Episode Twenty-Eight: Fire Front – Alison Whittaker, Meleika Gesa-Fatafehi and Laniyuk

January 20, 2021

In the final episode for this season, we speak with not one but three incredible guests to discuss their contributions to the powerful poetry collection Fire Front: First Nations poetry and power today.

Steph is joined by editor and contributor Alison Whittaker, editorial assistant and contributor Meleika Gesa-Fatafehi, and contributor Laniyuk.

We covered the practices and protocols of working as an Indigenous poet, the contradictions and complications of using the English language, and advice on how maintain positive collaborative relationships.

Links to topics discussed:

Shout outs to:

Fire Front is a ground-breaking anthology of First Nations poetry showcasing some of the brightest new stars including Meleika and Laniyuk, as well as leading Aboriginal writers and poets including Bruce Pascoe, Ali Cobby Eckermann and Tony Birch.

Alison Whittaker is a Gomeroi multitasker. Between 2017–2018, she was a Fulbright scholar at Harvard Law School, where she was named the Dean’s Scholar in Race, Gender and Criminal Law. Alison is a Senior Researcher at the Jumbunna Institute at UTS. Her debut poetry collection, Lemons in the Chicken Wire, was awarded the State Library of Queensland’s black&write! Indigenous Writing Fellowship in 2015. Her latest book, Blakwork, was published in 2018 and was shortlisted for a Victorian Premier’s Literary Award and won the QLA Judithe Calanthe Award for a Poetry Collection. Alison was also the co-winner of the 2017 Overland Judith Wright Poetry Prize for ‘Many Girls White Linen’. She was the Indigenous Poet-in-Residence for the 2018 Queensland Poetry Festival.

Laniyuk is a writer and performer of poetry and short memoir. She contributed to the book Colouring the Rainbow: Blak, Queer and Trans Perspectives in 2015, has been published online in Djed Press and the Lifted Brow, as well as in print poetry collections such as UQP’s 2019 Solid Air and 2020 Fire Front. She received Canberra’s Noted Writers Festival’s 2017 Indigenous Writers Residency, Overland’s 2018 Writers Residency and was
shortlisted for Overland’s 2018 Nakata-Brophy poetry prize. She runs poetry workshops for festivals, moderates panel discussions, and has given guest lectures at ANU and The University of Melbourne. She is currently completing her first collection of work to be published through Magabala Books.

Meleika Gesa-Fatafehi aka Vika Mana, is a proud Torres Strait Islander and Tongan storyteller that takes many forms. They descend from the Zagareb and Dauareb tribes of Mer Island and the village of Fahefa in Tonga. They perform poetry, write criticism, breathe life into worlds. They’ve written for Overland, The Big Issue, The Saturday Paper and several publications both at home and internationally.

EPISODE TRANSCRIPT

Laniyuk 

Even just looking at Aboriginal women today, like we’re fierce, we’re always at the front of protests, we’re always at the front of change, we’re  always at the front of movement and energy. You can’t tell me that that hasn’t been happening for the past 250 years. Like, I’m not buying it.

Steph 

Welcome to Sisteria, a podcast about women and non binary creatives and their experiences creating and consuming arts and culture. I’m your host, Steph. And today’s episode is one of those last but definitely not least situations, as it is the final episode for this season. But I am absolutely thrilled to have been joined by not one but three incredible guests to discuss their contributions to the poetry collection Fire Front: First Nations Poetry and Power Today. Alison Whittaker is a Gomeroi poet and law scholar. She’s also the editor of Fire Front. Alison is a research fellow at the Jumbunna Institute and between 2017 and 2018 she was a Fulbright scholar at Harvard Law School, where she was named the Dean’s Scholar in race, gender and criminal law. Alison has released two award winning books, Lemons in the Chicken Wire and Blakwork, and we’ll provide links to those in our show notes. Alongside Alison I was joined by Fire Front contributors, Meleika Gesa-Fatafehi and Laniyuk. Meleika is a proud Torres Strait Islander and Tongan storyteller that takes many forms. They perform poetry, write criticism, breathe life into worlds. They’ve written for overland, the Big Issue, the Saturday paper and several publications both at home and internationally. And Laniyuk is a writer and performer of poetry and short memoir. She contributed to the book Colouring the Rainbow: Blak, Queer and Trans Perspectives in 2015, and poetry collections such UQP’s 2019, Solid Air, and of course Fire Front. She’s currently completing her first collection of work to be published through Magabala Books. These three guests were so incredible, it’s really a special episode and I hope you enjoy it. We covered practices and protocols of writing as an Indigenous poet, the contradictions and complications of using the English language and advice on how to maintain positive collaborative relationships. There’s also a couple of cute cameos from Meleika this little sister who truly steals the show. I started off by asking the guests to introduce themselves and let us know where they were calling in from.

Alison 

Sure, I’ll go. I’ll go. No shame. Yaama. I’m Alison Whittaker. I’m a Gomeroi woman. Today I am recording from Gadigal and Wangal Country. I want to take this chance to acknowledge the elders and ancestors, who never ceded sovereignty over this place and who continue to govern our engagement here.

Meleika 

Um, hi everyone. My name is Meleika Gesa-Fatafehi also known as Vika Mana. I am speaking from Jagera land and Mianjin or Meanjin. I also want to acknowledge this is unceded territory and I am on stolen land. Yeah is there anything else? We need to say? Oh, who I am. I’m from the Zagareb and Dauareb tribes from Mer Island in the Torres Strait. And I’m also from Tonga from the village Fahefa.

