Writing was also cathartic. I could pour my feelings into words, express emotions silently on neutral paper. My writings ended up in exercise books or loose-leaf bundles in a drawer. I was a cupboard writer! I was also a poet in the wilderness in the truest sense. There was no university with literature courses, no poetry society — or none that I had heard off — no mentor to critique or guide me. Finally, I picked up courage and sent a poem to the newspaper of the Northern Territory, The Territorian. It was a special poem about the town of Darwin and my feelings about my new home, This land of mine. When the editor of the paper notified me that they would publish it, I was beside myself with elation and pride. I felt I had arrived as a writer. The year was 1967. I was 33 years old. I had come out of the cupboard! It would be many years before another poem would be published. By then I had left Darwin and was living in Queensland and there were long stretches of time where my pen did not move. Children and their needs, business plus a pretty full-on life took up all my time and energy.
But slowly my head started to fill with poems again as I started to write in earnest. Eventually I would have many poems published in Literary Magazine, newspapers and anthologies. There were prizes and recognition but, most of all, there were rejection slips. I persevered, however, and now have eight published books to my name. Most of them combine art with poetry. BLOODY BASTARD BEAUTIFUL is my first book of prose.
Books by Mocco Wollert