Write a letter to Patrick White telling him what you think of any one of the texts you have read this week.


Mr Patrick White,

Having read your work “Down at the Dump” firstly I would like to state that I am most impressed with your depiction of strength and independence shown through a female character in your work reflected upon by her chopping the wood, which typically is a chore depicted to be done by males. Moreover your uncommon depiction of the more grotesque features of people in Australian society is truly one which is unique and makes for an interesting read. When reading upon the people and society in Australia, most authors tend to miss out the more disenfranchised Australians as well as the more disconnected and rural which you vividly display and as such should be commended.

I would personally like to thank you for your insight into these ideas through your composition





Week 6 Blog

1/ Charles Harpur’s love sonnets to Rosa are a model for all love sonnets. Using the style and structure of a Harpur sonnnet, write a love sonnet to your own beloved! Can you create images as fiery as his!


My Dear Beloved,

Lest my love be foiled in some cruel fate.

My heart burns its brightest when drawn on the thought of you

Lest my heartbeat fall into dire straits 

Know surely with the setting sun my nights are sleepless with your image

To see a glimpse of your eyes again, to glimpse upon the wicked smile

Would thrill me more than burning of Apollo upon a divided range 

And until I hold you, unless you accompany me down a floral aisle

My feelings for you, the winds of time will never be able to change

To hold you, once, twice, forever or even for a while.

Week 5

Write a passage in of your own in the style of an alternative/magical/mabarn realism.

The voices of the forest call to me, deep beyond the outstretched vines, long past the outstretched arm of the furthest pine long buried in the soil my wooden brother was waiting for contact. Deep, in its heart, voices call to me. This is simply not the voice of Macaw, resonating symphonies in soprano; neither is it the tree frog, who’s call is the interpreter of the Earth herself. No, this is a voice transcendent of all things, intangible yet constantly heard. The voice entices me to follow it, beyond the confines of time, and beyond the restraints of being. I am being called back to my mother, the Earth which I hold dear beckons me to return to her through the clearing as the sun touches the forest bed, so do my ancestors long buried. In time, I will become one with the Earth again as my tradition, and I too, shall become the ever-present light, illuminating the surrounding world and forever calling towards my kin.


9th August 2017

Creative —> Take the first line of any one of the poems we have looked at in the last two weeks and use it as the first line of a poem of your own.  Where possible try to use the shape, the form of the original poem that triggered your attempt.

A Letter To My Mother – Eva Johnson

“I not see you, I not see you long time now”…

Separated now, from the face I had known from young

Faces lighter and lighter as I am dragged further from you

They take my world, drain it, give me books on Jesus

My dreams, every night, dragged away from you 

The fire of home less bright, grasping at night for warmth

Met with cold and sadness, screams and white man bringing me “home”

I wake to the cold truth of our long, passed distance 

Scared, watching sun meet ground I watch out for your eyes under stars

The same stars, but not, not without you

Not real mum, given to me by police man says “I am mum now” 

Told me to forget you, but your face burns my mind, always

My heart shatters and my fear comes to grip me into reality

I have lost your love

I have lost you