Laniyuk 

My name is Laniyuk. I’m a writer and poet and Larrakia, Kungarrakan, Gurindji, which is Larrakia being Darwin area, Kungarrakan being my grandmother’s Country, the neighboring Country and Gurindji out in the desert. I’m calling in from Wellington, in Aotearoa. And it’s been really interesting being on this stolen land and seeing the similarities and the differences. And now being a settler in some regards and complicit in the colonization of this land, sort of reflecting on that and my role here and my responsibilities to that.

Steph 

So I thought I’d start with the very basic question of how did this collection come about. It’s an incredible book. I loved reading it as challenging as a lot of it is as a white settler. Um how did it come about? Alison, did you want to answer?

Alison 

Yes, of course. So UQP approached me to effectively put together an anthology. They approached a couple of mob before. So there was I understand that also approached Ellen van Neerven, who, maybe this is jumping the shark, but they’ll be putting together a short story equivalent collection, which I am very, very excited for. So the collection was kind of… UQP approached me for something that purported to be kind of the history of First Nations poetry. And I knew I wasn’t the person for that. But something that did interest me was putting together something that demonstrated, I guess, kind of like the precedent for which this renewed interest in First Nations poetry was building, to kind of understand the moment of, I guess, like power that we’re having at the moment. And also understanding where it came from, so that we can see kind of where it’s gonna go, and what our responsibility to tend to the future fire First Nations poetry is. So that is how it came together. It’s necessarily an incomplete collection. But it does its best to kind of tell a small story about how First Nations poetry is and how it came to be where it is today.

Steph 

And it’s it’s a 53 poems altogether, fifty-something and five essays,

Alison 

…and five essays. So they’re all the poems are grouped together into five, little, I guess, mini books to demonstrate the relationships that our poetry has with one another, in building kind of a collective blak public response in verse. And then yeah, I invited five essayists to come in respond to those poems kind of to acknowledge that sometimes poetry is accused of just being for poets, and that may be the case outside of blak poetry, but that the poetry is built for the community, it has an enduring relevance to our politics, public life, private life. And I wanted to demonstrate kind of that that big collective response. And so I think the essays do it really effectively, especially Chelsea Bond’s, which was a real highlight for me.

Steph 

Laniyuk you were nodding along. Do you agree with that? How did you feel when you were approached to have your poem in this collection?

Laniyuk 

I was so excited, I was so stoked and honored, particularly, you know, to have Alison approach me and to be able to collaborate with Alison, as an editor, who I think it really showed the difference for me when you are working with another Aboriginal person who has an organizational role in putting that together, and I really felt that Alison was really compassionate and gentle, and, you know, didn’t sort of expose me to like the sort of like strenuous pressures of publishing. You know, I’ve worked with other publishers that are like, this is the deadline. This is the date and we need it in on this time and blah. And, you know, I actually took my poem home, and sat down with my Nana, and read it to her and said, Do you, do you support it? Have I, you know, explained things well, in this poem, does it, you know, does it have my Nana’s tick of approval, and that took time because I was living in Melbourne, and my Nana’s in Darwin, and I flew home to see her. And, you know, it wasn’t so easy as just sending off emails, and you know, meeting deadlines, you know, air quote. Like it, it required cultural protocol and protocol and approval by my family, and to work with an Aboriginal person who understood that and who respected that and gave me the space and time to make sure that every word that I put onto that page, I stood by, my family stood by, I haven’t experienced that before. So it makes a really big difference.

Steph 

And I want to say Meleika, you were talking before about people mispronouncing your name and your poem is about saying your name correctly, “Say My Name”.

Meleika 

Yeah.

Steph 

And you did just say just asked me. So can I ask you now how I should pronounce your name correctly.

Meleika 

So it has, I think it has four sounds to it. So Mel, eh, so Mel-eh, and then ee-ka. Meleika. So when you are when you mix the eh, and ee makes a lei sounds and Meleika

Steph 

Meleika. I hope I got that right! How did you feel when you were approached to publish your poem?

Meleika 

Ah, so I found so there’s a whole story to that. And Alison can chime in when they want…

Steph 

We’re here for the stories. Bring them on.

Meleika’s little sister 

(Laughs) Um, at the time, before I was contacted about the poem, I actually put a call out about an internship in publishing if anyone was doing one, and Alison had reached out and told me that those internship for this book. So I got to put the poems together, I collated them all in a document for UQP. And before I introduced myself, I was told that my poem was in the book, and I was like, Oh, I didn’t know that. Um, but yeah, it was really, it was, it was surreal, because I was sitting at the desk.

Meleika 

And um…

Meleika’s little sister 

Hey!

Meleika 

I’m like, Oh. (laughs) Hi.

Steph 

Hello!

Meleika 

I was introduced. Oh, sorry. I was introduced

Steph 

No it’s cute.

Meleika 

I was to introduced to the job, but also told that my work was going to be in the book. So it was both my hectic to get the intensive, but also to find out that my poetry was going to be in the book. So yeah.

Steph 

We just got an extra little guest who’s appeared. Who’s this?

Meleika 

Oh this is my little sister she’s…how old are you? Okay, that’s English. Yeah. Yeah, she’s, she likes coming in every time I have a Zoom lesson. She knows when I’m on Zoom, because I’ll be talking to myself. And she always wants to come in and just tell the whole world who she is.

