Judith Wright: Collected
Poems 1942-1970Many
people around the
world will not have heard of Judith Wright. This is a shame, and the
reason why I have written this abstract.Wright died in 2000. I remember because I was teaching one of her poems to my class of ten year-olds at the time.Wright’s
work is like that. You can meditate on it, just enjoy the verse, or
even quite often share it with children, who feast on the vivid imagery.…And other birds were quiet in prayer or fear… There
is something saintly about her. Something in the poetry that allows the
reader to see that she held her subject in great reverence, whether it
was a bird, a flower, a child, or herself. She traverses the ballad, views the landscape from a position that sees her a part of it… South of my day’s circle, part of my blood’s country..She is a surfer, a lover, a mother in labour, a block of marble and Jack and his beanstalk(and his father, at last!)This
collection is a treasure. I will not part with mine, and readers may
find it hard to get a hold of. Perhaps, though, you will have it on
your top shelf like mine, and use it again and again and again.Look Wright’s work up on the web. Seek out titles like Woman to Man, Sculpture,
Black Cockatoos, and The Cicadas.Really,
the measure of any poet is the way in which they speak to our souls.
Wright speaks to mine, and it is hard for me now to have the black
Cockatoos scream overhead without seeking to experience what she must
have perceived, in order to write so. But is it only Australians who
will appreciate this work? Surely people’s
souls are not so different.Her work is like the conclusion of her poem, Sculpture; …And for their marriage, hammer and chisel rang, Strokes that, like notes, upon the marble sang. Look her up. Read her.
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