On Friday I was meant to be reading a collection of poems at an open mic night in Yangon. Unfortunately it was cancelled at short notice, but I had already put together a set so I decided to blog about one of the poems I was going to read called ‘Her Absence’, which actually ended up sort of being published last year.
The inspiration for this was a C.S. Lewis quotation from a book called A Grief Observed that I found in the months after mum passed away. Lewis writes: ‘her absence is like the sky, spread over everything.’ Lewis is talking about losing his wife, Joy Davidman, to metastatic carcinoma and I tried to write in response about how I felt about mum’s absence at the time, just over three years ago. It feels poignant sharing this one on British Mother’s Day and being so far from family at this time.
One of the things I really enjoy about writing poetry is utilising the techniques I studied during my numerous university courses, partly because it is interesting to try to incorporate them and also because it helps get some distance and perspective in processing the feelings I’m writing about. In this case, I sought to use blank spaces in the poetry to explore the idea of absence and how emptiness on a page can be used to convey meaning, how it can emphasise the words around it.
It is free verse poetry, which is dangerous territory because it can just look like you wrote some prose, hit ‘Enter’ at random points, and used it as an excuse to call yourself a poet. However, I think I managed to do something useful and good.
Her absence
“Her absence is like the sky, spread over everything” – C.S. Lewis.
Her absence is like a hole
Which can never be filled.
Her absence aches like
I’m being torn apart.
Her absence is tempered by
The promise of the Resurrection
Her absence is like a rolling breaker;
Sudden, inevitable, crashing all around.
Her absence is a chance
To grow and mature.
For new life
And new kinds of love.
Her absence is like
Her absence
Her absence
The next poem was not one I planned to read at the open mic night because I don’t think it is of the same quality as the one above. I wrote it around a year ago following a chat with Fr. John Dickson, the Catholic chaplain, as the grief was still weighing me down a lot during my studies. He asked me to describe what I was feeling using an image, which was of being unable to fill mum’s grave, to which he replied ‘but it is filled.’ I then went up to the library and penned this poem. It was so healing, it felt like there was a shift inside and a transition to a new phase of life filled with hope and beauty.
“Do not grieve over much, for she achieved her life’s goal.” – Lagertha, Vikings, Season 5.
The Grave is Filled
For so long
I imagined filling your grave.
Soil shovelled in a hole
Disappearing,
Never filling up,
Always empty.
But no.
Your grave is filled.
Good things grow
In the space framed by Dad.
Plants flourish among the bark chippings,
Fed by the ground you’re in.
Now I see
That we are filled.
Good things grow
In the space you left behind.
Lucy lives, joy-filled and giggling.
Rebecca loves, blessed to be a mum.
Your Mike, now Grandpops,
Rejoices in your granddaughter
Cath and Bea excel,
Having fun, laying roots.
I read Medievalism,
And write my poems.
And now, I think,
I have some peace.
For now I know
Your grave is filled.
Looking back on these poems with some distance from them now, what strikes me is how while there has been an overall movement from the former to the latter, it is by now means a consistent or smooth journey. There are days where it is as hopeful as the second, and days where I feel as empty as in the first, and most of the days I am somewhere in between.
The full set I was planning to do is below, and consists mostly of incredible poems by brilliant poets like Zbigniew Herbert, Sarah de Nordwall, Dylan Thomas, and Lord Alfred Tennyson in an attempt to compensate the audience in case my poems bombed. I really want to write about Herbert at some point in particular. He’s flipping brilliant.
Pebble – Zbigniew Herbert
Her Absence – Tom Willcox
I must leave you/I must love you – Sarah de Nordwall/Tom Willcox
The Month of Tabaung – Anon (a translation of a lovely Burmese poem)
Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night – Dylan Thomas
The Power of Taste – Zbigniew Herbert
Crossing The Bar – Alfred Tennyson
The Empire Has Fallen 