Q&A with Merinda Dutton

Merinda Dutton is a Barkandji and Gumbaynggirr woman, mother, lawyer, and co-founder of Blackfulla Bookclub on Instagram, whose creative practice explores kinship, country, and justice through poetry and storytelling. Her work has appeared in Sydney Review of Books, Griffith Review, Australian Poetry Journal, and she contributed to Words to Sing the World Alive.

‘Beginnings and Endings’ is formatted in such an intriguing way—presenting the reader with pulses into the way water sustains the flow of energy, connection, and storytelling. It also interweaves personal experiences with words taken from early accounts of the Clarence River, and words of Barkandji elder, Badger Bates. How did you decide on the structure for this piece, and what role do the sources play in informing the storytelling?

Thank you for your generous reading of ‘Beginnings and Endings’. The form unfolded organically, it feels like it has been shaped by the rhythm of water. I began with the phrase ‘water is life’, a protest anthem from Standing Rock that has since become a powerful refrain in advocacy for the Darling River in Far Western NSW. I’ve also been deeply moved by Leanne Betasamosake Simpson’s Theory of Water, which speaks to water not simply as a resource, but as a living, relational force. That sense of relationality—of water as kin, as teacher—guided ‘Beginnings and Endings’ into its own shape.

In bringing this piece to life, I drew on sources that hold both personal and cultural resonance. Some of the language is drawn from early colonial accounts of the Clarence River, refracted through my own lens, gifting them a new home. I also weave in the words of Barkandji elder Uncle Badger Bates, whose voice and advocacy have been vital in protecting the Baarka and for whom I hold deep respect. These sources are not merely references—they are part of the story of these rivers, and part of my own. They allow the work to move between archive and embodiment, between historical deposits and lived experience.

The intrinsic connection of people and country is a pillar in our stories and traditions, shaping how we understand our identity, belonging and cultural responsibility. How does living and working on your home country inspire your work, particularly in ‘Beginnings and Endings’?

This is such a thoughtful question. For me, living on Country has been a powerful guide—it’s where my writing finds its rhythm and where my inspiration comes from. Most of my work begins outdoors, feet to the ground, in conversation with the land. Beginnings and Endings was largely written sitting by the Clarence River, where I spent time listening, watching, and reflecting. It was there that I felt the weight of grief—the ache of knowing I will never witness the landscape as my ancestors did, never see tree-life in that same indomitable way, particularly the red cedar forests that grew here. That grief, too, became part of the story that I sought to tell—perhaps, braided into the flow of water on the page.

It’s so important to cultivate safe and welcoming literary spaces, and beyond your own writing, you’ve explored community in other areas, founding the Blackfulla Book Club, along with Teela Reid. What inspired you to create this space, and what are some standout books you have read since starting the club?

Blackfulla Book Club was born during the pandemic, at a time when Teela and I were feeling deeply disconnected. What began as a small offering quickly grew into a vibrant community—one that continues to evolve in exciting and unexpected ways. It’s a testament to the hunger people have for First Nations stories, and for spaces that centre our voices, our joy, and our sovereignty. Since starting the club, we’ve read so many standout books—each one a thread in the larger tapestry of First Peoples storytelling from around the world. It’s impossible to name just one. Lately, I’ve been re-reading Dropbear by Evelyn Araluen, which won the Stella Prize in 2022. It’s straight fire—fierce, brilliant, and necessary. I’ve also been deep in Natalie Diaz’s Postcolonial Love Poem, which continues to move me with its lyricism and resistance.

Grace Greedy