Barrina and I connected in 2022 through Invisible Walls, a literary exchange program between Australian and Korean poets, co-facilitated by Dan Disney and myself. Invisible Walls poets were chosen via a competitive selection process. From a large pool of submissions, Barrina was one of twelve successful applicants. The striking language, imagery, and emotion of her poetry stood out immediately. Through working on the project itself, I came to know Barrina as not only a brilliant poet, but a deeply thoughtful, kind, and giving person, too. In late 2023, we met on Ngunawal and Ngambri Country (Queanbeyan, NSW) for a coffee and chat. Below is an edited transcript of our exchange.
Amelia Walker: We acknowledge that we are meeting on Ngunawal and Ngambri Country. We pay our respects to the Ngunawal and Ngambri people, their Elders past and present, and other First Nations people and families who have connections to these lands. Sovereignty was never ceded. This always was, always will be Aboriginal land.
Barrina South: I also want to acknowledge Ngunawal and Ngambri people and recognise that I live and write on their unceded sovereign lands.
AW: Barrina, thank you for sharing your time. I’m looking forward to learning more about you and your writing. We first came in contact when you applied for Invisible Walls. I was blown away by the power and imagery in all your poems, most especially ‘Baaka’ – your poem about the river Baaka (known in coloniser language as the Murray Darling). Reading that poem, I feel such a deep passion come through a gutting mix of love and pain. If you’re comfortable, could you maybe speak a little more about it and the things behind it?
Barrina South: I wrote the poem ‘Baaka’ on a family holiday with my partner and son – in our tinny, on the river, while both my son and partner were distracted fishing. I was looking at the river, its flow, and I just watched it, pushing past the branches of trees that had fallen in the river, the ripples, twists, and turns, and how the river wash was turning the dry branches to look like marble.
When water is put onto a dry branch, it changes the colour of it. I also looked out for the modified trees that are on the side of the riverbank, the canoe trees. When past floods occurred, many, many generations ago, people would take the bark off the trees and make canoes. My partner was taught to make bark canoes by his father. So, when I worked at the Australian Museum in Sydney, one of the things I did before I left was to commission his father to make an inland river canoe for the Australian Museum collection as there was a gap – most of the watercraft were from other parts of Australia. His father learnt a lot from the Old People growing up on the Brewarrina Mission. My Nan was born on the Brewarrina Mission, situated on the Baaka, but my great-grandmother moved away to Nyngan with my nan when she was young. She spoke very little about the reserve, and it wasn’t something I was told about. I was fortunate to spend time speaking with my partner’s mum about the mission, who lived there when she was a child and later with her own family. We spoke about the role of women, allowing me to imagine my great-grandmother and nan living there. After meeting my partner, one of the first things we ever did, when we first met 25 years ago, was him taking me back to that reserve. It had a marked effect on my identity. That’s why we both make sure our son is exposed to as much of his culture as possible, like being on the boat fishing – he is also learning.
For my Masters degree, I focused on New South Wales Aboriginal women’s autobiographical narratives and argued that they’re valuable primary sources for uncovering previously repressed knowledges like language, spirituality, and women’s experiences living on government reserves, known as missions. I touch on that in the poem you mention, the Baaka is a place of respite from the government gaze and control – where women could enjoy their children and spend time with each other. These are all the different elements that influenced the drafting of the poem, ‘Baaka’. In my writing and work I am always ensuring New South Wales Aboriginal culture is recognised and valued.
AW: It’s such a powerful poem. As a non-Indigenous person, the impact of invasion in this continent is devastating to your world. I’m so sorry and so ashamed. Your own story is one of amazing triumphs over the adversities you’ve had to face. Not only are you a leading contemporary poet on the international stage, but you’re also an award-winning visual artist and biographer who has held senior roles in public service, such as the Director of Policy and Strategy and now manager for Aboriginal Cultural Heritage Repatriation and Conservation and standing for Local Council. It’s astounding that you managed to balance all these things with a family to care for. I’m curious as to how they might connect with or feed into each other. I’m wondering if you could reflect on that beginning, perhaps on the relationships between poetry and visual arts.
BS: I sometimes wonder how it all happened and happens, but I think if you’re passionate and driven, then it’s enjoyable and sometimes easy. My first degree was a Bachelor of Visual Arts, and this study has helped me in my observations and interpretation of my environment, where I am and how I read the world visually. Sometimes, when people read my work or my short stories, they say that it could be a film and would translate well into a visual format. So, I was an active artist and had my work exhibited overseas and here in Australia. When my partner and I moved into a one-bedroom flat in Sydney, I didn’t have any space to produce my paintings, so I started being creative through writing – then my writing became my creative pursuit, and I went on that trajectory, and now here I am. In everything I do, I am aiming for positive change, representing my people, and protecting and raising the voices of New South Wales Aboriginal culture.
