As I sit typing this, if I look up from my screen my focus shifts to a print of a little red-haired girl standing in a beam of light, looking up in wonder at a glowing Red Tree in her bedroom.
Yes.
For those of you who know the book, it is the final image from Shaun Tan’s masterpiece The Red Tree. I have bought and given away that book more often than I can remember. I think it is the most precious and extraordinary story I know. And it is a story told without words. It is all Mr Tan’s incredible images – and heart.
This is my image, bought at one of those times in my life when I was earning nothing and had no prospects, but knew immediately that Shaun Tan’s work would give me hope.
The ghost in the image is the photographer.
Sorry.
It was either me or the flash!
When I went to record my interview with John Safran and Father Bob, I was already nervous. Mates had told me that I finally had cred because I was going on their show. That I had to lift my game to talk to them. That John was cooler than Melbourne in autumn and Father Bob was the man. I didn’t need to be told, but the stakes got lifted anyway!
Then I discovered Shaun Tan was also a guest.
I don’t think I can explain to you exactly how much it meant to me that I might finally be able to tell him what his book has given me over the years, or how it has become my talisman against darkness, or that I have given it to children and grown-ups and for happiness and sadness and grief and joy.
I was excited.
And there he was.
Humble, smiling, surprised and kind. He not only signed the book to me, but he did me my own little drawing in the front of it. See?
I could never have imagined I would get to meet him.
I will always keep this copy of the book.
And I will always be grateful to the mysterious ways of the camino, that brought me to Shaun Tan via John and Bob and their producer Serpil and my publicist Olivia…
And the road…
A miracle. For which I give thanks.
Please don’t forget that if you would like to receive these posts as twice-weekly emails, just enter your email address on the right up above, and click submit.
It doesn’t happen often. Mostly I can walk myself away from it.
But it was a persistent morning of blue.
Nothing more to be said. Except that when walking can’t shift things, I go to the only source I trust.
Poetry.
As I was leaving to walk the Camino Mozárabe, one of my ”poem friends” gave me this. It was true on that road, and today, although it isn’t actually true, somehow reading it is enough. I don’t need to meet strangers because I met the poem. And so I am found, just as it foretells.
Poems. The lived experience of others making sense of the world.
This one is by Dorianne Laux…
For The Sake of Strangers
No matter what the grief, its weight,
we are obliged to carry it.
We rise and gather momentum, the dull strength
that pushes us through crowds.
And then the young boy gives me directions
so avidly. A woman holds the glass door open,
waits patiently for my empty body to pass through.
All day it continues, each kindness
reaching toward another – a stranger
singing to no one as I pass on the path, trees
offering their blossoms, a retarded child
who lifts his almond eyes and smiles.
Somehow they always find me, seem even
to be waiting, determined to keep me
from myself, from the thing that calls to me
as it must once have called to them –
this temptation to step off the edge
and fall weightless, away from the world.
I’m so grateful poems can find me, and I’m reminded that “blue” is a colour I love.
Maybe I’ll sit with it awhile.
And remember to look up…
That poem won’t be in the Poetica programme. There just wasn’t room for the entire swag! But the ones that found me on the road will be, along with those that made me walk, and some that were written for me.
Please join me in celebrating words, journeys, and the talent of the sound artist, on Radio National. The Poetica programme I wrote and performed is available now for Podcast. I was so lucky to have had such care taken with the making of it.
If I could paint, this is what I would paint for you.
Lighthouses have become significant for me in so many new ways lately.
But they have always spoken to all of us.
And they speak in light.
Like music, it’s a language I love, but speak without fluency.
This is my attempt to speak with light.
An attempt to offer thanks.
My next offering is in the language of sound.
Not music, although music does play a part.
And there are some words.
I’m hugely excited to tell you that ABC Radio’s Poetica programme has made a companion piece to the book. It was produced with great delicacy by Anne McInerney and engineered by Angela Grant, and it highlights the poems that inspired me, poems that were written for me, and poems that found me along the road.
I’m indebted to Anne for making something so beautiful, and for giving me a chance to expand on one of the key themes of the book – the way that poetry shapes my days.
Finally, I want to offer you some words written as an offering to a man who ran a bookshop in Barcelona.
A man whose family had run it for over 120 years.
A man of dignity and spirit.
This piece was an offering to him, and it is now for you, courtesy of Melbourne’s magnificent Wheeler Centre for ideas, books, words and all things good and great.
I’m lucky to be there, as I was for Debut Monday two short weeks ago.
