Cirrus@Austlit

Epigraph: Nowhere is as beautiful as when it’s left. The beauty is part of the leaving. Leavers may miss what they’ve left behind but there are always new vistas, making leaving a joy in itself: the joy of finding yourself somewhere else, or joy in the self that will be found in a new place. —Joanna Walsh

''I keep looking at the stars

to see the universe, but the joke is

I am the universe.'

'the body country is an evocative exploration of a world that too often marginalises and the power of a land that can offer connection. A meditation of wandering and wondering on Country, inviting the reader to understand the complexities and changing forms of self and love.

'A Wergaia and Wemba Wemba woman, Susie Anderson captures profound meaning in moments often lost in the busyness of a day, encouraging us all to stop and allow ourselves the space to notice. To notice the shape of a mouth as it says goodbye; the colour of the sky as you fall in love; the way a steering wheel is turned carelessly after many wines; the crunch of dry ground after drought; the smell of fire on the wind; the movement of ants before rain; the power a word, a dress, a piece of art can give to run towards something new.

'These are poems that take us across rural and urban settings; from the personal to the universal, from looking inward to mapping the land and always bringing us back to the Country that connects us all.' (Publication summary)

'With the glorious task of commissioning writers for a new collection of sincere, heartfelt writing for Tell Me Like You Mean It volume 4, I found it took longer than usual.' (Introduction)

'It’s described as haunting. And I know it well.

'Led by our relatives, our ancestors, we do feverish work, memory work, detective work. But the compulsion is not just to fill in gaps. Doesn’t just stop at the finding.'  (Introduction)

'Some writing teaches you possibility. Possibility in a number of ways: seeing yourself reflected in a body of work, echoing familiar words, places, or ideas; some writing is a lesson about form, or acts as an overall object to aspire to. When I picked up a copy of Lemons in the Chicken Wire by Alison Whittaker, I saw for the first time a young queer Aboriginal woman subverting the form of poetry in a way that resonated with me. Yet Alison’s writing followed a lineage of other Aboriginal poets, and from reading her work I went on to find Samuel Wagan Watson, Ali Cobby Eckermann and Lionel Fogarty. These significant discoveries alongisde Lemons showed me how lyrical poetry could be reshaped in Aboriginal ways, encouraging and challenging my own writing. It felt like insurgency into Western ways of reading and writing.' (Introduction)

'At Geelong Gallery colonial paintings depicted clouds at green horizon line. Flat stretch between Melbourne and the coastline verdantly expanding over canvases. Regional galleries are full of reverent pastorals like this, and each visit I remember the effect this land has. Not just for Aboriginal people but on settlers, too. In their paintings you can see the same awareness of light over country, even hundreds of years ago.' (Publication abstract)

This chapter is a conversation between sisters Susie and Alice Anderson.  They discuss important aspects of their lives as they were growing up with an emphasis on family and school life. 

'S: What did it mean to you, when we were younger, that we're Aboriginal?

A: Well, I don't ever really remember being sat down and told, 'Hey, Alice, guess what, you're Aboriginal.' For some reason it was an unspoken understanding. It was as much of an understanding to me that I had ten fingers and ten toes or the fact that I only had one parent. I guess when you're a kid you just don't question the why so much. Things just are.' (Introduction)