Saturday

[Leanne]

Edit 2 29/1/17

This white page tells black stories
in neat paragraphs; appendices 
to place-name meanings, monument
inscriptions, paintings, bones.

The circle of stones
is scattered with sheep dung
leading to the sheds where
shears became blades
for the throats of children.

At Morriset's table,
grace was the screams 
of Saturday's people: 

Wiradjuri we, born free
to die as you please. You
spread your disease, you rape
and you maim, you plunder 
and poison and pass us the blame.

Windradyne raised his spears and his men
took war to the new white homes, and sang:
you couldn't find us, you who are blind,
you killed our women and children instead.
You made a sport of Wiradjuri murder,
baited our hungry, slaughtered our young,
buried it all in a mountain of lies.

Cudgegong cries
as Wiradjuri die
and Windradyne yields
so the ploughing of fields 
can continue 'til all 
the corpses have gone


[/quote]

 
Edit 1 29/1/17

Raiders, invaders, you ran your sheep 
and cattle across our sacred land,
built sheds upon our bora grounds
and kept us from our past. 

Wiradjuri we, born free
to die as you please. You
spread your disease, you rape
and you maim, you plunder 
and poison and pass us the blame.

Windradyne raised his spears and his men
took war into your new white homes;
you couldn't find us, you who are blind,
you killed our women and children instead.
You made a sport of Wiradjuri murder,
baited our hungry, slaughtered our young,
buried it all in a mountain of lies.

Cudgegong cries
as Wiradjuri die
and Windradyne yields
so the ploughing of fields 
can continue 'til all 
the corpses have gone

Original version (from NaPM 2016)

Raiders, invaders, you ran your sheep 
and cattle across our sacred land,
built sheds upon our bora grounds
and kept us from our past. 

Wiradjuri we, born free
to die as you please. You
spread your disease, you rape
and you maim, you plunder 
and poison and pass us the blame.

Windradyne raised his spears and his men
took war into your new white homes;
you couldn't find us, you who are blind,
you killed our women and children instead.
You made a sport of Wiradjuri murder,
baited our hungry, slaughtered our young,
buried it all in a mountain of lies.

Cudgegong cries
as Wiradjuri die
and Windradyne yields
so the ploughing of fields 
may continue 'til all 
the corpses have gone

and we are all corpses
in the end

*For background: The Bathurst Massacres

[Donald Q.]

Raiders, invaders, you ran your sheep   This internal rhyme sets out on the wrong foot for me. The sentiment is serious but that raiders/invaders is a bit too bouncy.
and cattle across our sacred land,
built sheds upon our bora grounds
and kept us from our past.    This whole first stanza seems a bit tame, like are just explaining, setting the scene for the detail later. I think you need more emotional intensity from the start. raiders and invaders, cattle and sheep, shed building; it all feels a little mundane and abstract, even though it is neither of these things. Cut to the meat of the imagery and emotion; these are grounds so sacred that even the Aboriginal women and children are not permitted there, these are places of ritual, pain, heritage. All you give us here is that the invaders 'kept us from our past'. Mine the feelings and specifics that are implicit and bring them to the surface.

Wiradjuri we, born free  Again here, I'm not sure you need the internal rhyme. Also I was tripping over trying to say the line because of the word order I think. 
to die as you please. You
spread your disease, you rape
and you maim, you plunder 
and poison and pass us the blame. This is a list of things that happened. They are all terrible things, but it's too abstract as is. 

Windradyne raised his spears and his men Having Windradyne described here gives a good energy, he is a figurehead for poem. 
took war into your new white homes; 'new white homes' is good
you couldn't find us, you who are blind,
you killed our women and children instead.
You made a sport of Wiradjuri murder,
baited our hungry, slaughtered our young,
buried it all in a mountain of lies. This is the best stanza so far because it begins to capture the emotion of the tribesmen,

Cudgegong cries I think metaphors about the river and the land work well in this context
as Wiradjuri die
and Windradyne yields
so the ploughing of fields 
may continue 'til all 
the corpses have gone The new rhythm and rhyme here is a turn that happens too suddenly. The short lines and the rhyming is perhaps a little too neat for the subject? That being said it does somehow capture the surrender by Windradyne. Not sure how I feel about it as a whole stanza... I think it depends on the overall flow of the piece once you have edited it. It seems an ignoble conclusion, although perhaps that is an echo of the sad truth. 

and we are all corpses
in the end    This is not needed, these two lines are trite and undermine the struggle you are describing. 


