Independent Publisher

Riverton Press is a publishing house based in Sydney, NSW. We publish poetry, memoir, family history, local history and works in translation.

Mandala, Huichol art, Mexico.

Riverton Press

was founded by Jacqueline Buswell in 2018, and offers publishing and translation services.

Jacqueline is a Sydney-based writer, translator, poet and publisher. She has worked as a journalist and taught English as a foreign language. Jacqueline is a member of the Australian Institute of Interpreters and Translators (AUSIT).

Ginninderra Press published her first book of poetry, Song of a Journeywoman, in 2013.

Her poem City Suite was presented in a concert performance for piano and violin by Duo Deconet in 2015 in Sydney and Canberra.

Publications

Print versions of our titles are available worldwide through PRINT ON DEMAND, and can be ordered at book retail outlets or online. E-book versions for e-book reading devices and for Kindle are also available online. Simply do an online search for the book title / author.

Further information from: info@rivertonpress.com

Latest Blogs

When I get to 104

  People die. We die all the time. We know this. But recently several friends died over a period of a few weeks, and it seems… we must consider death. In July, Mario Licón died, he was a poet from Mexico. Apart from writing his own poetry, he translated many contemporary Australian poets into Spanish. He had been an actor and a puppeteer, and because he was losing his sight (macular degeneration), he would recite his poetry from memory. This is always such a more powerful delivery than that provided by those of us who read our lines. Mario was also a photographer, carpenter, cobbler, and potter, amongst other occupations in his 76 years. He reached that age a few days before he died, and posted in fb: When I turned 25 I wanted only to get to 40, when I got there I was in Huejotzingo (in Puebla State,

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Reflecting on The Legend of Busby

By Vittoria Pasquini, English version by Gino Moliterno   The idea of writing “The Legend of Busby” came to me immediately after having sold my beautiful house, or rather “the sand castle” as we used to call it in admiration of its thick sandstone walls. In part out of nostalgia, because I was sorry to have left it and I didn’t want to forget it; in part it was out of regret, I already thought I had made a mistake in selling it and I wanted to try, pen in hand, to understand what had happened, what had led me to that decision. It took several years to bring this memoir to fruition, more than ten years with various interruptions, the most tragic and glaring being the death of my son, Valerio. For him I coordinated the publication of his two diaries; for him I created a non-profit association; for

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Ripensando Busby

Vittoria Pasquini   M’è venuto in mente di scrivere “La leggenda di Busby” subito dopo averla venduta Busby, la mia bella casa, anzi “il castello si sabbia” come la chiamavamo ammirando le sue spesse pareti di pietra arenaria. In parte per nostalgia, mi dispiaceva averla lasciata e non volevo dimenticarla, in parte per rimpianto, già pensavo di aver fatto un errore a venderla e volevo cercare, penna alla mano, di capire cosa era successo, cosa mi aveva portato a quella decisione. Ci sono voluti vari anni per portare a compimento questo memoir, più di 10 anni con varie interruzioni, la morte di mio figlio Valerio la più tragica ed eclatante, per lui ho coordinato la pubblicazione dei suoi due diari, per lui ho creato un’associazione no profit, per lui mi sono disperata e ovviamente non mi sono più occupata del mio memoir, considerato irrilevante di fronte al dramma che stavo

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On Writing NO WAY BACK

By Nathalie Apouchtine   Every family has fascinating stories from the past. Unfortunately many of us do not become interested in them until it is too late and the relatives who could tell us those stories have passed away. In exploring my family’s past for No Way Back I have been both unfortunate – and fortunate. I never knew my grandparents: three died before I was born, the fourth lived on another continent. But I have been lucky in that several relatives in my grandparents’ generation left behind accounts of their lives and times: diaries, memoirs, letters, photos… Not a replacement for being able to speak directly to my grandparents, but a treasure trove nonetheless. I was able to interview members of my parents’ generation, in Canada, France and Russia. They described their own experiences and witnessing of historic events and they also told me more about their parents’ lives

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After migration, is there a way back??

Migration is the theme of our times. Migration and displacement. On the news daily, and central to the two books launched by Riverton Press earlier this year. In one case, the family members carried the title refugee, in the other, the protagonist is a voluntary migrant. At the launch of Nathalie Apouchtine’s No Way Back, Revolution and Exile, Russia and Beyond, a member of the public questioned the author about the book title: is there really no way back? Each migrant, each refugee, each traveller will have their own answer to this question, though a brief glance at world population patterns shows that there is rarely a way back. Nathalie considered the question in the context of her family, who belonged to the group known as Russian émigrés, who left Russia after the 1917 Revolution. Some members of her family did go back to the Soviet Union, believing that the

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Feast with theatre music and dance

We arrive, we thought to lunch, but instead of tables and chairs we see just chairs in two sets of rows, facing each other in a long wide oval. We mill around, we sit, we see the musicians who wait, like us. For someone to arrive. In due course, the musicians begin, and they play with each theatrical presentation of each dish. Two sisters speak in Arabic and English about making bread. They sit by a doorway. Talk is part of bread making for women as they form and pound the dough, talk about the kids, the neighbours, and beating harder when they complain about their husbands. “Careful, you’re beating my bread, not your husband!” Alissar speaks of Za’atar, she paces along the centre and hands out some of the herb, then works with a mallet-sized wooden pestle to grind some. She tells us the wild herb that grows among

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