Please have a read, and hold Señor Martinez in your thoughts for a moment.
And if you feel inclined to leave him a message on the Wheeler site, please do. I will be sending him the link so that he can read the piece, and know that over here in Australia, his kindness impacted.
SINNING ACROSS SPAIN is responsible for its first blister!
Today I received this story from Paul, who bought a copy of the book at the airport before leaving Australia on business. He read it on the plane to America, and it lurked around in his thoughts until he got to Mexico, where it decided to have its way with him! Below, with his permission, is his walking story…
As luck would have it, I find myself in Mexico City for work. So yesterday being Sunday I took the opportunity to explore. Wanting to walk out the past week of flying and sitting in conference rooms, and it being a truly gorgeous sunny-cool day, I decide to head out on foot.
Mexico City is not rural Spain. Nevertheless, finding myself treading Spanish-speaking streets put me in mind of your book.
Hmm, maybe I should have paid more attention to the bit about good shoes. I was in a pair of Campers, virtually no soles and no support.
I am staying just south of Colonia Condesa and headed down to the Zocalo in the historic centre. That was about a 10 km stroll. I must have covered another 4-5 in the downtown area, then walked back to Condesa, which was the art deco rich home of movie stars and celebrities until the 1985 earthquake, when it was largely abandoned. In the nineties, the boho art crowd ‘rediscovered’ it and for a decade it was über cool. As with all these kind of neighbourhoods (think Prenzlauer Berg in Berlin, Le Marais in Paris or the Village in NYC), the middle class have discovered the newly-minted amenity and gradually gentrified the place. Anyway, I found a suitably groovy cafe for a late lunch and it was then I discovered that my Campers were not made for walking. By the time I finished my espresso, I could feel a growing blister on my big toe. It felt awkwardly squishy underfoot, so I relented and took a cab the 2 km back to my hotel.
Lest you think the lessons of your adventure were all wasted, I had the wit to hobble to a nearby supermercado and purchase band aids and antiseptic. Lacking a knife, I found a fountain pen with a sharp (ish) nib and managed to penetrate the thick skin to release the pressure. This morning, all good and ready for a day in the office with Hugo, Humberto, Arturo, Eliseo and friends.
So thank you for your (life saving) advice!
One day I will get there, I hope. A city of contrasts and extremes, too wild for me to imagine. And although Campers are made in Spain, I will remember to take the mighty Merrell’s! Pilgrimage needs sole.
Thanks so much Paul, for permission to put the story into the blogosphere. And to Kati, for her images of Mexican silver hearts.
Corazones puros.
And don’t forget that if you would like to be kept updated when a new post goes onto the blog (about twice per week) then just go to the little box up on the top right and enter your email address. That way we can journey together!
Two years ago today, walking out of Merida, I received a call from my “Barcelona angels”, wishing me a happy St George’s Day. I didn’t realise then how relevant San Jordi was to me.Today, in Barcelona, they will celebrate him again.Saint George or Sant Jordi in Catalan, is patron of Catalonia, and also of writers and scribblers and poets. Love gets a look-in, too!In Barcelona, the main events today will take place in Las Ramblas, where hundreds of flower stalls selling roses and makeshift bookstalls will be set up for the occasion. Lovers exchange gifts: men give their novias roses, and women give their novios a book. By the end of the day, some four million roses and 400,000 books will be purchased, registering half of the total yearly book sales of Catalonia on this day alone!Also, the 23rd April honours the almost-simultaneous deaths of two giants of literature: Miguel de Cervantes and William Shakespeare, on April 23, 1616.
I think of my Barcelona angels now, and all my kind Spanish friends, as they face the economic crisis and its difficulties. I hope they can afford a book and a rose.
And wherever they are, I hope they – and you too! – have a wagging-tailed bird to cheer them and show the way, as this prankster did for me on the 23rd April, two years ago…
It’s a song, a memory, a gift from a beloved friend, and a feeling – the feeling I experience most frequently when I walk, and the feeling that overwhelms me in waves just now.
Waves…
That is the beach at Aireys Inlet. That’s where I’m going.
I’m packing my bag for the Lighthouse Literary Festival, curated by Hannie Rayson and produced by Nicole Maher at Great Escape Books, two women of extreme dynamism and heart. They have brought together a group of writers and thinkers of eloquence and wisdom, and to top it off, Paul Grabowsky will come and play a baby grand on Saturday evening. Unfortunately, the weekend is sold out, but if you want to peek at the line-up, have a look here:
My book has been talked about, read from, conversed with, written of, and finally…set free. It is out there in the wide world, making its way. I am learning to let it go, to wave it goodbye for this next stage, and to trust that it is stronger than me and knows the way.
