Saturday

[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