*For background: The Bathurst Massacres

Overall I think this is an interesting poem; you've taken on a real task in describing the brutality of these historic struggles. I think the problem with this current edit is that the first half is a bit too much of a listing of the events, whilst the the final stanzas neatens the ending too much. Perhaps that's why the middle stanza is the best; as I've said earlier I think you can find more emotion and a greater specificity in the storytelling which will take the next version to another level. 
        I want to know about the power dynamics of the natives and the invaders, the struggles of tradition and a need to survive, the turn between agriculture and warfare, all that interesting stuff. I think the most chilling line in the article you have linked is "Morriset held a victory dinner in the barracks. The following day they set out again and continued the killing for two more months." Find the details which made you want to write about this conflict and make them the centre of your redrafts. I look forward to reading more. 

[Leanne]

Thanks Donald. The end lines are gone instantly, I agree.

To clarify: what you're asking for is a freeverse poem, because rhyme is not serious enough?

[Donald Q.]

Thanks Donald.  The end lines are gone instantly, I agree.  

To clarify: what you're asking for is a freeverse poem, because rhyme is not serious enough?

No I'm not saying chuck the rhymes, sorry if I seemed sniffy about them. I'm just not sure about their placement, structurally.

[Leanne]

Fair call. I'll look at them closely.

I occasionally (more than occasionally) run across people who have a prejudice against rhyme and structure altogether, and basically demand a different poem. I call them many names -- under my breath of course, because this isn't the place to call out morons

I was working on assonance more than true rhyme and I'm happy to run with that so long as it keeps the meter intact. The chant is important to me as I really want to keep the feeling of an oral narration. Not far from where I grew up there is a suburb called Windradyne, and barely anyone knows why. There is a disconnect between black and white history, and I'm not Indigenous so I don't feel I have the right to appropriate their feelings in this matter. It's a difficult thing for me to write, as I know for sure that my ancestors had Aboriginal blood on their hands: Wiradjuri, Eora, Yuin and Ngarigo. Perhaps I don't, in the end, have the right to try.

[Donald Q.]

I occasionally (more than occasionally) run across people who have a prejudice against rhyme and structure altogether, and basically demand a different poem.  I call them many names -- under my breath of course, because this isn't the place to call out morons

Sometimes restraint is a must when showing poetry to vocal idiots 

I was working on assonance more than true rhyme and I'm happy to run with that so long as it keeps the meter intact.  The chant is important to me as I really want to keep the feeling of an oral narration.  Not far from where I grew up there is a suburb called Windradyne, and barely anyone knows why.  There is a disconnect between black and white history, and I'm not Indigenous so I don't feel I have the right to appropriate their feelings in this matter.  It's a difficult thing for me to write, as I know for sure that my ancestors had Aboriginal blood on their hands: Wiradjuri, Eora, Yuin and Ngarigo.  Perhaps I don't, in the end, have the right to try.

Yeah, I 100 percent agree that you should draw on the idea of oral narration, it suits well. You have indeed taken on a very difficult topic to write about, good for you. As you say, it makes it difficult to position yourself as an author; there are always people who cry appropriation when someone writes about different cultures. To my mind you always have the right to try and you clearly respect the topic. Treading that middle group between representing the historical fact and bringing your own writerly perspective is super hard.

[Leanne]

Trying a slightly different tack.

[Achebe]

Reads better.
I think S4 is overdoing it, particularly the blame / maim rhyme, which doesn't help the seriousness of the theme.
I think there are too many 'yous' in S5 still.
I actually liked the original moral-of-the-story ending, but this one reads well too.

The personal pronouns make it sound too self conscious in the end. That, and the knowledge that what I'm reading is like Rolf Mengele's son ghost writing Anne Frank's autobiography.
Perhaps if you rewrote it in the voice of your ancestors who hunted the Wiradjuri it might ring more authentic, if make for a harder read.

