TO SAY THAT THE POET GWEN HARWOOD WAS A PROLIFIC writer early in her career would be a vast understate- ment; in truth she was several. Employing a number of artfully crafted personas, all with his or her own distinct style and agenda, Harwood became so deft at employing these masks that each existed long enough to be established as a new voice in Australian poetry before the revelation of their true identity dissolved them-occasionally with some ironic complication- back into her greater canon. Indeed, Australian Poetry 1961 in- cludes work from two of the pseudonyms she employed, Fran- cis Geyer and alongside Harwood herself (who, in an act if ingenious play submitted the work Alter Ego under her own name). Miriam Stone, meanwhile, was likewise confirming herself as a bold new voice at the forefront of a school of feminist writings; and Timothy Kline still await- ed birth into the incendiary protest poetry that would arise at the end of the decade. Harwood was a masterful mimic and an unsurpassed puppeteer of these false identities, enabling each poet to leave an indelible influence upon the history of Austra- lian poetry; and it is in exploring the work, the birth, and the destruction of her first revealed mask, Walter Lehmann, that we can glimpse the subtlety of her creation, and the genius of her grammatical play.Despite being one of the most expansive and influential poets of modern history, Gwen Harwood (born Gwendoline Nessie Foster in 1920) to this day remains an inventive, inspired oddity in the canon of Australian literature. Her verse is lyri- cal, emotive, and fundamentally concerned with the intangible bonds that exist in the human experiences of love, death and dreams; and yet it can simultaneously be irreverent and play- ful, wielding comic absurdity and parody to acerbic effect, able even to turn profanities into art (as her Bulletin scandal would prove). Although publishing consistently throughout the sec- ond half of the 20th century, she belonged to no acknowledged schools of Australian writers and produced the majority of her work from the then relative isolation of Tasmania. By the time of her death in 1995, she had published several collections of poetry including Poems (1963), Poems/Volume Two (1968), The Lion's Bride (1982), Bone Scan (1988), and The Present Tense (1995); she had produced countless uncollected verse, works of criticism, and letters; written celebrated libretti for composers such as James Penberthy and Larry Sitsky; had won an array of literary awards (including the Robert Frost Award of 1977, the Patrick White Award of 1978, and the Victorian Premier's Literary Award of 1989); been awarded three Honorary Doctor- ates (La Trobe, Tasmania, and Queensland universities); and in her later years enjoyed delivering speeches-written wholly in verse-to celebrations that spoke to her experience of the history of literature, Australian history, and the expressive po- tential of language. Indeed, her work effortlessly recalibrates itself in each moment of utterance: from intensely intimate and heartfelt verse explorations of her battle with cancer, to gleeful parody of fellow poets and biting satire of literary movements; from tender love poetry, to measured pastorals; from deep phil- osophical pondering, to the pseudonymous works that made her both famous and infamous.Why Harwood should have chosen to use these mask identi- ties has been argued over since their first reveal. Some interpret- ers, like Jennifer Strauss, have posited that they were merely a pragmatic means for Harwood to increase her extensive out- put,1 while others have reasoned that they allowed her verse to be accepted on its merits.2 There have been critics who have argued that they were designed to exploit the hypocrisy of edi- tors who favored male names (although this would not explain Stone's existence); while still others, such as Cassandra Ather- ton, see these personas as glimpses into legitimate sub-psyches of Harwood's own personality (see Atherton). …
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