Irresistable

I just purchased this gorgeous print from etsy. I'm not sure if I've previously confessed my love affair with that place of homemade heaven, but it's my weakness.

When this image was featured on one of my favourite craft blogs (yes, I really am that sad) it immediately recalled my second-favourite-in-the-world-ever poem by Gwen Harwood on the nature of marriage and female identity. I think it is something in the turn of the girl's face, the direct stare of the lion. Regardless, it jolted me back to a sudden recollection of Harwood's work. Even when I first read her work when I was 16 the poem gave me chills.

I was never a poetry buff, really. I think it comes from being such an impatient reader. I'm rarely able to take the time to let a poem wash over me, but Harwood's work spoke to me so directly from the moment I picked it up. Years later, when I suffered a miscarriage, I went back to a poem she had written about her own miscarriage. It was the only thing that seemed to come close to reflecting the questions and the grief I had about this strange loss; the loss of possibilities, of paths I would never take or a person I would never meet.

Anyway, here is the poem that the artwork reminded me of (which gave me the excuse to purchase it straight away).

The Lion's Bride

I loved her softness, her warm human smell,
her dark mane flowing loose. Sometimes, stirred by
rank longing, laid my muzzle on her thigh.
Her father, faithful keeper, fed me well,
but she came daily with my special bowl
barefoot into my cage, and set it down:
our love feast. We became the talk of town,
brute king and tender woman, soul to soul.

Until today: an icy spectre sheathed
in silk, minced to my side on pointed feet.
I ripped the scented veil from its unreal
head and engorged the painted lips that breathed
our secret names. A ghost has bones, and meat!
Come soon, my love, my bride, and share this meal.

This, and many of her other poems, evoke such powerful senses of the loss, betrayal, joy and compromise it takes to be a wife and mother. She was so courageous in laying open her struggles to reconcile the creative musician and poet with doting mother and supportive wife (her husband was also an intellectual of some repute and much of her life was spent supporting his career), particularly in the 1950s. I'm not sure how, when I didn't really understand feminist theory as a construct, but I really felt that this was a struggle which all women must have to deal with. Even at 16, it seemed obvious to me that to be the kind of wife I saw reflected all around me in many families I knew, including my own, must take enormous compromise of your own desires. I dare anyone to read her poem Suburban Sonnet and stay starry-eyed about the prospect of motherhood. Strange though, that she never comes across as bitter. Mostly weary, happy to admit the pleasure of simple life but never forgetting her creative urges as they pull, reminding her about the 'what ifs'.

Over ten years later, the poem still gives me the same sense of foreboding as it did back then. I don't read it particularly differently, but I think I understand it in a wider feminist context, and I can certainly appreciate the knife-edge idea of how quickly marriage can eat you, spit you out, change your boundaries... turn on you. How a wooing can lead to a devouring of your previous self. How two people could become unrecognisable to each other once they wear the trappings of tradition. It is so very hard to hold on to yourself some days.

Melbourne International Comedy Festival

MICF is underway, and this is the first time in seven years I'm not working on the festival in some way. Since I was 20 I've produced shows, booked two seasons at Kitten Club, reviewed for numerous publications and run my own review publication.

It feels so damn weird not to be in at Melbourne Town Hall. I didn't think I was going to be in Melbourne for the festival, and that would have been fine. But being here and knowing it's all happening while trying to stay away is H.A.R.D.

I already saw Kitson in Sydney, or I think I would have given in and been in there tonight. I'm surprised at how strong the instinct is to go find out what's happening. I've been off the plane less than 24 hours and it's already dominating my thoughts.

That said, I've started doing research and preparation for our next possible publishing venture... but I want to wait until I know my life isn't about to go mental again before I start actually letting people know about that and building up my hopes.

So anyway, if you're interested in Comedy Festival, you should check out the delightful Richard Watts blog for short reviews that you can trust. He is the Smart Arts presenter on Triple R and the editor of MCV. And many other things. But most importantly he's very hard to impress, but he's also fair about the strengths and weaknesses of a show. Other than that, I recommend staying away from Beat and InPress (unless you're interested in only seeing coverage that people have paid for). And whatever The Age reviewers say about local comics, take away 25% of the negative. I honestly believe they are way, way too harsh.

Making public what once was private

Hiya,

After my posts (below) about marriage etc, I went back to a blog I had made private quite some time ago. It was a blog about my experiences trying to make it through Getting Married without completely losing my mind and turning into a zombie-girl-wedding-drone.