[Leanne]

No, we know their story.  It's the one we're always sold as heroic history.  I might actually cut S5 altogether, or give myself up for execution.

[Keith]

The edit has really delivered and clarified the content with a much stronger opening and close, the internal sonics ring out as before and the attention to meter makes it a delight to read out loud. The historical content keeps it grounded, on my first read when I saw the title I though this was about ghosts in black saturday bushfires, calling for the past to be remembered and the new opening for me nods towards this. Clearly Saturday is a warrior and a leader, I think you need S5 to bring home the new ending. The poem is a delight to read. Some comment below hopefully appropriate to a 2nd edit.  



Edit 2 29/1/17

This white page tells black stories A great opening can be read on quite a few levels
in neat paragraphs; appendices
to place name meanings, monument
inscriptions, paintings, bones. bones really sets the tone here and moves the reader into S2 with an element of foreboding

The circle of stones
is scattered with sheep dung
leading to the sheds where
shears became blades
for the throats of children. this is a really powerful stanza, I was a visitor walking around old ruins sensing the history trapped inside the building

At Morriset's table,
grace was the screams
of Saturday's people: the void between white and black in such simple three lines, just super.

Wiradjuri we, born free
to die as you please. You
spread your disease, you rape
and you maim, you plunder
and poison and pass us the blame.

Windradyne raised his spears and his men
took war to the new white homes, and sang:
you couldn't find us, you who are blind,
you killed our women and children instead.
You made a sport of Wiradjuri murder,
baited our hungry, slaughtered our young,
buried it all in a mountain of lies.

In the preceding two stanzas there is a graphical message that should probably merge into one that works without losing or changing the end stanza but you know best it depends how important the songs are to the piece.

Cudgegong cries
as Wiradjuri die
and Windradyne yields
so the ploughing of fields
can continue 'til all
the corpses have gone super ending nothing to change

[Leanne]

Many thanks, Keith. I think I'm going to leave this for a while so I can decide whether or not I should proceed with it, but I very much appreciate your words.

[Donald Q.]

Edit 2 29/1/17

This white page tells black stories
in neat paragraphs; appendices 
to place name meanings, monument
inscriptions, paintings, bones.    Really like this stanza, great meter and sonics. I like how the collected nature of this introduction calmly suggests how much more there is to know about the history. The only tiny thing is  'appendices to place name meanings' ; I was unsure if this means 'appendices that allow you to place the meaning of a name' or 'appendices which describe the meaning of the names of certain places' if that makes sense. That is really only a tiny nitpick because I really love this stanza!

The circle of stones
is scattered with sheep dung  sheep dung v.good
leading to the sheds where
shears became blades
for the throats of children. This is definitely the right track; that ramping up, the horrible transformation of an agricultural peace into something very dark and violent. I think there is perhaps a word too many in the last couple of lines though? 'leading to sheds where shears became blades for the throats of children', the flow isn't quite right, but it is near. I think maybe it's the 'shears became blades' , blades is perhaps redundant. I think a more direct movement from shears to children could highlight the perverseness of the violence effectively.

At Morriset's table,  Obviously you know I wanted you to put this in :p  effective stuff.
grace was the screams 
of Saturday's people: using this as a frame for the chant is a clever segue 

Wiradjuri we, born free
to die as you please. You
spread your disease, you rape
and you maim, you plunder 
and poison and pass us the blame.

Windradyne raised his spears and his men   With the new structure of the poem this stanza seems a tad lost. Is it a continuation of the chant? I think it is perhaps because this raising of spears is the first piece of explicit action in the poem that it feels different. Perhaps this stanza should become the third stanza? Not sure. 
you couldn't find us, you who are blind,
you killed our women and children instead.
You made a sport of Wiradjuri murder,
baited our hungry, slaughtered our young,
buried it all in a mountain of lies.

Cudgegong cries
as Wiradjuri die
and Windradyne yields
so the ploughing of fields 
can continue 'til all 
the corpses have gone  The feeling of surrender in this ending is perfect. 




*For background: The Bathurst Massacres

[Leanne]

Thanks again, Donald. I'll fix the place name thing with a hyphen just quickly, then come back to S5 with more consideration once it's settled a bit.