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“Rosie Barter, from Perth Western Australia, an excerpt from my Memoir (September1963).
I remember waking in my sleeping bag on that stony path along the sea cliff of Hydra. A full moon, thin as paper, clung to an ink-washed sky and, from the Aegean far below, a sheet of ocean mist rose up and faded into dawn’s ether.
Shit! What would I do now, without passport, money, boyfriend? I had nothing — just a backpack of dirty clothes, a diary and some maps. The stones had worked their misery into my back and my hipbones. I sat up in the bag and stretched out my arms. With cramped fingers I cracked my neck and pummelled my shoulders. Last night’s ouzo had left my palate bald. My mind was brittle with loss and betrayal.
A goat bell clunked close by; became a clatter, a cacophony. A bustle of golden shagpile rugs skittered past on high-heeled hoofs, swollen udders swaying to the jangle of brass jewellery. Behind them, playing on a tin whistle leapt a shrivelled little man with a huge moustache. His feet were in rags bound with twine, his body cloaked with striped rough weave. He pranced around me in a circle, whiffling his sweet crazy song. Crouching at my feet, he grinned his gums wide. He pulled out a white cheese wrapped in muslin, a crust of bread and a fist of olives in a fig leaf. Then he laid them before me on a flat stone, poured water from a skin bag into a tin cup.
“Yia senna. Yia senna,” he croaked. “For you.”
I scooped the crust deep into the soft cheese, grateful in my eagerness.
The goat man scampered up the rise to sit cross-legged against a rock. Three long sonorous notes sounded from his whistle. The goats stopped still, put their heads down and nuzzled at the grim gorse. The old man folded his arms, closed his eyes. In my mouth was the tang of olives and the stony taste of water.
I sat, absorbed into an endless violet-skinned sea, slit by the wake of a far-off fishing boat returning to port, the soft winnowing of its engine the only sound in the world. Having nothing, I had everything. What did it matter that I would not now reach my grandfather’s island?
In that moment even loss and betrayal became ordinary.”
ABOUT ROSIE BARTER:
“First published in The Daily News at age six, my chicken sketch and Easter poem both won the two-shilling book voucher prizes.
Dilemma: artist or writer?
Later, refusing to submit to high school’s tedium, I escaped to art school. There I prospered, graduated, worked in local design studios and then in Swinging London. I returned to teach design at WAIT/Curtin Uni for 24 years. A health scare redirected my pen from large expressive drawings to pages of neat words. Now, a late-life writer, I am completing a memoir about my Greek grandfather. Nurtured by an awesome Varuna week [November 2011] and Patti Miller’s wisdom with Joyce Kornblatt’s enlivening insights, I am on track at last.” Rosie Barter
PUBLICATIONS:
Short stories published in indigo volumes 2, 4 & 6
Short story Crossing broadcast ABC Radio National Short Story Program
CONTACT:
via Varuna
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Enjoy your exciting, action-packed writing, and the time with Patti Miller last week. Can’t wait to read more of it.
Andrew, thank you so much. For me, I was blown away by the visual poetry of your recollections of your great grand-mother as you shared them with us in Patti’s workshop.
Your depiction of light, shade, smell, texture and culture of old China, humbled me. It is that space that eludes me as I try to enter my Grandpa Zac’s experience as a foreigner in the China of 1895 to 1900.
There is plenty of historic data, but nothing transcends ‘being there.’
I love the paper moon in the ink-washed sky, the misery of the stones, and the alliterative goat noises. Plenty of tasty imagery here.
Thank you Rachael. From such an engaging poet I take solace. Rosie B.
[ By the way, I have your Varuna photos but have mislaid your postal address. [ Please send to rosie.barter@bigpond.com ]
Absolutely beautiful writing, Rosie. The piece is so rich with imagery (visual and auditory) that I felt as though I was on the sea cliff at Hydra with you, sharing your realisation that in having nothing, you can in fact have everything. Particularly loved the description of the goats and the old goat man.
Hello Anne: I am delighted that you were with me and could connect with that literal realisation which for me was a ‘peak moment’ in my life; also a turning point. And thanks for your kind encouragement.
Rosie B.
“Having nothing, I had everything”. Yes! I want to go there.
Great work Rosie. The Australia Greek links are pretty rich but we dont get to read about them very much and we need to read more about them.
As an aside the famous Paragon Cafe in Katoomba which is near Varuna was also founded by Greeks in 1916 and its history lives on, as does the memories of the Cafe Australia in Melbourne -also around 1916 – which I have researched for my manuscript of Marion’s Story. The more one delves in Australia-Greek ties the more interesting stories are out there.
There maybe a book there somewhere in famous Greek cafes in Australia.
But, also your book of course is a more complex journey of personal discovery as well which hopefully we will all get to read.
all the best and so glad to have met you at Varuna
Glenda Korporaal
Yes! I discovered only last week at Varuna that the Paragon was established by a Greek woman. Glenda, I love your Greek Cafes in Australia book idea; maybe when you’re done with Marion you can move on there. I will be waiting. Rosie B.
lovely to see your work here, rosie. have shared it on my facebook page. look foward to reading the book one day..
Joyce: It is very kind of you to include me on your facebook page. Really, the benefit of honest encouragement can never be over-stated. It is so easy to give up in the profound silence and invisibility of a writer’s craft.
Thanks again Rosie B.
Hi Rosie
heard the Crossing story on ABC radio and was blown away. Powerful and beautiful work.
Alan
Alan, Alan, Alan… Is that the Alan Muller who was one of my graphic design students at WAIT in 1970-something, and is now a prolific artist in Perth?? I can’t believe it!! How did you find me here?
Delighted that you recognised me, and enjoyed Crossing, the second time aired on Radio National. I had not known, other than Peter Efford!!! ringing to say he’d heard it last Sunday. Writing is my creative force nowadays. Though I yearn to sweep an ink-filled Zen brush over rice paper from time to time.
Love Rosie B.
I love your paintbrush ocean and the harem of goats. The artist in you shines forth! Would love to have been able to join you at your reading but am tied up with facilitating a group that night; can’t reschedule that one. May many be inspired, like I was.
With love,
Helene