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Sally Murphy, Australian author

Poetry Friday: Mail

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I’ve been thinking about mail, inspired by sending off my first poem card in the Poetry Friday Summer Poem Swap, where friends send poems to other friends via snail mail (and yes, while I’m deep in winter, it’s a summer swap, because most of the participants are in the Northern Hemisphere).

I don’t remember a time when I wasn’t fascinated by the idea of people I couldn’t see writing and sending letters to me. As a child it was mostly things like birthday cards from relatives, but once I could write, it moved on to pen pals, and letters to and from my siblings and boarding school.  The pen pals were a part of my life for many years, and I miss the regularity of those letters.

These days I rarely get letters in the mail – occasional fan mail, from a young reader, a very occasional invitation or card and, perhaps mostly of all, unexpected postcards or notes from friends. As for sending them – I too am sporadic. I try to send postcards to my grandchildren when I travel, and last year when I was away for a month, sent postcards to friends and family, which garnered some replies when I got home.

While we live in an age when we can message and receive replies within seconds or, of course, pick up the phone and talk, and social media lets us see our friends’ every move (if they choose to share), I don’t think I’ll ever outgrow the excitement of receiving a real life letter in the mail. So, while I wait for the Summer Poem Swap to work its magic, I thought I’d share a poem I wrote some time ago.

Mail

When Mum was little

people wrote letters

to each other

to say hello

or share their news

Or say happy birthday.

Letters were delivered

by the postman

days or even weeks

after they were written.

Nowadays

people send

texts or emails

that come straight away

and the postie

mostly just brings bills.

(Sally Murphy, 2015)

When was the last time you wrote a letter? I think I might send another one today – after I’ve checked out the Poetry Friday roundup, which is hosted this week by Tabatha who, coincidentally, is the hard working organiser of the poem swap.

Poetry Friday: You Should Know

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I  am so lucky to have just returned from a visit to the Pilbara region, in the North of Western Australia where, alongside three other creatives, and staff from FORM, I was part of the Scribblers on the Road Festival.

We visited the towns of Port Hedland, Marble Bar and Newman, as well as remote community schools, hoping to spread a love of creativity, and to empower young people to tell their own stories through writing, art and storytelling.   It was an amazing journey – over some verrrrrry bumpy roads and through the most stunning red dirt scenery imaginable. You can see some of the things we saw and did in this little video (look out for the bumpy road clip)

All the scenery and the great company on the trip was of course very special, but the highlight was meeting young people willing to have us visit their communities. Even though we were there to share our knowledge, we were also learning from the people we met. I learnt a lot about giving and receiving, about the stories of the children we worked with, about languages other than English, and so much more. But perhaps one of my favourite lessons was from a girl called Matilda, in Marble Bar, who asked me, after I’d run a poetry workshop,  why I talked so much.

I do talk A LOT (I have ADHD) but I also value listening, and Matilda’s question led me to ask one of my own. ‘I’m going to listen to you right now,’ I said. ‘What do you want me to know about you?’ Matilda thought about this and, with some help from her friends, started to tell me about the things she likes doing. I sat and listened, but also started writing and, when Matilda had finished, I told her she’d just  made up  a poem of her own – and she had. I’d simply written it down as she spoke.

Later, I  added a title and  typed it up and, with now, with Matilda’s permission here it is:

 

You  Should Know That

Salted plum lollies,

playing on my phone,

going swimming

or down to the river,

walking around

annoying people

playing basketball

going to the pool

or driving really fast

are all

much

much

much

better than school!

 

By Matilda and Sally

 

Thank you Matilda for reminding me of the importance of being quiet long enough to hear what is important to the people you meet, and for being willing to let me share your poem with the world.

I am home now in the South West, feeling a little cold 9winter is here! but also with lifelong memories of the amazing Pilbara to keep me warm.  And, because it is now Friday, I am sharing this post with the Poetry Friday community –  a group of poets and poetry lovers from all over the world who share poetry every Friday. If you want to check it out, Denise is sharing a round up.

 

Poetry Friday: Crisscrossed Skies

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It’s Poetry Friday and I am home, after a wonderful month of travel, with a very full heart and three very full notebooks.

One of the wonderful experiences I had was a writing retreat in the South of France.  It still feels luxurious just to say that!  I spent six days at a French farmhouse  (aptly called the French Houseparty) near Carcassonne, with a brilliant group of fellow writers, and under the tutelage of poet Anne Caldwell.

One post can’t do justice to all I learnt – about writing, and about life, with this wonderful group in this equally wonderful location.  But, since it’s Poetry Friday, I thought I’d share two poems I wrote in one of the sessions. Anne had us focussing on all five senses as we took in our surroundings. Firstly, as we stood on the edge of a field of poppies. There was so much to take in, but I was especially drawn to keep looking up – the sky was crisscrossed with the vapor trails of seemingly dozens of planes, and I had to snap pictures, even while I was busily trying to focus on the exercise. 

I’ve seen vapour trails before – many, many times – but never as, on this day, so many. In fact, over the course of the morning, I lost count of how many planes I actually saw flying over adding to the pattern. It was magical. So, no surprise that when it cam time to write, that the trails made it into my first poem.

Blue Sky Day

Bumbling bee

dipping in and out

of red pockets of pleasure

hums a tale of spring.

Tottering tractor

rolls across

brown furrows

ensuring

summer’s sunflowers

are safe.

Winsome windmill

stands still

ready

for Autumn’s toil.