Steph 

Well, welcome.

Meleika 

Yep.

Steph 

The more the merrier.

Meleika 

(laughs)

Steph 

She’s adorable.

Meleika’s little sister 

Hello.

Steph 

Stealing the show?

Alison 

Hello…But Meleika had such a, yeah, a crucial part of putting the collection together. And I actually didn’t know that that’s how you found out. I’m so sorry that that was the process that met you it would have been, I don’t know, maybe a bit surprising. That is probably a failure. I guess on my part, I might have to go back and think about my processes…

Meleika 

Nah you’re okay. I think it was just, it was just surreal in the sense that, um, (laughs) it was surreal in the sense that whilst we’re doing introductions, yeah, we got I got asked and I was like, Oh, yeah, like, um, that was, yeah, I know. It was just very different. (laughs)

Alison 

Yeah (laughs)

Meleika 

I was like, I got a job. And I’m in this book. What?!

Alison 

Yeah.

Steph 

That’s pretty great. Like, that’s a that’s a double whammy of goodness.

Meleika 

Yeah. Mmm.

Steph 

And Alison, you have a poem in the book as well. Was that a strange experience commissioning yourself in a collection?

Alison 

Yeah I asked if I should be in it. And they said, Yes. But it still feels weird. So definitely… yeah, I don’t know, it was I didn’t want to be a big noter when I put it in. But also, I didn’t want my only role in the text to be kind of this omniscient curator, like I really had to show that I had skin in the game, if that makes sense. That’s a really crude way of saying it. But like, I didn’t want to misrepresent myself as someone who was looking in on this space that wanted to show that I was involved in that these poems had a relationship, both owing to mob who had kind of done the massive critical work beforehand to make stuff like this possible, but also that the work had an obligation to continue on with not only like the next generation of poets, but to kind of continue that circular legacy.

Steph 

It wasn’t just cos I think when people think of poetry, if they’re not kind of engaged in the literary world or the poet community, they might just think of either performance poetry or poetry on a page, but you also commissioned or collated song lyrics and a whole bunch of different ways, kind of oral poems that have gone in there. Some have footnotes that are like this should have been read orally if you have a moment, read it out loud. And I thought that was really beautiful. How important was it for you to expand it beyond the page? So include words that are presented in other forms.

Alison 

Yes. So important, I mean, to center poetry on the page is a total disservice to how poetry is experienced by so many of us. And I say that as a page poet, I think, Laniyuk and Meleika both have more experience as performance poets, and maybe they might be better equipped to answer this question. But I just wanted to acknowledge the diversity of the form, that we not only have expertise in the substance of the poems that we write, but we are innovating and developing form and technique in myriad ways that reflect how mob engaged with poetry differently.

Meleika 

Yeah, I agree. Like full disclosure, don’t (laugh)… I only started performing poetry at the end of 2018. Yeah, and I’ve been performing poetry since then. But I still find, I think I find it so, for me, it’s the truest form that I can express my work through, like, spoken word, in the sense that, oh, reading my words allows me to storytell in a way that I can’t really do on paper. I can’t really do in English, I can’t really…you can’t see my face, when I’m on the on the page, you can’t see the emphasis that provide on the page, you can’t see the way that I move on the page. So it’s very different. And I think storytelling for me has always been an experience in the sense that I rather perform live and experience it firsthand, rather than providing words on paper. I mean, I’m deadly both ways. (laughs)

Everyone 

(Laughs)

Meleika 

But I really prefer talking because I know that there’s a sense of like home, when you see another blackfella, like, tell their story to you, tell their home to, talk about their life to you, rather than trying to work it out yourself on the page. So I think the difference in storytelling is so beautiful. And I take away a little bit of everything in both, like, in different ways from every form. So yeah, I hope that makes sense. But that’s how, that’s how I I really, that’s why I really love storytelling, because it’s just like, you can tell me a story anyway. And I’ll walk away different. If you told me the story, I would have walked away different from you writing your story. So yeah.

Steph 

Laniyuk do you agree? What’s your experience been like?

Laniyuk 

Yeah, absolutely. I, I really enjoy performing poetry, being able to able to deliver it with the emotion that I intended for the poem. And I guess that’s sort of like the the clearest demonstration of my intent, because it’s from me directly. And yet, at the same time, I feel like there’s a level of safety that we can kind of get through that distance, distance of poetry in print, where we don’t have to take on the emotional labor or the emotional response of someone. And I mean, that’s so prevalent amongst white Australian’s to be resistant and violent and insensitive to Aboriginal people, and what we experience and our histories. So I think at the same time, there is value in having that distance through the prep, through the page. I’ve had some real strange things said to me after performing poetry, so I also appreciate the print. But yeah, it’s nice as well to have the human to human connection through performance poetry. Absolutely.

Steph 

When I was setting up I was eavesdropping on Alison and Meleika’s conversation and you were talking about something very similar about having people come up to you after you perform…

Meleika 

Yeah.

