The Poetry of Gwen Harwood1 GWEN HARWOOD ‘Autobiographical details Bom in Brisbane in 1920 Lived with parents, brother and grandmother in Michelton (suburb of Brisbane) until 1927 Moved to larger house in 1927-Auchenflower Fether was English and mother Australian ‘Music was very important to her. Opera was the first recorded music she heard. ‘The poem "The Violets" reflects he loving childhood Her grandmother introduced he 1 poetry and the Old Testament, Her father played piano and violin by eat Harwood played piano and organ, ‘Worked asa music teacher, became religious and entered convent fora short while Married Bill Harwood in 1948 and moved to Tasmania Dring the 1950' her poetry appeared in The Bulletin, Firs book of poems published in 1963. Tnfluenced by the philosopher-Ludwig Wittgenstein (1889-1951) who believed artists, ‘musicians and poets have insights to offer humanity She has had five books of poems published Poems 1963 Poems Volume 2, 1968 Selected Poems,1975 The Lions Bride 1981 ‘Brain Scan, 1989 which won the CJ Dennis Prize for poetry COMMON THEMES IN HARWOODS POETRY Guven Harwood considers herself Romantic Poet-"OF course I love the Romantics, lam @ Romantic." (John Beston "An Interview with Gwen Hanvood) ts with universal homes yet hor writing often relecs etch pattems and is istinctive urban life, She is concemed with issues common to mankid such as sulfering, {ove. entrapment, identity, duality, an, time and death, creative imagination, cultural Continuity, memory, motherhood and migration. ‘Tke major preoccupations ar musi and philosophy and religious symbolism is integral to ‘mans of her poems. Many references to composers, philosophers and Christianity are found in hee work, Philosophical ideas include the quest for self knowledge and immowaliy, the uci nature of life and cultural continuity. Questions about the human condition and human, experience such as "What is truth?" are contained inher poems,2 ‘THEMES IN GWEN HARWOOD'S POETRY MEMORY Memory is linked t ideas of immontality a expressed inthe continuity af generations ‘Memory is a ereative force which overrides time and death In "The Violets" memory of the Pott parets brings them into the present through the an of poetry. Memory triggered by. Jrmages of volts a whistling bacRbird and the sunset momenta retrieves the past by conjuring up tamplit prescences" of beloved parents long dead, Memory ofa dream is used to explore the unconscious mind of the boy in "The Glass Jar" fan asan escape from reality for Krote in “Hospital Evening” ART Harwood believes the power of ar to transcend the constraints of time, a belief whichis similar to tht of John Keats. Like him, she sees a work ofa, suchas 2 musical composition by amasterof Mozart's stature, nt ony ouliving its creator but existing beyond ieee y y generation interprets it anew and gives ew life, Imagination, essential 0 anisic ereatvity, features asa living fore inher posts, ‘expressing the influence ofthe Romantic, as does the triumph of art and emotion over ecco in "Prize-Giving", "Alter Ego" also explores he old questions about the nature of hereae creativity and an DUALITY Harvood uses duality and reversals, using unexpected images to underline her themes. In “Prze-Giving she juxtaposes reason and itive artsy. Eisenbat, the inllectally Conceited scientists humbled by the panache of a schoolgin'srenition of «work for piano bs Mozan. Te reversal oftheir lative positon is encapsulated inte profesor’ image ‘mirrored upside down on the scholgi's trophy. Love 7h tec ot fone aud ts permanent, transitory or passionate nature is explored the "Ihe Violets’ "Inthe Park” and "The Glass Jar" Each of the poems offers a variation oe the meaning of lov: family love, forgoten lve and desire or passion, “The Violets” explores family love and affirms the per time and death. In "The Glass Jar3 State which brings with ithe ability o reason, to make decisions and choices, we are Semenced to lives of Sorrowing change Ironically, the bird of the ai inthe “changeless state” oftheir unreasoning existence are free to fly, to soar, IDENTITY Weare fr identity is «common human quest in moder Westem culture. The question ‘iho am has haunted the minds of many.In “At the Waters Edge Harwood, exploane he unmeters of human existence in a Christan context, rengnises suffering es inevcgnals Heapenttlings of sadness are slaced by acceptance of his sour human lot" tum toy Kinadom.." For Harwood, a for Keats, itis in the proceso living and suffering that we si self-knowledge. Every aspect ofthe self: body, hear mind end soul engaged in TRerening life the source of self-knowledge and confimation of individal entity Frances Horganfrom Poems (1963) Triste, Triste Tn the space between love and sleep Wien heart ours ints prison yes aghinst shoulder keep their Blood-black curtains tight Body rolls back ike a sone, ad risen spirit walks to Easter ight; away fom its tomb of bone, way fom the guardian tents of eyesight, walking alone to unbearable light with angelic ‘gestures. The fallen instruments ofits passin ie in the