TERRAGLOSSIA – FIRST NATIONS EXPERIENCE

We had stopped in a regional town for a break. On such occasions, we always visit the local bookshop, as one never knows what might turn up. The browsing usually starts with the Aboriginal or First Nations literature shelves. Regional areas seem more interested in stocking a good collection of these publications. It was in a nearby town that Jon Rhodes' Cage of Ghosts was discovered a year ago: see – https://voussoirs.blogspot.com/2022/08/dreaming-of-country-caged-ghosts.html.

Ballina, NSW, Australia.

Here, in Ballina, or should one say the land of the Bundajulung people?, the sequel to this Rhodes' book, Whitefella Way, had been searched for previously, a few months ago, unsuccessfully. This publication has since been acquired on order; but what other books of interest might turn up? The texts looked for are those that seek to explore and explain Aboriginal experience. Bill Nedjie's writings touch on this world that involves the subject investigated by Ananda Coomaraswamy et.al. in Eastern religions. Islamic scholars like Martin Lings, also known as Abū Bakr Sirāj ad-Dīn, and Seyyed Hossein Nasr, and the inspirational thinkers, Frithjof Schuon and René Guénon, also seek to expound on these subtle, esoteric matters that are treated very poorly by the dismissive, brazen self-certainty of the West that arrogantly pretends to care for this subject.

Of particular annoyance is the galling self-righteous repetition of the recognition of Country, elders, etc., by rote in Australia, when over sixty percent of the population voted to not give the First Nations people a voice, with no understanding of what Country might be or mean. An attempt to understand Country has been made in https://voussoirs.blogspot.com/2024/06/country-outside-inside-place.html.

The eye was immediately caught by the stylish, ochre boldness and the puzzling title of one book on the top shelf: Terraglossia. Mmmm; what might this be? The cover explained the word in dictionary format, being aware of everyone’s first question: 

noun

1. earth speak

2. tongues of the earth

antonym: terra nullius.

One got the gist of the theme that intrigued.

The sectional graphic used in the book.

Opening the book, one came upon a review by Evelyn Araluen. It was explained that she was the award-winning author of Dropbear (UQP, 2021), seemingly in order to highlight her credentials as a serious commentator. She was not just a mere First Nations figure who just would say these nice things as a matter of course; to support the cause. The text described Terraglossia as an essential, compelling work that challenges the entrenched narratives and celebrates the richness of First Nations language and culture. With meticulous (‘miraculous’ is an interesting typo/auto correct) research and a clear, accessible voice . . . A beautifully written and thought provoking masterpiece.

Dr Debra Dank.

The praise was exuberant. Was it just too much hype? The book was replaced on the shelf. It was this pushy praise and the author's self referencing as Dr Debra Dank that lingered as an annoyance, and made one question matters. Was the author trying to prove something in the same way as the accreditation of the reviewer apparently was, as if this push might be needed in order to be noticed and acknowledged; taken seriously? One has always been wary of medical practitioners who introduced themselves as ‘Dr . . . ,’ in the same way that some judges do: e.g. ‘Hello, I'm Dr or Judge Jones’; perhaps ‘Dr Judge Jones.’ For some reason one gives more respect to those who declare themselves to be Bill Jones, and get on with doing an excellent job without any pomp or pretension. Does one assume that quality is embodied in modesty? Here, on the front cover, we are told that the author not only has a PhD, (one assumes she is not a medical practitioner), and wishes to be known as ‘Dr’ rather than as the Americans sometimes identify their authors: e.g. Debra Dank, PhD. This qualification is a matter raised in the book too, looking like a reference that seems to seek to locate this recognition of Aboriginal accomplishment with its integral authority and dominance, within the structural rules and social hierarchy of Western achievement. It is a theme that Dank takes up in the book when commenting on different cultural perceptions, like home.# One wonders how First Nations people see these things.

The author references these two worlds in the book, but the use of ‘Dr’ suggests a struggle to be, demanding or claiming recognition in another world just because she can, or wants to. It is a world that Dank argues needs to be more aware, compassionate, and understanding of her 60,000 year old culture. Her approach seems a little gritty and confronting; assertive; challenging, when she is suggesting a much more tolerant, compassionate relationship.

After perusing the remainder of the books in this section, the Dank book was picked up again. The text was double spaced, as if to bulk up a tiny publication, to give it significance. Did this confirm the ‘Dr’ worry; the apparent  struggle for recognition in appearances? Was one being too churlish; childish? After delving randomly into the text it was decided to be fair, reasonable, and to purchase Terraglossia, Dr or no; to give it a go. If the blurb was even half true, the book might be worth reading.

The Saga of the Earl, 230 x 150mm, 336 pages, has 43 lines of text per page,

compared to Terraglossia, 203 x 127mm, 128 pages, 27 lines per page.