Steph 

and kinda dumping their white guilt on you almost in a, that’s my that’s my crude interpretation, that wasn’t your words. But…

Meleika 

Yeah, it was just like, you’ll perform because for me when I perform, I always think about other blackfellas in the room. It’s just like my poetry is written for them, it’s for them in mind, I keep them in mind when I write. So when, when non black people come up to me, and they try to dump the emotional, emotions on me in the sense that they want to they want me to resolve them. I can’t resolve you from nothing! (laughs) I’m so sorry. I’m just like, that’s just expectation when of them coming up to you and being like, I’m being honest now. Like, I’m, I’m so sorry that we did this and this and this. And I was like, like, these things happen all the time. And it’s just like, um, I can’t say thank you. Because I’m not thankful. I can’t say I’m grateful, because I’m not grateful that that’s all you took away from it. Um, I think it’s something that non black people have to like, sit by themselves, because it literally puts the weight back on us again, to be like, yeah, we forgive you. Yeah, you’re deadly. No. And it’s just like, you have to, you really have to do the work by yourself. Because it’s always because I, I started performing when I was, like, my late teens, and it was just like, I was a young fella. And I had a lot of adults being like, oh, wow, you’re gonna change the world? Maybe. Nah. But it shouldn’t be up to me. Like, it should be a collective. Like, yeah, a collective thing. Because a lot of people… the way that look, I could go on and on and on.

Steph 

Please do!

Meleika 

(Laughs) But basically, it’s just, it’s tiring in the sense that when I did perform spoken word, or I just go up on stage and start talking. And I come off. And number of people come up to me, they always have questions that I wish that they just kept to themselves, or that they could have just easily just googled. But it’s just yeah, they literally realize that they’re putting us through they’re re-traumatizing us, when we come off and we’re feeling good, good. And we’ve just healed collectively with people in the audience. And they come up to us, and then they just like, wow, you showed us that we’re really privileged. And I’m just like, um did it really take you a poem to realize that like come on now, you’ve lived how long in this world and a poem taught you that you were privileged. It’s like, there’s just, it’s just, yeah, it’s very tiring, and you get tired of it. But I stick around because of the fact that I love performing for blackfellas. Because every time after I have to put up with the non-black people, and a blackfellas come in and they’re just like wow, I really cried. And I was like I know, I couldn’t look at youse. Because I would have been crying too. Because it’s, it’s really a healing moment. Storytelling is so healing. It’s really, it solidifies the fact that you’re not alone. Which is what I always…it, it’s a feeling that always creeps up on you, like, you’re, you’re the only person in the world that feels this. And you get in this dark place, but I perform poetry and other fellas are like I feel that way, too. I always felt like that. I just never had the words. I’ve never had the vocabulary to express it. And I always tell them, yeah, you’ve always had the vocabulary. You don’t have to follow the western colonial way of expressing yourself. This is this is a this is how we express ourselves. So yeah, that’s that’s how I feel.

Steph 

There’s a number of tensions there that I think run through the entire collection and stuff, things that you were saying one of them was in Ali Cobby Eckermann’s essay she mentions about being around a campfire and sharing stories and then throwing them into the fire. And that was how they existed. And then as a writer and publisher, kind of dealing with the tension of what I just wrote, for my community and to perform amongst ourselves and what I should publish. Do you go through that individually as poets yourself? Are there things that you write that you’re like, no, this is for, for us and for me? And for our collective healing? Or do I want to publish this? Or is it not something that that you consider? Because ultimately, if you want to make a profession out of writing or any kind of performance work, you have to do it publically? Or is that question too annoying?

Meleika 

I’ll answer that. Quickly in the sense that a lot of people…so for us, and I speak from experience and I speak, because it’s always in the back of my mind when I write, and when I produce something, I always have to think about my family, my people and cultural protocol, like, non black people don’t have to think about that on this Country, on this continent. Like they don’t have to think about how, how it will reflect our ancestors or how our ancestors will interpret it. But yeah, it’s, it’s a weird, like, I think it’s very weird, in the sense that I’ll see like, white authors write about us, and do it in the most mediocre way. It’s just like, wow, youse think you’re deadly and youse don’t have to do that much. But for us, when we have to write about ourselves. Or if we have to write Indigenous fellas into our book or poem, we have to, like, we, I ask my old people, I ask my friends, I go out and talk to community, I’ll reflect and it takes ages to even, like, produce a proper, like poem if it’s about someone else. Or, like, if I include Indigenous characters in one of my manuscripts, it’s just, we have to reflect and non-Indigenous people don’t do that at all.

Steph 

Yeah Laniyuk you mentioned that as part of your process with the poem that was published in Fire Front, and I was creepily lurking on your Instagram, as part of my research…

Laniyuk 

Okay (Laughs)

Steph 

Once I say that out loud, that’s really creepy, but I was just like, it’s part of the research…and I noticed that you posted the Fire Front, and you were talking about your experience and having it published. And you mentioned that “not surprisingly this poem got very little attention from non Aboriginal people. The colony is addicted to our suffering to our stories of hardship, to fulfill their fantasies of the meek, tired, Aborigine.” How much does that relate to what was just being said, about kind of practice and protocol and your own experience with your poem?

