there have been a lot of surreal moments in the last few weeks, but i think being on stage at the sydney writers festival took the large, pink and green pony-shaped gingerbread biscuit*. such an odd world. i am terribly grateful to be allowed to visit it, but i'm also glad i don't belong to it, cause there's no way in hell i would want to live there (even if the views are spectacular). no offence to the other writers or fantastic organising, my lovely publishers, etc, but i will be happy to go back to my comfortable, small town obscurity.
but not til mid june. i have one more festival appearance at the EWF in melbourne (my panel is about state identities/voices, and on at 12:30 on saturday) and then i'm back in sydney to hang around for a couple of weeks. the aimlessness is grating on me a little already, but i am filling my time with grounding activities such as listening to the winter soldier testimony and getting upset, and reading (finally!) fugitive peices and getting upset, and being homesick and drinking too much coffee. and catching up with friends and family, none of whom have had time to miss me, and so take my regular visits for granted. i did go on a nice art walk through the eastern suburbs on the weekend which was a treat - even if the inner westies felt misplaced mingling with the plastic people of paddington, it's great to go to new places in a city you know intimately.
i have also been reading Brigid Rooney's Literary Activists, which is filed under 'academic' but is not boring at all. on the contrary it makes me feel armed. she's reframing the issue for me in a non-polar way. i've said that i think writing can be a form of activism, and it seems that for others the two feed off each other in interesting ways. taking a political stance, if it's not creativity-crushingly ideological, can feed your motivation to work, to tell stories, to speak truth to power and other wack 70s slogans. but i think also my (broadly anarchist) politics is inherently enabling, in that it requires faith in our capacity to reinvent ourselves, and take responsibility for our labours and our imaginations. that doesn't mean the poetry i try to write in reaction to the testimony of returned soldiers is going to be any good, but it does give me an analysis of how that value is determined.
engaging with the media not as a producer but as a subject is very confronting. it is startling how easily perceptions are reframed. and i am trying not to let this affect my self-perception, or my work. i don't think it has to be a disempowering process. at varuna i was able to retreat from the world, and it was good to be free of distraction; i got a lot of work done on the DSN. but without my community (geographical, political, and labour-oriented), that work doesn't seem as meaningful to me. the better part of varuna was not the isolation but the chance to speak with other writers and feel part of a conversation, which is what the work's about, when it comes down to it.
we had a good conversation about the intensely mediated relationship between writers and readers at a panel at Eye of the Storm, where Carmel Williams (you must read her poetry) got up and pointed out that capitalism is not the only way to negotiate that relationship, far from it, and we as writers and readers should be inventing better ones. i used to paste poems to telegraph poles and spraypaint them in building sites; a man on king st sells his by donation, telling passers-by it's to feed his crack habit. any fresh ideas? zines are part of that for me, but i still find the zine fair environment alienating, in both a Marxist and an emotional sense.
in terms of that brokerage (to borrow a very capitalist term), i'm not sure the big, urban festival environment is the best way to bring writers and readers together. small regional festivals are great. but in a lot of ways i think activism, or political engagement, is not nearly as dangerous as publicity, or media engagement, can be. while i am aware it is a mighty privilege to be given room to speak by the people who control the column inches and the microphones, a big part of me wants to run a mile. is it just the fear of being co-opted by a class interest not your own? i don't know. the plan is still to try using the space to do good, then become a recluse at book 4 or 5. until then i suppose i'll just blog about it. this is, after all, a good medium for me to navigate the treacherous waters of writer-reader relations, without all that capitalist mediation.
* i delegated biscuit choice to the barista in the name of divination. fortunately i have a ready-made relationship with my little pony oracles.
but not til mid june. i have one more festival appearance at the EWF in melbourne (my panel is about state identities/voices, and on at 12:30 on saturday) and then i'm back in sydney to hang around for a couple of weeks. the aimlessness is grating on me a little already, but i am filling my time with grounding activities such as listening to the winter soldier testimony and getting upset, and reading (finally!) fugitive peices and getting upset, and being homesick and drinking too much coffee. and catching up with friends and family, none of whom have had time to miss me, and so take my regular visits for granted. i did go on a nice art walk through the eastern suburbs on the weekend which was a treat - even if the inner westies felt misplaced mingling with the plastic people of paddington, it's great to go to new places in a city you know intimately.
i have also been reading Brigid Rooney's Literary Activists, which is filed under 'academic' but is not boring at all. on the contrary it makes me feel armed. she's reframing the issue for me in a non-polar way. i've said that i think writing can be a form of activism, and it seems that for others the two feed off each other in interesting ways. taking a political stance, if it's not creativity-crushingly ideological, can feed your motivation to work, to tell stories, to speak truth to power and other wack 70s slogans. but i think also my (broadly anarchist) politics is inherently enabling, in that it requires faith in our capacity to reinvent ourselves, and take responsibility for our labours and our imaginations. that doesn't mean the poetry i try to write in reaction to the testimony of returned soldiers is going to be any good, but it does give me an analysis of how that value is determined.
engaging with the media not as a producer but as a subject is very confronting. it is startling how easily perceptions are reframed. and i am trying not to let this affect my self-perception, or my work. i don't think it has to be a disempowering process. at varuna i was able to retreat from the world, and it was good to be free of distraction; i got a lot of work done on the DSN. but without my community (geographical, political, and labour-oriented), that work doesn't seem as meaningful to me. the better part of varuna was not the isolation but the chance to speak with other writers and feel part of a conversation, which is what the work's about, when it comes down to it.
we had a good conversation about the intensely mediated relationship between writers and readers at a panel at Eye of the Storm, where Carmel Williams (you must read her poetry) got up and pointed out that capitalism is not the only way to negotiate that relationship, far from it, and we as writers and readers should be inventing better ones. i used to paste poems to telegraph poles and spraypaint them in building sites; a man on king st sells his by donation, telling passers-by it's to feed his crack habit. any fresh ideas? zines are part of that for me, but i still find the zine fair environment alienating, in both a Marxist and an emotional sense.
in terms of that brokerage (to borrow a very capitalist term), i'm not sure the big, urban festival environment is the best way to bring writers and readers together. small regional festivals are great. but in a lot of ways i think activism, or political engagement, is not nearly as dangerous as publicity, or media engagement, can be. while i am aware it is a mighty privilege to be given room to speak by the people who control the column inches and the microphones, a big part of me wants to run a mile. is it just the fear of being co-opted by a class interest not your own? i don't know. the plan is still to try using the space to do good, then become a recluse at book 4 or 5. until then i suppose i'll just blog about it. this is, after all, a good medium for me to navigate the treacherous waters of writer-reader relations, without all that capitalist mediation.
* i delegated biscuit choice to the barista in the name of divination. fortunately i have a ready-made relationship with my little pony oracles.
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4 Comments:
Oh wow, Jennifer.
Got it in one there, and yes, you have answered my question from the earlier post.
(Think I want some of your biscuits, ma'am.)
I may have to quote this somewhere soon - a mediator of cultural products may be involved, but if not, then the anarchy of Typepad will just have to do.
The views are spectacular in Alice, too.
Jen! lovely to see you again. thanks for helping me out with the suit. good times!
quote away genevieve. lovely to meet you in melbourne finally.
el, i couldn't agree more. but sydney harbour still has a wee frisson of celebrity to me. i don't think the glitter will ever quite wear off.
and nathan, thanks for taking it all so seriously mate.
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