Two Poems that took my breath away

At it’s best poetry is a distilled compressed snapshot of what is going on in someone else’s head and sometimes what is going on in someone’s head is a vibration of the state of the world. Cask strength emotion served as it comes without ice or soda, you can taste the sea and the earth.

I have recently been reading and listening to a lot of NZ poetry. Every now and then you come across a poem that leaves you winded, reeling and thinking. Leaves your eyes full of tears and a sense of sorrow and anxiety in the pit of your stomach. I know I know doesn’t sound great. Well tasting the sea and tasting the earth isn’t like tasting Coca-Cola .

The first poem to do this recently was Bill Manhire’s Hotel Emergencies . Here on the Poetry archive Bill recounts coming across a sign in a Copenhagen hotel room and taking the amusing phrasing about the fire alarm and it grew into a snapshot of the sorrowful state of the world as the second Gulf War raged. The thing about the poem is it is just as fresh and vibrant and painfully applicable to our times right now . What sorrow that it has not aged poorly.  Click through and listen to Bill read it on the Poetry archive site , it is worth your time. The line “which is given as a decapitation sound (do not think you will not gasp tomorrow)” cuts through the air like a gunshot.

Hotel Emergencies

The fire alarm sound: is given as a howling sound. Do
 not use the lifts. The optimism sound: is given as the
 sound of a man brushing his teeth. Do not go to bed.
 The respectability sound: is given as a familiar honking
 sound. Do not run, do not sing. The dearly-departed
 sound: is given as a rumble in the bones. Do not enter
 the coffin. The afterlife sound: is given as the music of
 the spheres. It will not reconstruct. The bordello sound:
 is given as a small child screaming. Do not turn on the
 light. The accident sound: is given as an ambulance
 sound. You can hear it coming closer, do not crowd the
 footpaths. The execution sound: is given as the sound of
 prayer. Oh be cautious, do not stand too near

 or you will surely hear: the machinegun sound, the weeping
mother sound, the agony sound, the dying child sound:
whose voice is already drowned by the approaching
helicopter sound: which is given as the dead flower
sound, the warlord sound, the hunting and fleeing and
clattering sound, the amputation sound, the bloodbath
sound, the sound of the President quietly addressing
his dinner; now he places his knife and fork together (a
polite and tidy sound) before addressing the nation

and making a just and necessary war sound: which is given
as a freedom sound (do not cherish memory): which is
given as a security sound: which is given as a prisoner
sound: which is given again as a war sound: which is
a torture sound and a watchtower sound and a firing
sound: which is given as a Timor sound:
which is given as a decapitation sound
(do not think you will not gasp tomorrow)
which is given as a Darfur sound: which is
given as a Dachau sound: which is given as a dry river-
bed sound, as a wind in the poplars sound: which is
given again as an angry god sound:

which is here as a Muslim sound: which is here as a Christian
sound: which is here as a Jewish sound: which is here as
a merciful god sound: which is here as a praying sound;
which is here as a kneeling sound: which is here as a
scripture sound: which is here as a black-wing sound: as
a dark-cloud sound: as a black-ash sound: which is given
as a howling sound: which is given as a fire alarm sound:

which is given late at night, calling you from your bed (do
not use the lifts): which is given as a burning sound, no,
as a human sound, as a heartbeat sound: which is given
as a sound beyond sound: which is given as the sound
of many weeping: which is given as an entirely familiar
sound, a sound like no other, up there high in the smoke
above the stars

 
Bill Manhire

from Lifted (Carcanet , 2007), © Bill Manhire 2007

The second poem that left me reeling recently was Grief Limericks by Harry Ricketts . Here the tragedy narrowed to the personal rather than the global . Harry takes the limerick form and subverts it into a grief poem for his former stepson. It is a building picture of a relationship and life breaking down . The last verse with it’s negative space , it’s silent devastating unspoken punchline , I tear up everytime.

Grief Limericks

i

I once had a stepson called Max.

As a child, he could rarely relax.

The other kids kicked him;

he was a natural victim.

I once had a stepson called Max.

ii

I once had a stepson called Max,

liked Gunn and Blood on the Tracks.

But things were askew,

were tangled in blue.

I once had a stepson called Max.

iii

I once had a stepson called Max

with needs as tender as wax.

When I left his mother,

he saw me as other.

I once had a stepson called Max.

iv

I once had a stepson called Max

whose memories turned into tacks.

Love inside out

helps hatred to sprout.

I once had a stepson called Max.

v

I once had a stepson called Max

with a head full of cricketing facts,

who one winter’s day

I once had a stepson called Max.

Harry Ricketts from Winter Eyes 2018