Laniyuk 

Um, yeah, it’s, it’s like, yeah, that this poem, it’s really only ever been Aboriginal people and Aboriginal women, more specifically, that have come up to me after performance has said that poem that you performed, like, you know, I really connected with that I really, I really heard that and understood, you know, that poem. And then I have, you know, non Aboriginal editors and publishers, you know, approaching me for particular work that is just so far from my, like, list of priorities, they’re going for the funny poem for the lighthearted poem, you know, and not the poems that I want to publish, not the poems that are important to me. And so when Alison approached me specifically said, Hey, you know, that poem that you perform that one time, you know, would love it to be  in this collection, it just meant so much, so much for my priorities to be seen for what they were. And, you know, like I said, there is a protocol that comes with being published. Anything that I put forward to go into print, to go out into the world, I show my family first, I get them to read it, I get their feedback. And even just recently, I wrote a poem, and before sending it to be published, I sent it to a cousin, who was coincidentally there with my Auntie and, and they read it and they said, nah cuz, like you’ve got it mixed up. That’s not actually one of our stories, you know, that you’re talking about there, you should write about this instead. And so I went back, and I edited that poem, and I prioritize the story that they wanted to be told that my family wanted to be told, because my poems and my poetry, that’s, that’s the purpose for me, is for furthering my family and my country and my people. And it’s not about me alone. It’s about all of us coming together on that page, and I need to have their permission before I go forward with anything. And I’m, you know, I was on a panel once, and there was this white boy, that was sort of like, I just think that we need to be careful about the word integrity, there’s no such thing as integrity and poetry and writing, because you always edit it so it’s never raw and it’s never real. And it sort of like that’s it. That’s that really wrong with me and I couldn’t figure out why. Until I realized that the editing process for me is where I seek my integrity is where I sit back and say, What am I actually doing here? What is this for? Who is this for? What is this about? And how do I make sure that it lives up to the expectations of my family and my Country.

Steph 

And both of you, had, we talked about the slight footnotes that are kind of littered throughout, but you both had dedications before yours did you want to talk about the choice to add that at the front of your poem.

Meleika 

Um, so every time I’ve actually performed “Say My Name” as a single work, I always yarn about the meaning of the word. So I’ll yarn about it today. Um, so basically, when I was born, my father had a dream about my name, and about me. So I was given that name for my father, which coincidentally has… has meanings on both sides of my family, so my name holds meaning on one side of my family and on the other, which I find beautiful, because it’s just like it was a Tongan name, but it still has a meaning in both bloodlines. And, and for me, to not tell a proper story about how my name came to be and how one of my great grandmother’s when was named after, was, had the same name, it felt, it didn’t feel right not to say anything, or mentioned anything. So I always, it was a privilege to like, be like, we have the opportunity to say something. So I dedicated it to my mother, who wanted to give me another name, don’t, but my dad was like, man, I had a dream, I had a dream. And I thank my mum for letting my father named me, and for, my father for naming me. And I think my mum again, for letting me take that for letting me keep the name. And then I thanked my nan, and my papa sitting there, and then I’m papa. Because my whole life my family has always been the only people who have said my name correctly. And with love. And for me, it was important to acknowledge the love that’s always been associated with my name. So it’s, it’s always important to acknowledge people with my poems, which is what I always do before performing. But on the written page to acknowledge them beforehand was, yeah, I was really special.

Laniyuk 

Um, my poem “Remember”, was, I was really trying to combat the, the erasure of Aboriginal women in the narratives that are told about us. I just think it’s outrageous that, you know, the images that we receive of Aboriginal women, even just like in the paintings, you know, we’re always just like sitting on the ground, wrapped in a blanket. And it’s like, you can’t tell me that during a war an Aboriginal woman didn’t pick up a spear, and fight, you know. And even just looking at Aboriginal women today, like we’ve fierce, we’re always at the front of protests, we’re always at the front of change, we’re always at the front of movement and energy. You can’t tell me that that hasn’t been happening for the past 250 years. Like, I’m not buying it. And even the Aboriginal women that do make it into history, become footnotes or become a paragraph, you know, become a wife or, you know, become a, you know, the sole survivor. And the complexity of our stories are taken away from us. And so with “Remember” I try to retell the stories of three Aboriginal women, adding that trying to add back in that complexity of resistance and energy and fierceness and reflecting on my life now, today, trying to survive that same war, trying to make steps towards our survival. And I think about what they must have been thinking and feeling at their times, the quiet moments that they have in bed, you know, feeling overwhelmed. And one of the women that I add dimension to is my great great grandmother, Alyandabu, who was one of the few surviving members of our tribe after her family were poisoned. And that is my grandmother’s grandmother, Alyandabu was my grandmother’s grandmother. And if I look at that, that lineage of survival, you know, my grandmother is another, another link in that chain leading to my my existence and my ability to resist now. So it was really important for me to acknowledge my Nana, and all of the work that she’s done as a poet and as an activist her whole life, it I think was important to, to sort of lay out that chain of survival amongst generations.

Steph 

And Alison, when you were approaching writers, did you say to them, you have this space, if you wanted to add anything, if there was an addendum, a footnote, any context that you wanted to give, is that something that you approached them with?

Alison 

Yeah, that was something that I have to say, I don’t think I approached everybody with the option of the footnote, but any amendments that they wanted to make to poems that had already been published any, contextualization that they thought was necessary? I think I made it clear that that was possible. (laughs) I, yeah, the curatorial process is something that I definitely learned along the way, as something that I would do differently now, I think, having been through this experience. Knowing that, and I don’t mean this with them, I guess any animosity towards UQP, but like the difference between what it meant to work with a publisher who had hard deadlines, who wanted to do stuff in a particular way, and then having to just, again, with no animosity be pushing back against them all the time and be like, no, this is how we’re going to do it. No, this is how we’re going to do it. And realizing that there was a lot more power to push back than I thought I had, I definitely would have done things a little bit differently, including by outlining a great deal more of authorial control. Because I assumed that because all of the poems in Fire Front had been, quote, unquote, like published, somewhere else we performed somewhere else had been distributed, they’ve been released to a blak public. And I’d assumed in those relationships by the process, that mob would have published it in the way that they wanted in that time, even though some of these poems are actually quite old, and at a time when mob didn’t have as much power in the publishing industry as they did now. Not that that’s a lot. And so having the chance for people to actually situate their poems in relation to one another in a way that makes sense to them in a way that also fulfilled the responsibilities while also holding it as a record of what it was, that was the kind of complexity, I think that I was not breaching against kind of like just just sitting in that was it, it’s never going to fully be resolved. I mean, how can you resolve something like this in the English tongue, in, you know, the pages of an institution that, you know, has been publishing for a really long time using stolen wealth from the mobs whose land it was on? These are things that we are constantly working through.