relic darkness of sleep and fove ‘And heat from its prison cree to te spirit walking above: “Twas with you in agony. Remember your promise of paradise," ‘nd hammers and hammers, "Remember me,” So the loved other is held {or moral comfort and taken, and the spirits ight dispelled sit falls from its dream to the deep to harrow hears prison so heart may waken to peace inthe paradise of sleep. Walter LekmanYoems 1969-1974 from Selected Poems (1975) The Violets This dus, and cold. Tinct to pick fail melancholy lowers among ashes and loam, The meting vest is seiped like ice-cream. While I ry ‘whistling a til, close by his mest ‘our blackbird fete and stops his beak {ndiferent to Searlt’s song, “Ambiguous light. Ambiguous sky ‘Towards night walking from the fearful halfslep ofa hot eferao0n tour First house, in Mitchelton, [ran to find my mother, calling for breakfast. Laughing, “It wil soon be night, you goose," her long hair filing down to her waist, se dried my tearfl face a I sobbed, “Where's moming pone?” snd carried me downstairs to seo ‘pring violets in their loamy bed Hungry and ross, would not bold their sweets, or be comforted, even when my father, whistling, eame fom work, but used my tears o scold the thing T could not grasp or name that, while T slop, had stolen from me those hours of unretming light. Into my father's house we went, young parents and their restless child, to light the lamp and te wood stove while dusk surendered pink and white to blurring darkness. Reconiled, took my supper aad was sent to innocent sleep ‘Years cannot move nor death's disorienting sale Aiton those lamplit presences ‘child with milk and story-book;, ry father, bending to inhale the gatered lowers, with tendermess stroking my mother’s goldbrown hat ‘Stone-curlews call fom Kedron Brook, Faint sent of violets des in a.AT MORNINGTON “They told me that when twas taken tothe sea’ edge, forthe fist, leape from my father's arms and was eaught by a wave and led Tikes doll among rating shells. and seem to remember my father fly clothed, sll streaming with water, half comforting, half angry ‘And indeed I remember believing 24 cid could wall on water ~ fhe next wave, the next wave — twas ony a matter of balance (On what ood ae thy borne, these memories of eatly childhood, Indescen fugitive slight ina sewer hell, ‘while we wand, two frends of middle ge, by Fous patents prove in sence among avenacs ofthe dead marble and granite parting the quick of sutumn paste ‘We have the wholenest ofthis day torshare ar we wil between vs “This morning {sin your garden fine pumpkins grown on a wells sore semned that the vines were sing fo flourish the fruits af earth ‘dove their humble sation Inaiy defiance of aaare 2 purable of myst, {skin of element climbing feom earth tothe farenese of lights ‘pow come t0 that time of life ‘when our bones bein eo wear es, to see our flesh in fina shape 5 the dying face of land tose out of ext seamless waters, drearacd once, lng ngo- that we walked among enybright flowers toa bench in the Brisbane gurdens With pitcher of water Between ss, td stayed fora whole day talking, and drinking the wace. ‘Then, 2 ight fell, you sid “There ill some water let ove.” Wehateone dy, only one, tbut more than enough to refesh us [At your side among the graves Tehink of death no more than when, secure in my father's arms, [laughed 203 hollowed pumpkin with candle flame for eyesight, nd when Lam sized slat fd rolled in on riding race ‘of dreams, pai, memories, lve and rit feom which ao hand wil sive me, the peace ofthis day will shine like ight on te face ofthe waters thae bear me away for everFATHER AND CHILD I Barn Owl Daybreak: the houschold ser 1 raat Blessed by che 8. Ih howny fiend, Trent oe with my father’s go ec him dream of child Sbediens, anger mild ~ ‘old No-Sayer, robbed of power by sleep. 1 knew my EE Rho swooped home a this hour Wits dayligheddled oyes vo hs place on a high beam Tour old sables 0 dream light’ useless time a¥ay. Titood, holding my nurincscented bays ‘ayer of life apd death, TP Miegeared judge whose law Waid punish beak and law. y fest shot stuck, He swayed, Mined, beating bis oly Wing, ast watched, afraid Wee taen gua, s lonely Ufa who believed death lea ‘Tha Final, not this obscene andle of suff that dropped: Beg dribbled cough loose straw Tingling in bowels and bopPed indy closer. Uw those eyes tha did noe ce rrirror my cruelty while the wrecked thing that could Trot bear the light nor bide abbled in is own blood. My father reached my side, fave me the Gallen gu. Eend what you have begun.” 