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Thylazine: The Australian Journal of Arts, Ethics & Literature                                                                                                                                  #5/thyla5k-mtc AUSTRALIAN POETS SERIES 5 The Poetry of MTC Cronin Selected by Coral Hull [Above] Photo of MTC Cronin by Jeanette Cronin, 1998. I The World Beyond the Fig I Worm Farm I The Farewell I White Hibiscus I The Law of Donkeys and Long Grass I The World Beyond the Fig extraordinary. This woman who forces herself through a hole in the fig. In the fruit. to lay eggs ... Waspish was the way someone described her but I think it was independence - the way she left her wings behind when she went in there to give birth to her children. Knowing it was death. Knowing that what she buried in the sugar-flesh of that fig was culmination. And others follow her, some of them will produce sons who can mate with her daughters – there are priorities in even the smallest of worlds. and fatalism. A sweet thing I pick and peel with only the taste as expectation until the shock of their small black bodies in my mouth makes me think (a head full of wasps). and those that fly away? Take with them whatever time it takes to find another fig. Somewhere to put their heads down to work; to empty their bellies of the urge; to forever shit out more of themselves. But that woman did whisper just before dying in that soft dark heart, her mouth and fingers full of its stickiness: children, my daughters at least, who will leave here, take the spores of the tree with you. A place to be born as well as a place to die Published in the world beyond the fig (FIP, 1998). Worm Farm for Gaby Ramia our aching white tiny souls have moved from the house to lie with the worms in the yard they like to eat eggshells the crack crack crack of the truly alive and careful fills their mouths with the universe that we too have been forced to swallow fat from it like worms in a farm they soon cannot move from the fake eden that animals do not know while in the house we built we go tsk tsk tsk how strange that we should speak with our tongues that thing with which we want to be small Published in Bestseller (Vagabond Press, 2001). The Farewell That speech of strangeness outside the window Raucous birds Trees fully laden with the cores of fruit At each step the white wings of insects Vibrating against our lids Another week and I would have collected names for them all As it is their shapes have a time of day And particular sound to alert me though Even the trees have their quiet times When they are difficult to approach and the creek Should be left soon after the hottest hour When all the countryside creeps a little closer The fox Silently down from the rock face The dry blackberry leaning over the water Stones gathering for shallows Here and there the sun through curtains and wasps' nests Long and glassy like seashells outside the back door The transparency of life When seen through broken sleep Someone wakes me in the late afternoon The nuance of evening hiding down behind the shed My lover fully dressed: 'We are leaving' And pointing the way A church of pines and the blasphemy Of the open road screaming towards the horizon At the very moment the light goes Deep in the paddock - a shape! What might be the white kangaroo they told us about Surrounded by the unseen mob Shade matching perfectly that colourless slide From day to night The horses' muscles twitch in the gloom And the gate closes just as we hear the call The fresh and independent note of a lonely bird 'Whatever else Poetry is not here to be recognized' And Pablo kicks with his strong hind leg Buckling the fence At least the length of the car White Hibiscus for Graham Clifford The white hibiscus tail of the dove Boat at the tip of its triangle Equilateral slips of history Opening a fan of foam In its wake Sun in the foam And your shadow's face Green world of love Deep with grief which swells And flings Its broken water on black rocks And into the drowned valley Lava on the sea Setting the hulls of our boats on fire With sun that burns itself In the vertical earth Like a gannet With its beak to the sea Stretching wings For the sky's blessing I come I come Demanding To see the rest of the moon Island Dove of the land The Law of Donkeys and Long Grass Everything that happens to the donkey Will help fulfil the donkey's destiny Not saying or thinking But a way to live I lie in the long grass And watch it eat Listening to my heart beat And waiting When I happen to the donkey I want the donkey to happen to me For us all, caged I stand up in sunlight - in my hand is a wild fruit - And begin on my way About the Poet MTC Cronin MTC Cronin has been published in over 100 different journals, newspapers and anthologies in Australia, New Zealand, Europe, the UK, Canada and the USA. Four collections of her poetry have been published. In 1998 she was awarded the Marten Bequest Travelling Scholarship for Poetry and a Residential Mentorship at Varuna Writers' Centre. She has also been the recipient, in 1998 and 2000, of two Ian Potter Foundation Cultural Trust Grants and in 2001 of an Established Writers New Work Grant from the Australia Council, to work on manuscripts of poetry. After being employed for most of the decade of the nineties in law, she has in recent years begun teaching literature and creative writing at the University of Technology, Sydney, in the Department of Writing, Social & Cultural Studies. She lives in Enmore with her partner, a musician, their two children, her sister, an actor, her partner, another actor and 4 cats.    [Above] Photo of MTC Cronin by Jeanette Cronin, 1998. I Next I Back I Exit I Thylazine No.5 (March, 2002)