Steph 

Yeah, one of the interesting, I guess, paradoxes, to use a bit of a wanky word, in the book, and I think in poetry that is very interesting is using English and I loved how Stephen Oliver talked about English being a tricky language because it’s used to trick people. How do you resolve or kind of work with that in your own work, with that tension? Question for anyone using the English langu…

Meleika 

I hate English.

Steph 

Well, that’s one answer. (laughs)

Meleika 

(laughs) I, I genuinely hate English. And when I do my work, I purposely so in the editing process, my poem, I thank my mothers and father, and I, I think it was confusing. But for me, I was thinking my Auntie’s and my dad. And my Auntie’s are my mother’s. And because kinship ways, I only have uncles. So I only thank my father. So it was, I think it was weird for them to try to work out how to say that in English, and I was like, that’s how you say, that’s how you say it, um, so, I think a lot of people just don’t realize that we can say deadly things in English, but they are going to have to sit with the fact that we’re not going to use it the way that they want us to. Because I will, a lot of people will pull me up with spelling and how I phrase things and it’s just like, I did that on purpose, okay? You’re gonna have to sit with that, because I’m not gonna change it. So it’s that process of like, telling them that one, this is how blackfellas speak, two that I have no respect for how your, how you tell stories, how Western colonial way, like colonial ways of storytelling is prioritized in these spaces. So I have no respect for that. I can tell stories however I want, you can’t tell me nothing, because I’m the storyteller. And the whole fact that I will purposely also just, yeah, not spell anything, right and not use grammar right. And when I do use language, it’s always like, I don’t know how to say it. But it’s literally like an inside joke between, like everyone else who can speak it. And everyone who can’t speak it has to sit there and gam’ and laugh like, they know what, what I just said. Like, you don’t know, but that’s deadly that you think you do. Um, so it’s this process of being like, I’m gonna use my language, however I want because, again, this, everything I write is for blackfellas, so why would I write in a way that has to prioritize…like, even the vocabulary that I use? I make sure that I don’t use words that I like, people are like, oh, wow, I didn’t know the meaning to that. And I’m like, yeah, cuz I’m not gonna use it. I always prioritize how I grew up. How…because for me as well, like being off topic as well, English isn’t my first language. Why was I, why would I use a language that I wasn’t born when to tell stories that went told in that language? Like, why would I believe that? But yeah.

Laniyuk 

Yeah, it’s a hard thing to navigate. Because I mean, English is, is my first language. And, you know, using English is one of my strongest skills. That’s what I make my my living off of, it’s what I use to further my message. And it’s not really where I’d like to be. And I’m, I’d like us to, I know that we will continue to stay to take steps moving back towards their languages, and it’s something that I try to bring into my writing as much as possible. And there’s a lot of mistranslation, like there are a lot of Aboriginal values, Aboriginal concepts that don’t translate into English, and then there’s an opportunity to misinterpret. I mean, recently, I had a poem in a, in a song that has the opportunity to have like quite an international audience. And I realized that when I talk about Country, it could be interpreted in a sort of, like nationalistic way. And that it could be sort of like more government, you know, if I’m like, Yeah, the spirits of our countries, and that’s not what I meant (laughs) you know, and I had to really reflect and think about how I can communicate more clearly what it is that I’m trying to say, and moving beyond the limitations of what English provides us with.

Meleika 

Yeah.

Laniyuk 

And I think really, the, it’s about going back to using our, our languages for those terms. And if you get it, you get it. If you don’t, you don’t. But you know, then at the same time, it’s, I think it’s an English is an interesting tool for I think, like global solidarity work amongst other people who have been colonized. And to be able to, to maintain that connection today.

Meleika 

Yeah, I also just want to add quickly that English doesn’t, like adding on to that English doesn’t have ways to express certain feelings as well. Like is it like we, they can misinterpret values, but when it also comes to feeling and connection to like our like spirituality, they have no idea how to talk about that, because there’s no words for it. And you try to come up with words for it. So you try to mix your own language into English, but it’s still it still doesn’t work. So, English is so limiting, in the sense that it will never truly encompass the blak experience on this Country because it was never used to do that.

Alison 

Yeah.

Laniyuk 

And language shapes, societal values, and, and ways of thinking and ways of being so when we have been colonized, you know, the language plays such a huge part in that. It shapes what we able to communicate. Yeah, and how that then goes on to affect, you know, sort of like group culture, to be able to move back to our languages, it will again reshape us and our values, and solidify them in like day to day, societal, systemic changes.

