wish you all wonderful ramblings of your own - hopefully mostly honeyed - and here’s an extract from a poem called Santé - it’s to all of you:
Champagne chimera over the sea,
Bubble-filled flute,
Here's to life's revelry…
…Languorous laughing,
Beyond time’s reverie.
Santé … Salute… Salud