Crisscrossed sky

shows the path taken

by winter-weary travellers

following the sun.

Sally Murphy, 2024

The second exercise we did honed in even more on the senses, as we led each other, one with eyes closed, around the garden, and then stopped and asked our partner to tell us what they could see, hear, feel, smell and taste. I found myself saying, with surprise, ‘I can taste Spring!’  But, when I sat down to write, I was also still obsessed with those vapor trails. This is what I came up with:

Taste It

White trails

crisscross

otherwise perfect-blue sky

showing the paths of

winter-weary travellers

seeking spring.

Down below

I know

they will find it here.

The sun caressing my cheek

my legs

my soul.

The resiny pines

singing with the wind

the dove crooning –

they all know it too.

I can taste spring.

Sally Murphy, 2024

I am, as I said, home now in Australia, and the wintry weather has hit with a vengeance. It is cold and wet. But every time I think of France, I can still taste Spring!

And in other tasty news, when I got home, my copy of a brand new anthology was in the post. I’ll post more about this soon – but today’s Poetry Friday host, Janice, is not only sharing some glimpses, but has included one of the poems I have in the book. So head over there to learn about the anthology, and then  you can see what other poetry Friday goodness is on offer.

Poetry Friday: Bonjour!

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Bonjour! As I write this I am in France, though by the time you read it I will have landed in London.

How lucky am I?

I am here in Europe as part of my six months Academic Study Leave (also known as a sabbatical)  from my role at Curtin University. Although some days it feels like a holiday, I have been working:

First, I attended the Child and the Book Conference in Rouen where I presented a paper about juvenilia, and listened to  many other wonderful speakers talk about children’s books, and creativity and so much more.  I also made new friends from around the world.

Then, after a few days in Paris where, among other things, I went to the top floor of the Eiffel Tower, I headed south to a small village near Carcassonne, where I stayed in a French farmhouse for a writing retreat, curated and hosted by The French House Party and guided by amazing tutor, poet and all round nice person, Anne Caldwell. We wrote, talked, walked, were fed (so much wonderful food) and laughed. And, as with the conference,  I made new friends from around the world.

I have two notebooks overflowing with notes, drafts and ideas from these two events, and still two weeks of travel left. In the meantime, a poem. If you have never been to France before you might be surprised at my obsession with cheese over these past weeks. I’ve always liked cheese, but when you are in a country where cheese (good cheese!) is part of every meal, it can become a bit of a focus. In fact, at one meal I skipped the main course and happily ate bread and cheese because it was just so good.

So, in the midst of a session where I was writing some pretty heavy stuff, I found myself pausing to jot down a little ditty about my obsession.

Simple Pleasures

Stinky stilton

bonkers blue-vein

holey-moley swiss.

Oozy camembert

crumbling cheddar

easy-cheesy bliss!

(Sally Murphy, 2024)

Oddly, for all my obsession, I do not have a single photo of cheese amongst the seventy billion I have taken on my trip. So, instead, here is one of the poppy field next to the farm house taken at sunset one evening.

Here’s to cheese, and travel, and learning new things and meeting new people. And, of ceruse, here’s to poetry! Patricia is hosting Poetry Friday today, and you can see the Round Up on her blog.

At the Park

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I just love it when one of my poems makes its mark on the world, so I was really excited this morning to see that a previously unpublished poem, At the Park, had been made (with my permission)  into this video:

This excellent project came about through my Poetry Friday friend Jone, who teaches a children’s literature class and asked fellow poets for poems her students could choose from to make videos. You can read Jone’s explanation of the project, and link to other examples here.

Enjoy – I am!

Poetry Friday: Sand Beneath my Feet

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It’s Poetry Friday and I am glad to be here, after missing a couple of weeks because of being SUPER busy.  While I wasn’t here, I was chiefly busy on poetry-business, speaking at schools across the South West as part of the Between the Lines Literature Festival, sharing my love of poetry and, hopefully, inspiring students to read and write more.

Then last week I had not one, but two opportunities to celebrate the release of Right  Way Down, speaking with my co-editor at the Children’s Book Council of WA’s annual Night With Our Stars and then, the next day, a big launch for the book at the State Library. I blogged about this yesterday., sharing a highlights reel.

By the time this week dawned I was happy, but also fairly weary, and I knew that this week I needed to pause and stay close to home. Lots of beautiful beach walking was required to refill my reserves, as well as chances to get some writing done, sleep in my own bed, and spend time with my beautiful pets, who I know miss me when I am off wandering.

It was on the beach that a line of poetry came to me and kept repeating itself. Not surprising really – the beach is definitely my happy place. So I came home and wrote this:

Busy week

I’m almost beat

Time for a dose

Of sand beneath my feet.

 

Friday morning

Smells so sweet

Thanks to feeling

The sand beneath my feet

 

Weekend looming

What a treat

To pause and savour

The sand beneath my feet

 

Smiling broadly

At the people I meet

Also loving

The sand beneath their feet

 

Leave with a feeling

That’s pretty neat

Knowing I’ve had

The sand beneath my feet

 

Already planning

a prompt repeat

Of an hour  with lovely

Sand beneath my feet.

(Sally Murphy, 2024)

By the time you read this, I’ll have had my Friday morning walk, with George frolicking along with his own very happy feet. But when I return, I’ll be checking out the other Poetry Friday goodness, courtesy of the roundup hosted this week by Rose.

sallymurphy.com.au