The images are squeezed into the text to avoid white spaces.

Maybe one gets used to a certain format. The Saga of a Ship: The Earl of Zetland by Adam Robson (Biblio, UK, 1982), had just been read. The text here was fine and dense; tight, single spaced lines of small point font in a book about 30mm thick, with numerous etchings and photographs inserted as historic black and white clusters. The pages looked black rather than hyphenated white. There was no effort to bulk things up in this nautical history. Rather, it appeared as though the effort was to make the formatting as compact as possible to contain the size.  Terraglossia was completely different. It was a small book, smartly designed - over designed? - complete with decorative, 3D emu footprints across the covers, (has the bird any relevance, or was it just a good idea?), and coloured inner facings, (could the text match this bravado?), with a spaced out large font blocked as text in stylish geometry on white pages. Given the subject, one was surprised that the paintings used for presentation were First Nations in style rather than original, historic, traditional work - meaning-making, as the text frequently talks about; or should one say meaning-holding? There has been a lot of discussion about lookalikes and fakes in Australian Aboriginal art and design, and the misuse of symbols in decorative pieces.

In summary, the book both disappointed and, in parts, informed. It was not astonishing research; neither was it beautifully written; maybe one should say ‘well written’?  The presentation adopted a chatty, anecdotal strategy with a biographically themed structure, and expanded on a few points as it noted the essential semiotic role in experience and language. A few casually collected or observed lived stories are retold by way of example, but one is still left puzzled by the terms Country, songlines, and the like, concepts that remain in danger of only being clichés. Dank raises matters casually, in a conversational style, without trying to explain any mechanisms other than using terms like meaning-making, whatever this might be. One is left wondering how the meaning is made, and what the meaning might mean. Whether this lack of explanatory detail involves complexities and restrictions with secret knowledge is not known. Bill Nedjie notes how some knowledge can be spoken about while there is other knowledge that has to remain secret: see – https://voussoirs.blogspot.com/2024/06/country-outside-inside-place.html.

Country.

Dank does help a little with our understanding when she talks about language, its roots and meanings; and discusses the relationship to Country which involves country, belief, law, and experience.* My feet know the land is a nice quote that reminds one of Glenn Murcutt's Touch the ground lightly concept. In spite of this, the related 'feet' story sounds strangely fanciful, reminding one of the spirited journeys of Muhammad and Tibetan monks. Yet Dank says there is no magic or mystery, just knowledge which includes ‘knowing feet,’ and relationships with people and other life forms like trees and the bush turkey. Her story notes how both people and turkey like the conker berries. Surely the relationship is more subtly complex than this? Were the footprints on the cover turkey footprints?

The emu impressions in the sand.

Unusually, the cover has raised emu footprints, front, back, and spine,

that do not reproduce in the image of the book.

Dank highlights the difficulties in understanding when we seek explanations in another language developed on the other side of the world; but her description of naming place, and of identifying person and place meaningfully, reminds one of the Shetland Islands and the Shetlanders. The old maps of Shetland are dense with place names. Every nook and cranny, and slight difference or feature was named, known, and spoken about; and people were referred to by their Christian name and their croft rather than by their surnames. The place names, including the crofts, were generally descriptive of the location, highlighting a characteristic or an experience, a bit like the Australian Halfway Creek idea; and Dead Man’s Gully. The personal Shetland names identified not only family, but relationship to people and place. We first heard one name as John Urgarth in Shetland dialect. It was some time before we discovered that this was John Thomson who lived on a croft named Urgarth. Likewise we have John'o'Gue, my cousin, John Jamieson who lived on the croft named Gue, a reference to the ford on the burn.^ This parallel with Australian First Nations naming highlighted a quality that might have more to do with an aspect of traditional dwelling in general, rather than with any specific First Nations wonder and mystery.

Shetland landscape.

Chatting with a friend from Shetland recently revealed how this Unst man carried a clear picture of place and people with him, even though he had not returned to Shetland for some fifty years. He knew this place and its people in detail. First Nations people are not the only ones to have an intimate relationship with meaningful landscape.

Adelaide.

 The difficulty for Dank is her relationship with two worlds. It is also her strength; but each side must always struggle with its inner necessity beyond intellectual analysis. It is very difficult to be nonchalant about a matter of enquiry and concern. Dank can tell the stories, but the living must be a challenge. One struggles to comprehend the experience of the mystical reality that is being spoken of. Tradition has noted that if such things can be described, they would have been.

Being told that words like semiotic, symbol, meaning-making, and the like are core issues, and that every culture, maybe every person, experiences matters differently, so we need more tolerance, becomes a shopping list for understanding that leaves the living matter/experience of these concepts to one side, excluded by analysis.