On Monday just gone, I read aloud from it for the first time in public. Thankfully a few of the actor muscles still work, because I could not have anticipated the fear about standing up and putting my words into the air.
I also could not have anticipated the pleasure! Or the gratitude I felt to the those who came in support of me. Looking out into the book-lined walls of the Moat Cafe at the Wheeler Centre and seeing loved faces nodding and smiling encouragement – that will get you over any broken bridge. Gracias gracias.
On Tuesday night, the incandescent Hannie Rayson and I were In Conversation at Readings Bookstore in Carlton. I had no idea what that might mean, even though Hannie had prepped me about timings and topics, and insisted that when she asked me to read, I must select a passage that spoke about some of the hardships of the journey, because of my tendency to be a Pollyanna! I didn’t know that an In Conversation could surprise me with joy, or that it could wake me to wonder…or move me to song!
I know. The unthinkable. The mountain I thought I would never ever have the courage to climb.
I sang in public.
Only a few lines. But I did it.
Hannie asked me to speak a little Spanish so people could hear that language I so love. I thought I’d explain something of my road anthem, Gracias A La Vida, a song given to me on the Camino Frances by my compañero. A song that now lives in my cells, and marks my steps. Instead, I felt so overwhelmed by gratitude for the people who had come to wave the book into the world, that I decided to offer them something truly brave – an attempt at words with the tune!
I got through a few lines before crumpling, but I think it’s safe to say my cabaret career won’t be kicking in any time soon! That said, I climbed over the top of my personal Everest and have lived to tell the tale. Gracias a la Vida, and gracias to Hannie, to all who came along in support, and to that song of songs…
If you want to hear it at its best, look at this link. The late (great is too small a word and too sad to contemplate) Mercedes Sosa sings it. Take a few minutes to listen. Maybe google the lyric in English so you know what you are hearing. It will own you forever once you hear it.
Then on Wednesday, my day began with celebratory words in The Age newspaper. Suzanne Carbone outed a few sinners and then went on to sing the praises of the book. It has made a new friend, and once again, I give gracias. Her words are here:
And now I have a bag to pack. I will be in company with heroes and compañeros, friends and strangers, books and readers, writers and actors and a maestro. I will be in salt air and on hilltop paths. I will inhale and I will sing my solitary thanks to the salt-heavy air and the high high sky…el alto cielo.
Gracias, Mercedes. Gracias, mi compañero. Gracias, my true north. Gracias my friends, for being with me on the journey. Here, there and beyond.
Gracias a la vida.
Again and again and again.
From high on the ridge looking down to the beach. Aireys is waiting.
Heavens to Betsy. Heaven on earth. Seventh Heaven…
The mind is its own place, and in itself, can make heaven of Hell, and a hell of Heaven. John Milton
Heaven means to be one with God. Confucius
Men and women will retain their sex in heaven. Pope John Paul II
Democracy is only a dream: it should be put in the same category as Arcadia, Santa Claus, and Heaven. H. L. Mencken
Heaven… I’m in heaven,
And my heart beats so that I can hardly speak.
And I seem to find the happiness I seek,
When we’re out together dancing cheek to cheek. Irving Berlin
It is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter the kingdom of God. Matthew 19. 24
Perhaps they are not stars, but rather openings in heaven where the love of our lost ones pours through and shines down upon us to let us know they are happy. Eskimo proverb
I don’t mean to be facetious, but I’ve been wondering about something…
There is no sin in heaven, presumably. Is that why it’s “a place where nothing happens?”
And isn’t it odd that if heaven is in the sky, so many cultures bury their dead in the ground?
How many heavens are there, anyway? And whose is the “right” one?
Ah, the right one…
So much happens here on earth. So much that is hard to fathom, or to forgive. A place where nothing happens might well be heavenly, now I think about it.
This week is going to be a place where PLENTY happens. Hope that doesn’t imply it will be hellish!!!
Nah. How could it be? Just look at what I’m lucky enough to be doing…
I’ll be talking to Adelaide on Monday morning. Check EVENTS AND MEDIA up above to get details.
On Monday night I’m reading and talking with two amazing writers at the Wheeler Centre, and there will be friends with whom I can celebrate afterwards. That would be you, hopefully.
