Heart’s Core Lament

Charlotte oh Charlotte on whaling ship we came seized jewel-harbor country from Albany enslaved they harpooned rugged coastlines their chase was for the pull bound east-ward South Australia your body wretched under rule lamented life my Charlotte you fade without a trace a whaler’s flesh-trade cargo your terror our cold-case

The lawless manner in which these sealing gangs are ranging about requires some immediate measures to control them. From what I have learnt and witnessed, they are a complete set of pirates going from island to island along the southern coast, making occasional descents on the mainland and carrying off by force native women.

—Major E. Lockyer, 1827.

he was stolen to Poonindie blessed to tame subjugate all Bible-versed body-cursed Reverend’s call to educate Protector-issued rations the boy was trained to count and save oppression reigned with daily bread yet learned he became toiled wide-brown-land beyond his class then forced to move away

steamers glide to Coorong’s heart Taplin’s Mission Point McLeay vast glistening lakes weaving-reeds frame homes of stone and clay in nineteen-0-three I was born to my gentle mother’s hand as Superintendents penned Protectors surveillance-file demands forced on steamer once again displaced now three-times from my lands

The parents are great hindrances to the improvement of the children, and will continue to be so for several generations unless some decisive measures are adopted, to separate in a degree, the one from the other.

—M. Moorhouse, Protector, 1842.

Point Pearce Mission Station our strong grandmothers are born against blood-red far horizons against white-crosses as they mourn they rise with eyes cast hard and low church-bells toll a strict routine controlled confined objectified starved punitive regime petitions signed by all our men demand conditions to improve for blankets to warm our Old-Ones for young girls lost to servitude

The mission stations are doing a good work, for if the natives under their influence were not taken care of they might wander about, getting into mischief, and put the country to great expense… The half-castes are more intelligent than the pure-bloods, but they cannot reasonably be expected to come up to the standard of whites.

—M. Hamilton, Protector, 1903.

she serves her bluestone-master she falls tragic to the moon she hangs her apron-sorrow every hot-gold-hush of noon he sets her place at meal times with dogs on cold-stone floors he throws a bone nods his head makes her beg for more ‘I couldn’t bear the kitchen work’ by misconduct I abscond I run for rugged ranges to shadow winds where I belong

this drought won’t break

this drought won’t break

I could do more with them if obedience was enforced; but as it is the parents interfere so much… There is such a demand for them as raw material. They can all wash dishes and scrub floors.

—Royal Commission on the Aborigines, 1913.

this drought won’t break my country under pitiless blue sky colonial-amnesia reigns supreme over stifled ring-barked cry sick at heart my country rise-up dance for rain trace this blood-land-memory flooding through our veins bear witness our shared-history past-future stories call core of my heart my family spectral imprints shape us all

…as native citizens of this country we claim the right to have been consulted before any measure dealing with our children in this way was brought before parliament.

—E. Chester, Point Pearce, 1921.

Natalie Harkin