I set the alarm clock for 3.30am Sydney time, and woke up with such excited anticipation that I would witness live – if halfway around the world – the inauguration of President Barack Obama. While I am not a citizen of the USA, I am a permanent resident, and I am so proud to feel part of the nation that has transformed itself in little under two years. The United States is really the most remarkable nation on earth for its capacity to renew itself in this fashion. I am stumped trying to think of another country that could so thoroughly transform itself from entrenched division and band together behind a relatively inexperienced but deeply impressive candidate for the highest office in the land, and the world.

Here is the full text of Obama’s inauguration speech. Many pixels and column inches will be devoted to analysis and review of the speech by people who are paid to do such things. I was struck by Obama’s selective but powerful use of metaphor at critical points in his address, which was both grave and challenging, sobering as well as inspiring.

I was most impressed by the way he described his approach to dealing with totalitarian regimes:

To those who cling to power through corruption and deceit and the silencing of dissent, know that you are on the wrong side of history; but that we will extend a hand if you are willing to unclench your fist. 

This statement is powerful for its truth and for the simplicity of its metaphor, which says everything we need to know about his foreign policy approach. As Obama spoke I thought of the more than 600 writers and journalists around the world imprisoned for daring to speak their mind. Americans (and Australians) often take their freedom of speech for granted but the upholding of the freedom of expression is the main reason I am a member of Sydney PEN, which advocates on behalf of writers who are detained, harassed or imprisoned for their views.

Obama ended his inaugural address as he began (a useful rhetorical/structural device for aspiring writers) with a metaphorical invocation of the natural elements. He contrasted the more common “rising tides of prosperity and the still waters of peace” with the extraordinary and serious circumstances we face as he takes office, “amidst gathering clouds and raging storms”. Concluding his address to his fellow citizens and to the world, he quoted Lincoln and then extended the weather metaphor, linking it beautifully to the notion of the journey on which he, and all of us, are now embarked:

“Let it be told to the future world… that in the depth of winter, when nothing but hope and virtue could survive… that the city and the country, alarmed at one common danger, came forth to meet [it].”

America. In the face of our common dangers, in this winter of our hardship, let us remember these timeless words. With hope and virtue, let us brave once more the icy currents, and endure what storms may come. Let it be said by our children’s children that when we were tested we refused to let this journey end, that we did not turn back nor did we falter; and with eyes fixed on the horizon and God’s grace upon us, we carried forth that great gift of freedom and delivered it safely to future generations.

May Obama enjoy the health and personal safety necessary to attempt the journey. The world smiles and holds its breath, and looks to the horizon.

What is it about the piano? At this month’s Sydney Festival (sadly the last one under the direction of the brilliant Fergus Linehan) a proliferation of piano-related events has brought into focus the peculiar ability of that instrument to appeal to high and low aesthetic tastes … and to everyone in between. Two events illustrate the spectrum on offer. The Belvoir Street Theatre is hosting a production of “The Pianist”, an adaptation of the memoir by Polish pianist Wladyslaw Szpilman that Roman Polanski made into an Academy Award-winning film several years ago. Spontaneous music-playing and community-building is the goal of Play Me, I’m Yours, in which 30 pianos scatter the streets of Sydney and Parramatta, for any member of the public to play. The pianos are in public squares, bus shelters, parks, a tattoo parlour, hairdressers and even on a ferry. The idea is to encourage anyone to play the piano, beginner or professional, to reflect the personality of each community in which the “street piano” temporarily resides.

 
Last Friday night I was mesmerised, as always, by the Mike Nock Project at the Sound Lounge in Sydney. (It’s downstairs from the Seymour Centre, so I suppose that’s Chippendale?) Pianist, composer and educator Mike Nock has formed various iterations of this ensemble over the years, and I have been addicted since the first time I heard them play, which I think was 2000. Mike’s challenging but melodious compositions (apart from an exquisite Jackson Harrison tune called “Mysteries”) anchor the band of eight, who performed as tightly as could be expected of a group of professional musicians for whom rehearsal and performance (in this case) must be more for the joy of playing and improvising than for hard-earned cash. Roll up, arts philanthropists, who want to see more of a unique Australian musical phenomenon! This band and the terrific Mothership Orchestra led by saxophonist David Theak are two examples of exciting original ensemble playing that could easily find a larger audience – both in Australia and elsewhere – through some well-placed private support.

Here’s a story I wrote for Notebook: magazine’s January fiction special – January being, in the southern hemisphere, the height or depth of summer, depending on your appetite for heat and humidity. The story was one of six commissioned for the issue, and the only one to combine wine-tasting in Tuscany with a prisoner-of-war camp in the central-west of New South Wales.

In January, I tend to review the year that has just ended, and try to set a couple of realistic goals for myself for the year ahead. Perhaps my sense of reflection is sharper at this time of year because there are so many January birthdays in my family, and we literally turn older as the calendar flips over. Come the new year, the word “resolution” simply sounds too strict to my ears; a futile cleaving to a self-imposed rule, which is almost by definition made to be broken.

My biggest goal is the same every year: to make sure the goals I do create for myself are realistic. Usually I set a large number of even larger goals, then berate myself for failing to get very far with any of them. This sort of self-flagellation can keep me occupied and procrastinating for far longer than it should. Others tell me I get further than I think I do, but success is always a matter of perception. So one of my more modest goals is to use this blog in 2009 as a place for thinking “out loud” about women and music and storytelling, as I read and research and think through my next project. Posts will include notes from books I’m reading, interesting facts discovered along the pathways of research, and even some reviews of live concerts and theatre. I’ve just read some marvellous stories in the winter fiction issue of the New Yorker – one by Alice Munro, whose talent for creating worlds with a few words knows no bounds; the other a brilliantly structured and observed memoir by Zadie Smith on the veins of humor running in her family. With an endless amount of wonderful reading to enjoy, it’s a challenge to tear myself away and focus on my own efforts, but it’s almost impossible to do both well at the same time.