Writing is my life-line | Part 2
a poem of my own | a dazzling night sky | the Stella prize, have you heard?
Welcome to Part Two of a very special edition of Wild and Wonderful.
May is Brain Tumour Awareness Month here in Australia (and also New Zealand, Canada, and United States). Today I am honouring those living with a brain tumour, their loved ones and carers, by sharing a little of my story.
In Part One, I shared an essay on illness and writing.
I’m not yet comfortable with the word ‘survivor’, its soft slur announcing the return of my life. It feels too brash, when nothing here is evermore. And besides, I don’t want to declare a victory, hang a medal around my neck, say the battle is over, my wounds are healed. That’s too neat, for a life.
If you missed it, you can read it here.
Today, I am sharing ‘a poem of my own’ about living with a brain tumour, plus notes on the glittering Aurora Australis a few weeks ago, and a Stella reading list.
I’ve included a voice recording of my poem for you — scroll to the end of the poem to find it. Please know there are a few crackles, it’s my first go at recording a voice over here.
A poem of my own
When I was 27, I was diagnosed with a rare brain tumour — a Rosette-forming glioneuronal tumour (RGNT).
It’s a mouthful of a name, isn’t it?
My tongue still slips on glioneuronal. And I never did like roses very much.
Over the years I have thought about my brain tumour and how it would have grown — secretly flowering inside my head. How does your tumour grow?, is a poem that explores these thoughts. It was published in Brain Tumour Alliance Australia’s (BTAA) bi-annual magazine in May this year.
It is not easy to write about illness, or a tumour that has caused damage to your body, but I enjoy the quiet attention and the love of life writing demands.
As poet and novelist Peter Goldsworthy wrote in his 2024 cancer memoir — The Cancer Finishing School —
Writing is life-affirming, an illness like cancer is not.
And you’ll be pleased to know that I grow a rose in a pot now, on the bricks beside the back door. And the little piece of tumour, still in my head, is doing nothing at all.
How does your tumour grow?
by Kate Bown
With curling tendrils of brilliant blue,
an impossible creature
fathoms deep inside
you.
Perhaps it glows?
With fruiting spores iridescent green,
a tiny jewel of the forest
popping out of the peat,
unseen.
Maybe it oozes?
With bulging bodies of egg-white,
a compost heap species
slipping under a rhubarb leaf
at night.
Or rises in the gloom?
With fizzing bubbles of nebulae-gas,
a ball of dough on the bench
fermenting within dark glutenous
threads.
Do you ever wonder
what’s growing in your head?
Does it smile?
With blazing orbs of organic matter,
a dandelion shoot in the tangled grass
waving a yellow flower, an unrequited
treasure.
Or sing?
With trilling octaves at first light,
a common migratory species with
black feathered wings, a mate
for life.
And what if it grew like a rose,
like the one inside my head?
With spiralling petals of pink marshmallow,
a fluffy cloud in a summer sky,
a watercolour dream,
an angel’s pillow.
Would you pick it for me?
Hold the stem slowly,
plunge your nostrils,
breathe
the sweet subtle melody,
the sound of the sun
warming the petals.
Audio recording of How does your tumour grow?
And you? Do you have a story or a poem about your journey that you would like to write?
A few other wild and wonderful things
Dazzling night skies
This edition wouldn’t be complete without a mention of the huge geomagnetic storm that arrived in our atmosphere a few weekends ago. 1
I want to say I was in the wilderness — walking the wide arc of a lonely beach, sitting on top of a mountain (a Tasmanian Abel perhaps) with a mug of tea in my hand, wrapped in a blanket, gazing at the sky. But I wasn’t. I was home. There was dinner to cook and and washing to fold and all the ordinary things. I do remember my phone ‘going off’ — messages from family and friends, telling me to — get outside, there is an Aurora happening.
At first, I could only make out a faint green glow to the south. I was a little dismayed but my husband suggested I look at the sky with my phone — something about the longer exposure capturing the light. And suddenly, there on the screen was a sky pulsing with vivid colour — curtains of green, ribbons of white, plumes of pink and purple. I called out to the kids, and we all marvelled at the light dancing in the sky. Perhaps it was all the more beautiful because we were in our pyjamas and at home.
The next day, the corner shop was buzzing with stories of the Aurora. And I thought to myself, how wonderful it is to be connected by awe and wonder, to know that despite our differences we all live under the same sky.
There is a great article about what causes auroras and when to expect the next one here.
A Stella reading list
Did you hear that the winner of the 2024 Stella Prize has been announced? I wrote about the Stella Prize in my April newsletter, you can read it here.
This year the winner is Alexis Wright’s Praiseworthy. An epic set in the north of Australia about ecological catastrophe, Aboriginal independence, and a crazy solution for the future that includes donkeys. After hearing the news, I eagerly put the book on hold at the library.
When I collected it, the librarian smiled at me and said, that is impressive — the book is a massive 700 hundred pages and I needed two hands to hold it. I would love to say I have dipped into its pages but right now its body feels too voluminous for my half-hour of reading before bed. For now I will read the reviews (one here) and wait, until I have time and suitable wrist strength.
What Stella books have you been reading?
I’ve just finished Mateship with Birds, by Carrie Tiffany, the inaugural winner of the Stella Prize in 2013. Carrie’s storytelling is brilliant. I laughed so many times. The novel traverses many themes — young lust, mature love, sex education, sheep and cows, and the antics of a local family of kookaburras. This is one of my favourite passages —
Mum has a large mood on her
when she’s on the moult.
Breeding must be exhausting,
then there’s a whole new kit of feathers
to grow
year after year.
She’s the only bird
in the family
who gives her all.
I’m loving Georgia Blaine’s novel Between a Wolf and a Dog, which was shortlisted for the Stella Prize in 2017 (thanks Freya and her fabulous book club for the recommendation). It’s a beautiful story that takes place mostly on one rainy day in Sydney about a woman who is wrestling with cancer that has spread to her brain and the complexities of her family relationships.
Georgia was in the final stages of editing this novel when she too, was diagnosed with brain cancer. There is a wonderful conversation between Australian writer
and Georgia about the book, here. In a new introduction to the novel, Charlotte writes —Whenever I need reminding of the preciousness of ordinary life I return to this stunning novel of forgiveness and family, which gives clear, beautiful voice to the fierce luck of being alive.
Georgia’s collection of short stories, We All Lived in Bondi Then, composed in the last years of her life, was published earlier this year.
I’ve fallen in love with Poetry Unbound, a podcast by
. Drench yourself in words, marvel at what language can do. There is a Substack newsletter too.Any you?
What are you reading at the moment?
With love and a little bit of poetry2
Kate x
Live not for the battles won
Live not for the-end-of-the-song
Live for the along.
P.S a special thank you to my gorgeous Mum, who proof-reads everything I write here, couldn’t do it without you!
The storm produced a dazzling light display in our sky. In the Southern Hemisphere this is called the Aurora Australis. In the Northern Hemisphere it is called the Aurora Borealis.
Always a pleasure to read your writing Kate. You have a wonderful awareness of Life in the moment.🥰 Great cake!