On Tuesday night the luminous Hannie Rayson is going to lead me in conversation at Readings in Carlton, and then, with luck and a fair wind, we are going to talk to a heap more friends afterwards. Please join us if you can. Details also above.
And then on Friday, Saturday and Sunday, I will be down at Aireys Inlet for the Lighthouse Literary Festival. I’m so excited by this. Hannie and Nicole, from Great Escape Books, have created a breathtaking line-up of words and forums and panels and ideas for sharing. I feel so lucky to be there. There’s a link to the festival in EVENTS AND MEDIA. And here’s the scoop! Paul Grabowsky is playing piano for Saturday night’s SILENCE session. Wow!
And just so you know, I’m now a Spanish Australian! Looky here:
I’m grateful to the Melbourne Festival and ACCA for shining Nathan Coley’s installation into the night, two years ago when I returned from walking. It gave me pause and made me consider. Still does.
Please don’t be put off by the first image that confronts you. I do know it is the worst self-portrait I’ve ever taken. Winds were squalling off the snow-covered mountains in the north, and I’d have done almost anything to warm my nose, though why I felt the need to document my sartorial choices, I’m not sure. Anyway, look and laugh. The sign in the background translates as “Ice.” They weren’t kidding.
This blog post also means that Readings have the book in stock. Yep! Across all stores. Yippeeee! It is out there having its own life now.
Please don’t forget that, for those who live in Melbourne, I’d love to see you at Readings Carlton on April 17th for my “In Conversation with Hannie Rayson.” Hannie was a sin-donor, so she has a very particular insight into the journey. If you can make it, it’s free, but Readings ask you to call and book on (03) 93476633.
And in other bloggy bits…
Have a look at poet E.A. Horne’s blog. She has posted about her poem, which is in the upcoming SINNING ACROSS SPAIN episode of ABC’s Poetica. Address here…
There are lots of other pieces of info about book-talk under the EVENTS AND MEDIA tab above, and please subscribe if you’d like to be kept abreast – or to get more opportunities to laugh at my clothing choices. Just click on one of the buttons on the top right.
It is two weeks today until publication. Two weeks until SINNING ACROSS SPAIN will be in the shops. Two weeks until it is real, and I can share it with everyone I have ever met, or heard of, in my entire life!
For better or worse.
The excitement mounts, as do the butterflies. Fear and pleasure in approximately equal parts, although there’s no doubt that on certain days the fear quota increases.
Fear tells me that it matters. Fear tells me I care.
But fear is something that only goes away when I walk smack into the centre of it. So it will be a relief when the book is out and I am able to stare down this particular set of fears.
Many of them are to do with being exposed, not only as a writer, but as a person. As I wrote, I tried very hard to be unflinching and ruthless about myself; to never commit a sin of omission, or of white-lying. And now, as publication approaches, I have to fess up to a touch of dread. Honesty is all very well. It is good. But there are days when I do wish I’d made myself seem just a little smarter, or more savoury!
But I was carrying sins, and I always vowed I would try not to commit any of them, as I walked or as I wrote.
Now I’m waiting.
And I’m wondering if perhaps I am not dealing, once again, with my old friend PRIDE. Is that who is responsible for these stomach-flutters? Is it a form of pride to feel fear about being discovered for who I am? Or is that vanity? Is vanity a form of pride?
Regardless of the answer, it would surely be vanity/pride to assume I was skilled enough to have made myself over, in the writing, into someone smarter/better.
I am two weeks away from publication, and what am I doing?
Aireys Inlet on Victoria’s Great Ocean Road is one of those places everyone refers to as “special.” When I moved to Melbourne, I was told I had to see it; to feel the salt air, lifting up from below the lighthouse; to amble by the inlet or tramp along the shore, my bare toes squishing into icy sand.
So I did.
And Aireys lived up to its reputation. It always does.
Now, the thought of going there puts me in mind of the lighthouse at Finisterre – “world’s end” – where I completed the 1300 kilometre sin-walk. Another light in a wild place. Another town that welcomes travellers.
And in April, Aireys will welcome writers and readers, thanks to Nicole, who runs Great Escape Books, and Hannie Rayson, who has programmed the Litfest with her. I’m so excited to be there, and to be able to celebrate the remarkable group of hero/scribes they have assembled. I’m in over-excited fan mode. I can’t wait.
If you’d like to see the full programme of events, just click on this link:
It is going to be a glorious celebration of all things wordy and thought-provoking. If you can come, do. Do, do. And don’t take too long to decide. They tell me that last year’s event sold out in under a fortnight.
