Description
The heart that beats through Backwaters is the heart of the storyteller, the guardian of hard-won wisdom and gentle insight. Robert Wood’s poems take on the tonality of proverb and parable, fable and myth to celebrate chains of continuity that have resisted erasure and carry the flourishing energies of ancestral spirits into the future. Spare, radiant, persuasive in their intimacy of address, these poems return us to the complex simplicities of love, joy and peace. Hold these talismans close. — Ranjit Hoskote
These poems hum with the cadence of lullaby and rhyme, animated by the creatures of saltwater and sunset. As offerings to their readers, they are so many fragrant blessings for a good life. As a document of this moment, Backwaters is a lightly assembled shrine to oneself as ancestor — foretelling the disintegration of self into the stuff of earth and kin. — Bonny Cassidy
Robert Wood lives on Whadjuk Country in Western Australia. As CEO & Creative Director of the Centre for Stories, he has empowered thousands of people to share their stories. The author of two previous books, Redgate and A Guide to Field and Wood, Robert writes poetry to express a connection to the natural, historic and divine world. In 2024, he was the Sir Edward ‘Weary’ Dunlop Fellow with Asialink.
FROM THE BOOK
One.
It rains, it pours and we learn
that we cannot teach you
how to be a crayfish,
how to swim backwards across a bridge,
how to write poems instead
how to water salt and plow snow.
We teach through what we do not know.
In silence, our voices are heard as if they are notes.
Two.
We’ve seen love
and we’ve seen pain
all the colours of the day,
and we’ve seen crickets
and we’ve seen waves
where the rainbow connects the sky
to the pot of gold it made.
Three.
It is mooncake season
and the Elders request
wattleseed flavour to go with their pannikins.
We pour out tea
cut stars from sweetness
watch the mist lift before us.
No matter the weather
the night above looks like ink on our fingers.
Four.
Forget us in this life
and remember us
in the next
and the next,
the ones after this.
Water the plants when they are dry
and soak the rice so it is wet.
Lay the chillies out one by one
and heat the pan until the oil rises.
Remember what we said
but forget that we ever said it.
Let sleeping dogs lie
and mustard seeds fry.
Five.
The day you plant the seed
is not the day you pick the fruit
the root grows deeper
and the nectar sweeter
the longer you leave them
on the shelf to proof.
The day you pick the fruit
is the day you plant another seed
for another Old Tree
who taught you in your youth.