1 Ged. The blank eyes shone fonce inte mine, and slept leaned my bead upor ny fathers em, and wept ‘owe-blind in ely sun for what | had begun HL Nightfall Forty yeas, lived or dreamed. what memories pack them home Now the seaton hat seemed ineredible i come. Father and child, we sand in time's long promised land. Since there's no more to caste "ipenes is plainly all, Father, we pick our last frais ofthe temporal Eighty years old, you take this late walk for my sake, Who can be what you were? Link your dry hand in mine sy stick-thin comforter. Far distant suburbs shine swith great simpicties ‘Birds crowd in lowering trees, sunset exalts is known, Symbols of transience. ‘Your passionate fare i grown Letus walk for this hour aif death had no power apaveetats.. Seta Tone's dclign for ever Sarita coe eae “he you tm wet?” You 9 Situreded acing fo sips: our chek shes on mine. Old Kg. your maredou jour done Your night and day are one 15 you find with your white stick the path on which you turn home with the child once quick to mischief, grown to learn what sorrows, in the end no words, no tears can mend.from The Lion's Bride (1981) A Valediction As always afer patngs, {et fom its place the Oxford Donne, inked in with aches ftom adolescence, ‘Who needs drugs if she has enough Uppers and downers in het head? ‘Though names are not engraved herein, wo canbe literally dead ithe leaps fom an underlining into my flesh at The Sune Rising? Lou Slomé in her old age: “Whether kissed Nietzsche on Monte Sacro 1 find T do not now remember” ‘Young Saint Théetse of Lisiux, writing “When Tove tis forever” One mistres of half Europe, one ‘closed witha transcendent lover Dea ates, shall we meet halfway between sanctity and liberation? Today I eave the book unopened. ‘Serngely this farewells left me joyful Can ghosts die? Yes, old ghosts ate summoned bck to their shades of ink. My lover wil come again tome, my body to is true end will give him joy [Now in his absence let me walk at peaceful sunset inthe pastare my geese, my later children, and when the afterglow is gone ‘Lou's ravishing forgetfulness will eck my soul with saving laughter, ‘nd the singlhearied sin will braid ll foves into one everlasting Then, fT need lullaby, {0d Doctor Donn, wil you attend?‘The Sharpness of Death 1 LLezve me alone. — You will? ‘That's your way with us women You've left my mother s, desolate in my father's house "Bur tha’ not what T mean Suppose we come to terms: ‘you take one day foreach Gay that I've wished to de. {Give me more time for time that was never long enough Look, here's a list of names. “Take these, the world will bless you Death, you've become obscene. [Nobody cals you sweet or eased now. “You'ze inthe hands of philosophers who cut themselves, and bled, ‘and ko that knives are sharp, ‘but prove with complex logic ‘there's no such thing as sharpness. 0 Heidegger ike Wittgenstein, be found much cause to wonder “that there are things in being” Searching for roots, he thought all words were names ‘Given the Geman language snd his waning asa Jesuit seminarian the could talk about God's Dasein, ‘nd in untansatablereasonings maintain that the human concept Being and the question “What is Being?” are esses: since man's language user ‘he must say things are, or cannot speak at ll He called philosopiy, im his late works, “the enemy of thinking” Rilke sad song was Dascin, ‘Heidegger let ontology for Hatderin and his blessed Grecian world, the language in which Being speaks tous" Uniransiatable as ever! ‘Was it significant nonsense or deep insight flowed ffom his pen? He thought ‘much about dying. No one could die fr him. Poetry Jed him close tthe Logos. Nothing could be proved, ‘but much was hinted, Death, he sid, was “the ultimate situation” Thope he found some light ‘beyond tat ld of black everlasting flowers, m Nasturims Purest of colours, how they shone hile we talked in your studio. Ligh lke a noble visitor stayed with us briefly and moved on school bringing lowers, an artist ‘sccepting colour and erazy love, We stand among the plaster mouldings ‘of figures ffom an ealier ie. How would you ever know mie now if came to your grave and called you, unless I brought thse lowers, those colours, that ray of ight descending through the room's eeenti fenestration? Seed ofthe seed of countess seasons blossoms to hold the light that's gone. v Dead, Iwill you now: iy love and I stood stl inthe roofess chapel. My body was fall oF him, my tongue sang with his juices, 1 {16 ripe in his blond light. I fall om that tine, ‘hen se you eth in me,Mother Who Gave Me Life ‘Mother who gave me ie T think of women bearing women. Forgive me the wisdom T would not learn from you, tis not for my children I walk ‘on earth in the ght ofthe living. tis for you, forthe wild daughters becoming women, anguish of seasons burning Duekward in time to those other bodies, your mothe, and hers and beyond, speech growing stranger on thresholds of ie, rock, fre, bones changing, heads inctining to monkey bosom, lemur breast, flees mil ofthe word {prayed you would live to see Halley's Comets second time, “The Sister sid, When she died she was folding a litle towel ‘You left the world so, having lived neary thy thousand days 8 fabric of marvels folded oven to itl space, At our last mectng I closed the ward door of heavy glass between us, and saw Your face crumple, fine threadbare nen wom, sil good to the lst, thes, somehow, smooth toa smile S01 should not see your ters, “Anguish: remembered hours lamp on embroidered linen, my supper set out, your voice calling mein as dares falls on my father's house