Steph 

Speaking of words, I have to ask the inevitable question that Alison, I’m sure you’ve been asked in literally every single interview. The title Fire Front, well, from what I’ve read, it was before the most recent bushfire catastrophe. And can you talk a little bit about why you retained that title? You did write about it in your introduction and in the acknowledgments section. But I think it’s just an interesting thing for people who might be coming to it fresh. And yeah…

Alison 

Yeah. So if I have, the title was actually just a working title to kind of represent the subversive power that First Nations poetry has but also the the fuel base that it comes from, because a lot of like, contemporary whitefellas talking about blak poetry as if it’s like, just manifested in the last five years, that’s like lit by young people, which we know is absolutely bullshit. And so to kind of talk about poetry in this way, and also to acknowledge that we’re having a moment where all of the work of our ancestors, but also the literary predecessors, who’ve worked really, really hard to give us this fuel, that the moments kind of finally happening, the fire front was like a thin line. And now the wind has changed a little bit. And now it’s kind of equipped to its full power. So that was the governing metaphor, I guess, if you like, behind “fire front”. And by the time that the the devastating bushfire season that we had last year, and early into this year, came around, we had the opportunity, maybe to change it. But I thought in addition to being kind of an apt metaphor, as it was outside of this context, for First Nations poetry, it also highlights like, why we do it like what’s at stake, when mob don’t control our own affairs when mob are denied caring for our own Country. And so it kind of stayed and that acknowledgement went in. That the the devastating bushfire season kind of demonstrates that poetry is part of this broader political ecology that’s pushing for land rights and for control and for the meaningful recognition of sovereignty as a legal reality, but also as a reality that if the settler colony doesn’t begin to acknowledge sovereignty, which exists, whether or not they say it does, these are the things the escalating crises that are going to keep happening.

Steph 

I think it’s time now for our Arrogant Aunt section, where we answer listener questions with an authority we don’t have. It’s an exercise in imposter syndrome for all of us. Today’s question is from Sarah. Sarah asks, “I’m used to working collaboratively with lots of people. So I’m finding it hard to be distanced from my team and collaborators right now. But I also feel overwhelmed by constantly emailing and online meetings, to keep in touch and keep things going. Do you have any advice for artists working collaboratively at this point in time to help ease the load and make it fun, rather than laborious?” So obviously, we’re on Zoom now, and we’re recording this a bit differently. This is how a lot of collaborative processes are taking place when we’re used to meeting in the same room or if you’re a performance poet performing to a roomful of people, which is maybe something we’re not able to do so much, now. Do you have any advice anyone on how to make it more fun than just emailing and just Zooming? Or how to really lean into those things and make them fun and easier, I guess? Oh you’re all shaking your head no (laughs)

Laniyuk 

I’m gonna be a little bit blunt.

Steph 

Go for it.

Laniyuk 

I just think that it is really important to collaborate with people that you trust personally and politically, it makes it a lot more fun, and it just makes a lot more safe. And so, you know, to have Alison approach me, it was a hard, yes, straight away. And sure enough, you know, trusting that that decision, and trusting that feeling of trust, made the experience a lot more enjoyable, you know, but safer for me and my work beyond just the relationship that I have with Alison, I know I can trust where the work is going the the collection that will be in in the context that will be received in. And I just think it’s important for mob to work with mob and for people to work with people that they trust, because a lot of snakes out there that really just want to use you and use your work and use your culture and make money off you. So that would be my hot take.

Steph 

I can’t even tell you, I can’t even tell you how much I’m nodding along to that one. Any other advice?

Meleika 

I just back up what sis said 100%. Because that there gonna be people who will try to use you as a token, token black, or not just their shows, but their panels like their star. So be 100% aware of that. And, yeah, if you want to, if you want to do it, do it. But also make sure that you bring other blackfellas into that space to be like, we’re gonna we’re gonna take over this place. But yeah, like make sure. Also, yeah, 100% 100%. Because it’s a very different experience to working with non blackfellas because it’s just like, it’s like working with family. Someone that you love. It’s like working with your favorite cousin, basically. (laughs) Now you have high expectations, don’t blame me. Um, make sure make sure, yeah, that’s all I have.

Steph 

Alison, do you have any advice?

Alison

Yeah I mean, if it’s, I just want to kind of back up what’s been said already, but if this is like contained specifically to the pandemic, I think like as mob working in the arts, or mob working anywhere, there’s always this kind of like, pressure that’s coming from outside our community to produce and to truth tell, that’s not necessarily for our own ends. And like I don’t, I’ve noticed it kind of intensify maybe over this last little period. And you don’t have to do it. Like, if something like this is like if you’re feeling pressured, or it’s not conducive to what you wanted to do, and doesn’t feel right in your gut, you have a right to refusal, and even if that’s kind of hope, this doesn’t sound tacky, but like looking after yourself, and your well being and that of your family and your community. If all of those things come at the expense of writing or collaborating or doing creative stuff, like that’s okay. That’s something that we’re not told very often that, you know, there are things that are more important than this. And sometimes it’s okay to let them happen. Yeah.

Meleika 

Yeah. You can say no, it’s okay.

Steph 

You can say no.

Laniyuk 

I think there’s a certain amount of leverage as well. Like, I was asked to speak on a panel recently, and I was just sort of like, what has this person interviewing me got anything to do with my work? I was like, I want an Aboriginal person. Like, why you’re not getting an Aboriginal person to talk to me on this panel, and they did it. You know? And like, maybe you won’t always get that response. But if you can just sort of be like, I’m uncomfortable with this. I need you to do this. You know, got a little bit of leverage to work with sometimes. And, yeah…

Steph 

Use that. Although people should have those ideas, anyway, if they’re coming to you, that’s the issue like that…

Laniyuk 

Yeah I mean like there’s no festival without us. Right? Like, there’s no book without us. So…

Meleika 

True.

