At last week’s ‘Inspired Reading’ session at the Museum of Contemporary Art, our book club of eight discussed Nam Le’s collection of short stories, The Boat. Le’s writing is well crafted, erudite and, on occasion, risky. But, I feel, the miss magic and, unlike the best short stories, are without reason for their existence.
Books and reading has filled my not-that-long long weekend : Rhyme and short stories about Sad Dogs, Lost Animals and How to Count. The genre of books that cover the floors and stock the bookshelves of those good friends, who have recently popped out a person.
Even the most minute child enjoys sea like activities; cradled in my arms, rocking up and down, their doughy smiles suggest the experience of being rocked and of looking into sun light slants, through blinds, is joyous. Today I was cooing to a three month old who, by scratching her face and stretching into and out of a twist, showed much empathy as I told her how Graeme’s (Hobart poet) baby, Angus, was not able to journey on the Hobart boat for the launch because there was no life jacket small enough to contain his tiny sea yearning limbs.
*add your own poems and thoughts on ‘The Sea’ at Pool
