Poetry by guest contributor, Dr. Cameron Hindrum, with an introduction and conclusion by Bec Taylor

Dr. Cameron Hindrum is a distinguished novelist, poet, teacher, and playwright. His most recent award is the Tasmanian Literary Award 2022 from the University of Tasmania, for the manuscript of his new novel, The Sand. He also coordinated the Tasmanian Poetry Festival for 17 years.

Cameron and I were connected through my inspirational dance and drama teacher in high school who is still in close contact with my family. Cameron’s award-winning manuscript is inspired by the unsolved murder of a young backpacker that rocked my hometown when I was a teenager.

The death of Victoria Cafasso, and years of ensuing media speculation tore our community apart, and remains traumatic for many local residents to this day.

In this post, however, Cameron takes us back to another seminal moment in Tasmania’s history, the Tasman Bridge disaster.

The Bridge, January 5, 1975 

For my father 

i. 

Something quiet punched a hole in the road 

across water: in near darkness, 

                                                   no one saw it coming. 

The cleft in the great wide night-mouth 

yawned under evening traffic, 

as wide 

and as deep 

as history. 

ii. 

People fell: in cars now graceless 

with gravity, unflighted like drunken birds, 

diving through dreams 

darker than water, 

a criminal current 

washing over grave 

mistakes, 

                              the doubt 

more deadly than a hard nudge: 

starboard against cement. 

Before there had been the only way home, 

now there was an edge: 

                                       sudden-sliced, 

                   silent. 

iii. 

Watch the curving spine ascend 

and return with equal grace 

to earth: its vertebrae stand erect, 

proud over poisonous water: watch 

the silent eddies lap abutments, 

falling and receding. 

The thousand vessels, 

the thousand cars, 

the thousand turns of sun: watch 

the simple act of passage, time 

and time, and time again. 

iv. 

Remember bloody Des Kelly? Cocky bugger, 

chugging beers as the ferry chugged 

under the lightless gap. 

Des, the bloody champion 

making the crossing, Hobart to Bellerive 

in ten 10-ounce beers 

and a seven-minute piss. 

Days truncated, as working men measured 

the line between shores 

in empty glasses. 

v. 

                Across the bodies 

where water meets water 

           and no one talks                about the bridge 

vi. 

We pulled him from the yawning dark, oil-slicked 

and bloodworn, drenched 

in diesel and the smell of fear, 

                                      sodden through 

and lost in the darkness of losing his ground, 

cold and coughing to raise the dead, folded 

in the corner of the wheelhouse. 

We said, fuckin what happened mate, 

where’d the bloody boat go?        And he said 

she’s gone, cut by the road across the bow, 

down like a poor man’s puddin she went. Fuckin 

fifteen minutes it took. 

Any a youse blokes got a smoke? 

vii. 

East and west are meaningless 

in the great scheme of things. 

There is no homeward turn, 

away from metaphor: 

there is only the promise of being home 

crossing the benign bridge 

that great homeward arc: 

that intersection of here and elsewhere, 

of what is important and not. It withstands 

the power of the tide to turn 

the vastness of a vessel against itself. 

Look upon that infinite cleft           and let it 

remind you: nothing can be promised. 

viii. 

One car we never found. Might be 

crushed under the roadway 

that fell across the Illawarra’s bow 

but we never found it. Only a strip of chrome: 

six, seven inches, twisted. 

All that was left 

of the journey 

                                         home. 

ix. 

The tide will always come. 

The remembering, 

                skin like old ash, eyes 

                rollin back in his head like marbles. 

The garage door 

closed, everyone 

safe where they should be 

and warm 

                 the roll of the river 

                 cradling us 

                 as if to sleep. 

Twilight 

lending its meeting place: 

what is, what has been. 

© 2023 Cameron Hindrum 

Poem Background, written by Cameron.