Steph 

100%. So I did want to present you with the opportunity to give a Sisteria Shout Out to any piece of art or culture you’ve been enjoying recently, and I know that a few people have been kind of locked away, I’m in Melbourne, Naarm, on lockdown. But I want to hear… I’ve got nothing. I’ve got nothing to recommend. All I’m doing is sitting in this little box, talking to wonderful people like you, editing and doing boring office work. So please give me good things to listen to, to read, to watch. Alison do you want to kick us off.

Alison 

Oh yeah, I haven’t actually watched this yet. But I have planned an entire weekend around it that I’m really looking forward to. I May Destroy You, which I think is going to be THE 2020. But like text TV show, yep. Work of Art. I am so excited. So…

Meleika 

I’d say that. I watched it.

Alison 

You got me all excited. I thought hold on til Saturday.

Steph 

It’s nice to have something to look forward to as well. That’s great.

Alison 

It’s true!

Meleika 

I have I have a lot of recommendations. And I, so I’ve been watching love, um, Lovecraft Country. It’s this sci fi type of take of a…well what they’ve described as, ah, actually I don’t know how to describe it. Just watch it. Um, there’s a lot of black people in it. I love that fact. And we get to tell our stories in a way that prioritizes our own, well, African Americans get to to prioritize the way that they tell their own stories about the ancestors and ghosts, which I really loved. And the next one that I think I have two books, actually three. But so basically The Deep by River Solomon is about the ancestors of the of slaves who have those enslaved, who jumped ship and drowned and turned into mermaids. So those are their ancestors and basically tells you the life of these mermaids that live under the sea now. So that’s River Solomon, they’re really cool. Pet by Akweke Emezi. I’m pretty sure I mispronounced their name. But that book is about a trans girl who’s mute, who chases down monster that came alive from their parents painting. Her mom’s, Bitter her name is, painting. So she chases that monster down. And it’s like set in this world that prioritizes abolition, like they abolish prisons, and it’s so beautiful. I like I didn’t want to finish it because I still want to live in that world. And Clap When You Land is a story told in verse by Elizabeth Acevedo. And it’s about these two girls who had lost their father in a plane crash and then mysteriously find out that they’re sisters. And both their, the father had passed away had two different families in two different countries. So yeah, very interesting.

Steph 

All sound great. You gave me some things to do. Thank you.

Meleika 

(laughs) You’re welcome!

Steph 

Laniyuk what was yours? What’s your shout out?

Laniyuk 

I have two. Firstly, my Nana, Kathy Mills is actually publishing her first collection of poetry. Yeah, Mookanunganuk, which will be published through Bachelor Institute. And she’ll be launching it at the Northern Territory Writers Festival

Steph 

Amazing!

Laniyuk 

In October, which I’m just so excited and like so proud. And so I’m really excited to get my copy. And none has been writing poetry for literal decades, has been writing about our history and has been sharing culture and just been so incredible. She’s so she’s so strong. So I’m really excited. Everyone should go out and buy a copy.

Steph 

What was your Nana’s name again?

Laniyuk 

Kathy Mills. Right. Yep. And then the second one is a little bit of a shameless plug. But I’ve collaborated with a very, very good friend of mine, and we’re releasing a song together, which will be on Spotify, September 17. And it’s sort of in the current, I guess, like political reflection of policing and state sanctioned violence, reflecting on the connection between what’s happening in the Philippines with their current ruler Duterte. And, I guess, you know, looking for connection and solidarity with Aboriginal people and recognizing the relationship and the connection between what all oppressed people are going through globally. It’s all related. And so that’ll be out and Spotify. Her name is Lucie Vano. The song’s called Silence Is. September 17.

Steph 

How exciting. I actually did have one shout out and that’s that everyone, based on this conversation, I’m sure you’re already clicking on to order it now, but go by Fire Front. It’s excellent. As this conversation proved, listen to these amazing voices go read some. Thank you very much for joining me today. This has been so wonderful. I feel so enlightened. Oh.

Alison 

(inaudible noise)

Steph 

She’s back!!

Alison 

Yaama!

Meleika 

You want to listen?

Steph 

Guest star!

Meleika’s little sister 

(whispering)

Steph 

Whispering to you.

Meleika 

You want chips?

Steph 

(Laughs) don’t we all!

Alison 

Me too!

Meleika 

Why did she have to whisper that though. (laughs) I thought it was a secret.  Want to go get your chips?

Steph 

Adorable.

Steph 

All right. Thank you so much, everyone. Thank you! Bye!

Laniyuk 

Thank you.

Meleika 

Thank you. Say bye!

Steph 

Sisteria is supported by the Melbourne City Council Arts Grants Program and recorded on the lands of the Wurundjeri People of the Kulin nations. We pay our respects to the elders past and present and to the elders of all the lands this podcast reaches. Subscribe to Sisteria everywhere and follow us @sisteriapod. Links to everything discussed in the episode are available at sisteriapodcast.com. Our theme music is by Rainbow Chan, the song is called Last and it’s from her album Spacings. Thanks so much for listening, stay safe and we hope to tune in again soon.