Ali Cobby Eckermann, Inside My Mother (Giramondo 2015)
If you haven’t read anything by Ali Cobby Eckermann, you’re not keeping up. In the last five years or so, in three books of poetry, two verse novels and a memoir, she has made a huge contribution to our general understanding of what Australia is. She was taken from her Aboriginal family when she was a small child, and brought up by a white, German heritage family. Her writing is largely animated by the charge from her reunion as an adult with her mother and with her Yankunytjatjara and Kokatha relatives and heritage.
The memoir, Too Afraid to Cry, tells her story and is on my reading list. The poetry in Inside My Mother touches on it in many ways – on her relationship with her mother, and the pain of her death soon after renewing contact; and also on her rediscovery of Aboriginal culture, as in the first poem in the book:
Bird Song our birds fly –––––on elongated wings ––––––––––they fly forever –––––––––––––––they are our Spirit –––––––––––––––our bird song ––––––––––is so ancient –––––we gifted it to the church
This kind of assertion of the power of Aboriginal culture is hard to pull off without coming across as defensive or preachy, but Cobby Eckermann manages it here, and throughout the book, with grace and a faint satirical edge.
The poetry here is wonderfully varied: love lyrics, fables, autobiographical narrative, polemic, surrealism and some silly humour.
As I’ve been ruminating about this book over the last couple of weeks, my mind keeps returning to ‘Hindmarsh Island’, not because it stands out as excellent, but because it cries out to be read alongside Les Murray’s ‘Inspecting the Rivermouth’ in his most recent book, Waiting for the Past.
Les Murray’s fine poem can be read online here. It celebrates the renewal of the mouth of the Murray River, in particular the prosperity and vitality that has come to Hindmarsh Island thanks to the bridge that has recently joined it to the mainland. It has Murray’s characteristic joy in linguistic display, the wonderful image of the bridge throwing houses onto the island, and the joyful underlying pun on ‘Murray mouth’.
Then along comes Ali Cobby Eckermann’s ‘Hindmarsh Island’:
Cars drive over the babies!
And we realise that for all his emphasis on the importance of the past, Les Murray as a non-Indigenous poet can glide over some elements of our history. The Signal Point café is part of the thriving scene celebrated in ‘Inspecting the Rivermouth’, but from an Aboriginal perspective, we don’t have the luxury of forgetting that the bridge was built over the prolonged protests of a group of women who asserted that it meant the destruction of a significant cultural site. It’s possible that Cobby Eckermann had read the Murray poem (which was first published in Quadrant in September 2010), but I doubt if it’s a deliberate response: this is just a different take on the same phenomenon, one that demonstrates how important Aboriginal voices are if our national conversation is to have integrity.
Ali Cobby Eckermann’s previous books of poetry are Kami (a Vagabond Press Rare Objects chapbook, 2010) and little bit long time (Australian Poetry Centre’s New Poets Series, also 2010) and love dreaming and other poems (Vagabond 2012). Her two verse novels are His Father’s Eyes (OUP 2011) and Ruby Moonlight (Magabala Books 2012). Her memoir, Too Afraid to Cry, was published by Ilura Press in 2013.
Inside My Mother is the eleventh book I’ve read for the 2015 Australian Women Writers Challenge.
Oh no, I’m not keeping up! Actually I did read a little something by her last week, but just one short piece. She’s on my radar but I haven’t got to her properly yet. “It’s a troubled bridge over water”. Clever. And wonderful point of yours about needing to hear indigenous voices to give our cultural/national conversations integrity.
Ah the treadmill of keeping up, Sue! I figured out that if I live another 40 years (which would take me to 108), and read 200 books a year (which I know is impossibly optimistic), that means I only get to read another 8000 books before I shuffle off. There are probably that many interesting new books published every year!
Haha, Jonathan. I did those calculations several years ago and I WAS NOT IMPRESSED with the results. Although I’m a few years younger than you are, I don’t read anywhere near 200 books a year so my situation is dire!
200 is bizarrely optimistic for me too, Sue. We might as well just throw in the towel at once.
Might as well … hmmm, except, what do you suggest we do instead?!
I’ve got no answer to that. I did just tell my sons that if I’m rendered incapable of speech and movement, they’re not to cut off the life support until they’ve read me the whole of War and Peace. One of them immediately thought of talking books as a labour saving device
LikeLiked by 1 person
Hahaha … he’s not stupid. But then with a father like you he wouldn’t be.
Thanks Jonathan, I’ll be researching those books now, what a poem.
Thanks Melissa. And congratulations on your recent ekphrastic success!
LikeLiked by 1 person
Pingback: My AWW Year | Me fail? I fly!
Pingback: NSW Premier’s Literary Awards 2016 Shortlist | Me fail? I fly!