As discussed in this post over on that blog, after I thought about it I didn't want it to be private anymore. I'm happy to put those experiences out there as some of the struggles I've personally gone through in reconciling my individual experiences against those of other people's I'm less comfortable with.

So here you go - that's the space I think I'll be using to discuss anything more related to my personal experiences of feminism/gender/tradition as it relates to my personal life. If you're so interested, you can head over there.

I have also pointed out that I'm not sure it should really be separate from this blog (if I've decided to try not to keep that part of my life so 'private' anymore, but integrate it), but let's just deal with that as time progresses, shall we...

Week Two...

One week done, the next underway. So far I'm doing so much better than expected. I'm blergh in the mornings, but I've always been like that, and I'm tired at night... but so I should be - the shortest day I've worked was nine and a half hours. It's all the regular trappings of daily work. No exhaustion and no brain fog. That feels like such a triumph at this point. Even if I collapse tomorrow, I'll still be damn happy with how this has unfolded.

At last, a small victory to claim. That may seem melodramatic, but as anyone who has suffered from Chronic Fatigue Syndrome will tell you, after you've spent such long periods of time knowing what you're capable of and being unable to fulfill that, it's a frustrating process to wait for the tide to start turning. I'm not counting my chickens that this is somehow going to restore my life back the way it was, but it's such a huge step in a positive direction. It's been a long time since I felt like I was moving forward, instead of stuck in the same position as always.

Meanwhile, is it just me, or did I forget how many men assume they can call you 'love' and 'darl' on the phone? I know my name can be hard to catch, but I'll settle for buddy, okay fuckwad?

Feminist blogging

I've been making my way through lots of feminist blogs lately, and so many of them are warming my shackles. I'm not sure what my shackles are, or why they need to be warmed, or even if I've spelt them correctly... but boy are they warm.

I've been slowly making my way through one which is, put simply, delightful. Blue Milk is a feminist, a mother, a comedian (not really, I just mean she makes me laugh), a partner, a social commentator and many other things, asI am discovering. It's such a great experience to read someone's blog from the start, knowing that there are pages and pages of their life to discover.

Harking back to some of my recent posts on marriage, this old post of hers includes some great comments from her readers where feminists share their thoughts on the good old surname question. Anyone who has/is/will face this as a question might find it as interesting as I did to see how people came to their decisions.

She also manages to indulge my love for stories from feminist parents, single mothers and gay parents. I'm sure this makes me seem like I'm aiming for some kind of political correctness rainbow award, but these non-traditional role models are really encouraging for me. I love that these women (and men) are creating their own rules, making their families work outside the box. It's what I want to do in my own life, and they balance out all the mainstream bullshit and fairytales we are fed about women, family and gender roles. She's honest about her good times and bad times, which I love.

This post made me giggle out loud (at work) and made people look at me like I was crazy. And it wasn't exactly easy to explain. I guess it just tickled my fancy as being just absurd enough to make up for the banality that mothering often seems (from the outside). As someone points out, you do have to remember sometimes that you're dealing with a child's mind.

On the other hand, a single sentance from this post made me shiver.

"Parenthood can feel like flirting with your own disintegration"

Is it just me, or is that equal parts beautiful and terrifying?

I don't doubt it's truth, which is why even though I look forward to being a mother I simulataneously wonder if I'll make it out alive... or resembling the woman I was going in. This blog really balances my hope and my fears. Which I think is positive.

Parliament

For this week and next week I'm working at Parliament House. I've got my finger in the pie helping out as Whips Clerk for the Australian Greens Party this week, which appeals so dearly to the geek in me. It's fascinating work, watching things come and go through the Senate, how bills/amendments and other business are shuffled around and how the dog-and-pony show in the houses actually runs from behind the scenes.

It's great to be in a functioning workplace again, even better when you really like what you're doing and the people are so easy to work with. Go Australian Greens! It's been a great step in assessing how likely a return to more permanent work could be. Two days in and I'm coping really well. Life and living are possible with Chronic Fatigue Syndrome... who knew? It's actually a lot easier than trying to freelance etc because here there are systems, procedures and a set load of work to get through. I suppose it's that the parameters are clearer. Any time I want to write I have to put together a pitch, chase editors, get a deadline, work to deadline, revise, edit, revise, edit... it doesn't seem to end, and I'm never on top of it. Lets see how I feel at the end of next week after two weeks of 9-10 hour work days.