Catherine Bateson > Quotes

“Mum's mobile was the most immoblie cell phone in the world. It often lived on the top of the bookshelf closest to the front door. It was there so she'd see it before she left the house. The trouble was, Mum was alwayd leaving the house in a mad rush and the mobile stayed put.”
― Catherine Bateson, Boyfriend Rules of Good Behavior

“You feel so overwritten you're like a palimpsest;
the original girl almost lost under years of scrawling
yet you nurture an illusion of beauty,
brush your hair in the dark
so when your reflection finally catches up with you
you stare straight past that older woman
to the skateboard dancers behind
hitting the frosty air
with exuberant grace.
On the loose in the morning city reminds you of lovers,
catching the tram to work in last night's laddered stockings,
the sharp-edged day already intruding like a hangover.
It's not the sex you miss or the hotel mornings
but the reassurance of strangers and that wild card.
Now everything's played out the same,
no surprises in the pack except those dealt by disaster.
Early this morning such certainty dragged on your thoughts
they stumbled flat-footed through the breakfast silence
and you knew neither the apples
orchard fresh, crisp as snow
nor the blue bowl they posed in were enough.
People disappear all the time,
emerge like summer snakes newly marked and glittering
into a clean desert.
Without the photo of a child you carry in your wallet
which reminds you who you have become
you'd catch a train to Musk or Mollymook,
some place your fingers have strayed over.
Even thinking that, you turn your face into the wind,
keep walking that same old line in your new flamboyant shoes.

Oh my treacherous heart.”
― Catherine Bateson, The Vigilant Heart

“I want words which are scalpel sharp
and shiny; poems keen enough to gut a fish
and clean it. Poems labelled not for domestic use.
The kind you keep on the top shelf
away from the thieving hands of children.

And I want to feed you warmly scented words;
small loaves of wholemeal bread
so you will remember the kitchens where you stood
in a slant of sunlight and listened to the radio
crooning somewhere above.
I want to rock you with my mothering songs.

I want my poems to fly out of your pockets---
a troupe of magician's doves, somersaulting in the air,
a perfect explosion of soft fireworks.

I want them to follow you;
like Valentine's cards or bad cheques
constantly re-addressed.

These poems are birthed from some deep place.
They wear that bruised look of the newborn.
They will find their way into your sleep
with their naked hands and greed.
They will come to you like a lover, saying:

let me bring you inside
into the circle
made by my tongues of fire.”
― Catherine Bateson, The Vigilant Heart

“I remember the morning you walked back from the sea,
dirty trousers rolled, your feet pale as prisoners,
poems and broken shells falling through a hole in your pocket.
You stood for a moment and smiled at the gulls
and it was as though the sun, the water, the day had conspired to put you back together again.

I hope you walked into death as you did into that morning
chasing a poem
your step a little jaunty
and your eyes full of the sea.”
― Catherine Bateson, The Vigilant Heart