At about 9pm on Sunday, January 5, 1975, the 7000-ton bulk ore carrier Lake Illawarra drifted off course while navigating the Derwent River through Hobart in southern Tasmania, and collided with several pylons of the Tasman Bridge, which at that time was the only bridge that carried traffic across the river between the two major sections of the city. Three bridge spans and a 127-metre section of roadway collapsed into the river and onto the bow of the tanker, which sank; several cars drove off the resulting gap and in total 12 people lost their lives (seven on the Lake Illawarra, and five in cars). 

My father was stationed in Hobart at the time, where I was born, serving with the Water Police; we lived in Yarram St., Howrah, on Hobart’s eastern shore; I was four at the time of the disaster. For those unfamiliar with Hobart’s geography, the Hobart CBD and Constitution Dock are on the western shore of the Derwent, and since the late 1960s the Tasman Bridge connected the two. Tasmania Police’s vessel the Vigilant was moored at Constitution Dock. The story is famous in my family that late that night, one of Dad’s colleagues knocked on our front door with the news that the bridge was down and Dad duly set off to work, not realising initially that access to the police vessel on the other side of the river was now cut off. Legend has it that he and his police colleagues visited the Bellerive Yacht Club and commandeered a boat to ferry them across to Constitution Dock. 

This poem is the result of an idea I’d had for some time, to capture both a documentary sense of what happened and marry it with reflections on home, dichotomies of east and west and so on. I was chatting to Dad about it one afternoon and he relayed the stories in the poem of Des Kelly and pulling survivors from the Lake Illawarra out of the dark waters of the river; they are included almost verbatim and the decision to include my father’s voice was one of those revelatory moments you have as a writer when something suddenly makes almost alarming sense, with quite a fierce clarity.  

I think overall I have worked harder on this poem than any other I’ve written; it may still not be fully complete but in various ways perhaps poems never really are. I am interested in poetry as a documentary text though—it seems to run counter to some traditional conceptions of poetry. I am grateful to the amazing Kristen Lang for her editorial guidance and wisdom in helping to shape this poem. It will appear in my forthcoming collection Every Sunrise (Walleah Press), due out in August or September of this year. 

More about Cameron

Listen to Cameron read his poem “Oceans”.

Read about the inspiration behind Cameron’s first book, and one of his plays – his childhood home of Queenstown in the rugged bush of the Tasmanian west coast.

Buy Cameron’s books

Contact Cameron directly to buy his books: cameronhindrum@gmail.com

You can find Cameron’s latest poetry anthology for sale on Walleah Press.

I would like to pay my respects to the traditional custodians of the land, the Palawa people of Tasmania, and to their Elders, past, present, and emerging. I acknowledge their deep spiritual connection to the land and their ongoing contributions to the culture of this nation.  

About guest curator, Bec Taylor

I’m Bec Taylor, the EY3 – Grade 2 cybrarian* at the International School of Beijing, China. I’m a global nomad with Australian roots and a Chinese family home – all my immediate family have lived and worked in Beijing as international school teachers for many, many years.  

Overly enthusiastic about everything especially children’s literature, Australian Rules Football (go Doggies!) and food, glorious food, I am easily bribed with coffee and dark chocolate. I am a passionate advocate of social justice, female financial literacy, and finding ways to tread more lightly on the planet. Alongside the demands of a busy family and professional life, I enjoy cultivating community through volunteer work that focuses on healthy families.

I am the current Chair of the Chinese international schools reading promotion, the Panda Book Awards. Titles chosen for the shortlists of the Panda Book Awards meet selection criteria that focus on social justice, diversity and inclusion by up and coming authors and illustrators from across the world. There is an added spotlight on titles that feature Asian settings, characters or creators. 

Twitter is my favourite professional development space so please come find me there: @becinthelibrary

The educational hills I will die on are:

• a child’s right to choose what they love to read,
• there is serious magic in reading aloud,
• and the belief that schools are happier, more equitable places with better academic outcomes when the properly funded school library is well staffed with qualified, collaborative and passionate professionals.

*a fancy name that formalises and acknowledges the incredible work teacher librarians do each day to find authentic ways to integrate and explore educational technology in order to capture, expand, and enhance student learning.