SCWC Poets’ Workshop, November 2020

last meeting for 2020 

For our November meeting, some of us presented work that focused on rhythm and/or rhyme – always fun to attempt and to critique. And of course, as poets we are ever hopeful to write new things familiar and familiar things new as Samuel Johnson preached.

Lajos presented work cobbled from a selection of his #1000poeticCranes project. He says, at the beginning of our CoVid lockdown I started writing a poem a day in April as a distraction from our strange days. I also posted my poems on Facebook & Twitter as an offering for my friends and anyone else who might stumble by. As the days lagged on I remembered the Japanese legend of the 1000 Paper Cranes & the promise of good fortune to those who completed the project.

It may have been the lockdown torpor that drove me to it but I’ve committed to writing 1000 poems in 1000 days. Not for mystical reward but, as I have said, as an offering for my friends and fellow travellers on this pandemic journey. I figured by the time I’ve finished 1000 poems we should be past the worst of CoVid and I have something to keep me busy while my performance work is on hiatus.

If anyone would like to drop by these daily poetic cranes you can find them on:

Twitter – @Lofos (Lajos Hamers aka Dr Lofos)

Facebook – Lajos Grey Seal Hamers

Snapshots of a CoVid election – Nov 2020

tonight I find no comfort

there is foreboding in the air

we’re playing with our runes

or rubbing the rabbit’s foot hair

any animistic talisman

that is readily to hand

or try clutching at the final straw

& drawing circles in the sand

changing our luck by any means

to save us from the maw

but the way the luck’s been breaking

it may well be the monkey’s paw

the air is still tonight

as I hang towels

on the washing line

in the darkness

I see Jupiter

Saturn & Mars

tracking their 

orbits

& feel the world holding

its breath

are we still holding

our breath?

or shallow breathing

our panic away?

breathe into

or drink from

the paper bag

of choice

it finally came

after the waiting

with bated breath

the sanguine zephyr

arrived

not a panacea

but blessed relief

on the hard road

to renewal

Kathleen told us about the success of her book launch and provided the following details. First, an introduction to the book by Ron Pretty:

I am sorry I am not able to be here this afternoon, but I do want to congratulate Kathleen on the production of letters and to record a few words about this compelling little book.

The chapbook contains only 17 poems, but in that small space it covers, efficiently and movingly, quite a lot of ground. It opens with three poems as letters to her father, Arthur. (A note in passing: Kathleen and I are distant relatives, so I was interested to hear that her father’s name was Arthur –– as was mine. An extended family tradition perhaps?) The poems are restrained, allusive and the first of them makes very effective use of repetition. It is clear from the poems that her relationship with her father was a very close one.

‘aerograms’ sets the tone. Returning home from her travels, she writes

                  you filled the cellar for my return

                  wrote one last aerogram then I was home

                  firelit, your words flowing

                  dear arthur, my dad and friend

Then we move to her relationship with ‘pling, the heart of the collection. In the first of them, ‘This Thing’, when they have been together for 20 years, there is a premonition of what is to come, of her future without him. The next twelve poems alternate between memories of events during their life together, his illness, and aspects of her life after his death. The poetry is very moving, very understated and intense, without becoming mawkish or sentimental. These poems have all her hallmark precision and evocation. I only met ‘pling on a couple of occasions, but Kathleen’s poems convey very clearly who he was and what he meant to her.

The power of these poems accumulates as she combines domesticity with travel, food with foreboding, the reality of the grave with the glitter of the moon. What we get are snapshots –– appropriate in view of ‘pling’s profession ––small moments that encapsulate their rich relationship. 

Poems such as ‘row boat’ that deal directly with ‘pling’s illness and time in hospital are especially powerful. ‘you sleep deeply now/in your little bed/a row boat/almost still’ Kathleen writes; and a little later she ends, ‘family leaves us/still entwined/head on you chest/I can only hear my heart’

A moving farewell indeed.

Some of these poems are small gems, delicate as gossamer. Take, for example, ‘moonshine,’ which deserves to be read in full:

                  from our bedroom balcony

                  sometimes full and golden

other times a sliver

like your ethereal presence

light filling a room

one day

then a tiny bird

shaped aura

the next

As you read and appreciate this poem, note the way the poem reduces to that final shrunken moment.

The final poem, ‘sandon point’ is a surprising poem, but a very positive note on which to end the collection. In it, she celebrates a new relationship while simultaneously remembering her love for ‘pling:

a year since ‘pling & I

walked to sandon point

hand in hand

saw a rainbow

that forecast farewell

A little book to be treasured. If you haven’t already done so, make sure you get a copy or two before you leave. The publisher, Ginninderra Press, has become a major lifeline for Australian poets, and Kathleen’s small gem letters is a good example of the value of the Press to all of us.

 Ron Pretty

Then the book launch with Linda Godfrey:

Writing about pain and loss is not easy. Kathleen has taken a deep and honest exploration of emotions and memories associated with her losses, and her blossoming sense of a new future.

These poems are about her father, Arthur, ‘pling, her partner of 22 years, her twin star, mentions other family members that died too young, and finishes with a poem to Richard.

This is a small book and you will see that you can’t tuck intense emotions into neat packages. Grief comes in many forms. So do these poems. They bring loving details to the foreground and they withhold nothing.

There is a burst of hope at the end with the poem to Richard, reminding us that we do not forget the dead but their passing becomes easier to bear and the sense of movement is all part of the journey of grief and healing.

Perhaps it is in staying grounded with the people who have left us means that we are able to move ahead, both alone and in good company. With whatever grief you are struggling with -past, present, or future - this brave book may bring you some comfort and peace.

Linda Godfrey, letters launch, 7 Nov 2020

And finally, a poem read by Kathleen:

ginger kisses

dear ‘pling

two weeks after

you crossed the bridge

to eternity

clearing out

your hospital dilly bag

serviette smeared

with chocolate ginger

from the last morning outdoors

golden latte and sweets

sixteen days since

we kissed

fifteen since

we embraced

fourteen since

i kissed you

again & again

imprinting your skin

on my lips

making that sound

people do

kissing newborns