Mothers

Today is mother’s day. I am a mother, I am also a daughter and a sister, an aunty, niece, cousin, sister-in-law, mother-in-law, daughter-in-law, friend. My labels could be endless. So today I reflect on what being a mother is beyond the label and beyond the biological bearing of children. Being a mother is keeping children safe, advocating for them, guiding them to independence, catching them when they fall, lifting them up to reach further, higher. It’s about providing them a safe space to grow. Most mothers do this to the best of their ability with the resources they have. I have lived and am living a fortunate life. I have role models who showed me how to nurture. I have led a life relatively free of trauma and troubles. Many mothers have not been so fortunate.

Mum and I, 1966

The two poems that feature today represent two different sides of mothering. One is the heartache and the other the joy.

Being a mother requires sacrifice - sacrifice that many of us cannot fathom or understand but hope we never need to experience. It’s about making decisions that mothers should never need to make. It is a poem from former North Korean poet laureate Jang Jin-Sung who defected to South Korea. The poem I think captures the hard decisions mothers need to make due to oppression and poverty. I was in two minds about highlighting this particular poem which I came across in the anthology “Poems That Make Grown Women Cry” edited by Anthony and Ben Holden. Why? Jang Jin-Sung just this year was found guilty of an indecent act of force against a female co-worker and sentenced to six months jail. But I am going to continue - because for many women, it is the men with power in their lives who create the trauma that means mothering can be challenging. It is difficult to be present and nurturing when your own safety is compromised. American feminist, Gloria Steinem said “one act of violence takes four generations to heal”. We all need to be actively working towards ending violence against women and girls. Check out https://www.ourwatch.org.au/the-issue/ for more information.

I Sell My Daughter for 100 Won

Jang Jin-sung

Exhausted, in the midst of the market she stood
“For 100 won, my daughter I sell”
Heavy medallion of sorrow
A cardboard around her neck she had hung
Next to her young daughter
Exhausted, in the midst of the market she stood

A deaf-mute the mother
She gazed down at the ground, just ignoring
The curses the people all threw
As they glared
At the mother who sold
Her motherhood, her own flesh and blood

Her tears dried up
Though her daughter, upon learning
Her mother would perish of a deadly disease
Had buried her face in the mother’s long skirt
And bellowed, and cried
But the mother stood still
And her lips only quivered

Unable she was to give thanks to the soldier
Who slipped a hundred won into her hand
As he uttered
“It is your motherhood,
And not the daughter I’m buying”
She took the money, and ran

A mother she was,
And the 100 won she had taken
She spent on a loaf of wheat bread
Toward her daughter she ran
As fast as she could
And pressed the bread on the child’s lips
“Forgive me, my child”
In the midst of the market she stood
And she wailed.

• Translated from the Korean by Sung Young Soon.

The poem about the joys of motherhood was a little more challenging. I wanted something that wasn’t overly sentimental - I started with Morning Song by Sylvia Path, 1960 - which starts with “Love set you going like a fat gold watch” but Plath took her own life after suffering major depression and trauma at the hands of her husband Ted Hughes. So that didn’t feel very joyous. I then went to song lyrics - because lets face it many songs are truly lyrical poetry. Again though they were a bit sentimental. So I started thinking about Australian poets and if there was a suitable poem to highlight. The one I have chosen is not really about the joys of motherhood per se. Its about my joy of being a mother, I used to read this poem to my children and whenever I read it - it brings me joy so here is Triantiwontigongolope by C. J. Dennis.

Triantiwontigongalope by C.J. Dennis (1921)

There's a very funny insect that you do not often spy,
And it isn't quite a spider, and it isn't quite a fly;
It is something like a beetle, and a little like a bee,
But nothing like a wooly grub that climbs upon a tree.
Its name is quite a hard one, but you'll learn it soon, I hope.
So try:
Tri-
Tri-anti-wonti-
Triantiwontigongolope.

It lives on weeds and wattle-gum, and has a funny face;
Its appetite is hearty, and its manners a disgrace.
When first you come upon it, it will give you quite a scare,
But when you look for it again, you find it isn't there.
And unless you call it softly it will stay away and mope.
So try:
Tri-
Tri-anti-wonti-
Triantiwontigongolope.

It trembles if you tickle it or tread upon its toes;
It is not an early riser, but it has a snubbish nose.
If you snear at it, or scold it, it will scuttle off in shame,
But it purrs and purrs quite proudly if you call it by its name,
And offer it some sandwiches of sealing-wax and soap.
So try:
Tri-
Tri-anti-wonti-
Triantiwontigongolope .

But of course you haven't seen it; and I truthfully confess
That I haven't seen it either, and I don't know its address.
For there isn't such an insect, though there really might have been
If the trees and grass were purple, and the sky was bottle green.
It's just a little joke of mine, which you'll forgive, I hope.
Oh, try!
Tri-
Tri-anti-wonti-
Triantiwontigongolope.