Islamic scholars are more articulate on the matter, and thorough, but even they can only talk about things. The lived experience is like tasting, a common analogy that probably gets as close to matters as is possible for one wanting to know. There are many other matters involved when one seeks out the experience. It is not a case of self-conscious application and observation. Yet Dank seems to touch on matters in this manner, as though she can slip easily into either world. The problem in raising this issue is that one just does not really know much about this situation other than the challenge inherent in it.

Can we merely agree that things are complicated, while noting that we confirm that Australia had a rich and vibrant, and successful culture before the arrival of Cook et.al., and that this involved a rigorous relationship with country, law, story, etc. that the invaders ignored and obliterated with their actions, beliefs, and language? In one way, that is the easy part that still remains so difficult to get recognised. Understanding the other part, that rich and subtle experience, the tasting, becomes much more difficult and requires a personal commitment to get close to these ephemeral matters.

Dank has tried to tackle the problem, but there remain issues to be addressed. Her apparent need to identify as ‘Dr’ in order to get the matters taken seriously does not help the cause. Neither does the double spacing of the text that is a device used for drafts, for children's books, and for bulking up insignificant texts to give them some visual standing/status. Was this the aim of the hardback presentation instead of a paperback publication? Whatever interpretation one might choose does not auger well for this book or its author, who notes how First Nations people are habitually seen by the West as ‘backward.’ In this context, even the ‘Dr’ title can be seen as just too much 'corrective' effort that has the same negative impact.

Similarly, the exuberant, overblown, hyperbolised review - masterpiece, beautiful, etc , only does likewise and diminishes the work that could stand by itself with a little more rigour and some exemplary 'meaning-making' art illustrations. The title Terraglossia lingers as a word that is left as an aside, as an interesting invention rather that being a concept stitched into the logic and authority of the text in a way that gives it power and certainty - necessity. The latent cynicism in the use of Latin highlights a stinging rebuke rather than an effort to engage meaning in colloquial speech, which, it is agreed, would be helpful. Unfortunately, the matching Latin could be seen as confrontational, returning the insult of terra nullius. The notion of alternative truths, (p.81), is potentially calamitous, even if real, echoing the terrible Trumpiam 'alternative facts' statement.

Dank is a little too chatty and self-conscious, while including in the text from time to time the academic demands of clever words and references, as if they might be needed to add an aura of scholarship; words like polysemy, polyphony, and polyvalent (p.98), etc., and references to other fellow researchers and their works.

Having read Dank, I think I will return to Nedjie and Nasr to explore matters further.

Alas, the book that cries out for an understanding and recognition of First Nations people, experience, and knowledge was printed in Taiwan. Somehow that feels like a let-down; a disappointment that confirms the continuing difficulties for local commitment, doing what we do for our comfortable, economic convenience rather than for any principle.

NOTE

For another text on this matter, addressing Design with Country, see: https://voussoirs.blogspot.com/2025/12/designing-with-country.html where the piece has been reproduced in full.

#

p.82 c.f. Aldo van Eyck's report on the response he was given by the Dogon leader when he asked to be shown his home in the village. The text is in the Smithson's Team 10 Primer published by The MIT Press, 1968. The Dogon chief took van Eyck on a tour of the whole village before he ended up at the shelter in which he resided: that was 'home.'

Dogon village.

*

NOTE

Probably the core of the book is embodied in the one paragraph on p.86/87:

Since colonisation there has been an intertwining of Gudanji vocabulary with SAE (Standard Australian English). My research grappled with this duality and the signs, symbols and signals that are beyond interpretation and untranslatable - that, to be told, require new articulations. We have grown with our kin in ways that can never be fully identified as stereotypical archetypes or assumed to be totally encompassed in such statements as a literal SAE rendering of 'the land is our mother' or through that other word, connection  This kind of concept loses and simplifies the layered complexities and assumes a basic, almost ephemeral metaphor for birthing that does not begin to reach the depths of our relationship with our Country.

Too many Aboriginal people, including some Gudanji/Wakaja, have lost the details of what exists through, and makes possible, our claim of connection.

It is odd that, after being critical of the word connection, Dank then uses the word in the SAE context.

p.82 has what one might consider to be the summing up:

that Aboriginal peoples not only have the right to be but also possess deep knowledge that can make good and necessary contributions to the wider Australian community.

Sadly, the response of the wider community is to reject the voice.

^

Gue is French for ford. The French navy, during the Napoleonic wars, used to press gang the locals who were excellent seamen. After they had finished their required tasks, the French, unlike the British, used to return the men to their homes. Hence the French reference. The ford on the burn still exists in front of the old cottage to this day and is a popular drinking place for the sheep.

P.S.

I will come back to this book in a few weeks and read it again. One feels that there might be something more lingering in and behind the text that needs to be discovered; revealed; something fine and impenetrable lying behind the puzzling 'thank you, sweetheart' sentiment - (p.126); but, then again, there might not be.