A Poem for You
(This poem is for You, it’ll only take a minute
You’ll know it’s not mine ’cause there’s lots of rhymes in it
And it doesn’t ‘need’ to be profound,
Your poem, yours to use, just a part of your very own sound):
This, then, is My poem, my gift
Just a tiny perfect fraction of the life I’ve lived…
My poem, then, but one glittering shard
A dazzling spark from a life made of many such fascinating parts…
My poem, then, this lovely gift and present
May remain the same as when presented
Or be amended, addended and/or suitably edited
To properly reflect this particular, complexly beautiful existence before it’s ended…
Or superseded by a later poem or similarly artful work that I judge
To be a better reflection or recollection of all this fudge.
So, then, I dedicate this, My poem, to You
To do with whatever you choose to do
Just as I did with this, my gift from that wonderful man
My friend/lover/partner/brother/in-law/relative/neighbour/fellow poet/member/worker/human soul etc. etc.
[Delete or amend as appropriate]
Is getting you to hate me
The only way to be sure you wont forget me?
I’ve put you on a pedestal before
But you hate being beheld by another;
Unfinished, not at peace, not to be manipulated
You never cooperated
Any more than I’d agree that blemish is a beauty spot.
Why did you choose this life?
I didn’t, says Matilde
Where will you go now?
Are you happy?
I am not real.
With that Matilde abandons our stage, another awkward escapee
Landing heavily on her Lady Gaga extreme high heel.
This snapshot, this recording, no art can catch her
But it’s not hate that makes me remember.
[Partly prompted by the Live Write Late event held at the John Hansard Gallery, November 10, 2016. With thanks to Anna Carr and all others involved.]
Take a proper gander at me
I’m just the sort of poet the big society wants me to be
Sensitive and charming, sad and pathetic enough, you know
In an interesting, not threatening way, probably gay
Or odd in some other eccentric way
Too soft for austerity, a safe outlet for the public’s latest griping
Amusing enough to be a poetic stand up, some would say
With serious moments an enraptured crowd of aspiring softies
Might be able to identify themselves with
A big whoop in the smallest possible scene
Nicely sidelined by the main money machine
Perhaps even worthy of the festival stage
To warm up the crowd before the band comes on
Here’s an excellent documentary about the most poetic of movie stars. Beautifully chosen clips provide a masterclass in screen acting and the whole business of “being a star”, with a full account of the life and explanation of why, despite being charming and naturally gregarious,she so famously “wanted to be alone”.
This doc even includes shots of Greta’s simple but wonderfully lush private apartment.
I’d Rather do anything but Write!
Why should I write anything down
When I just heard myself say it!
Nobody else cares obviously
About anything I might have to say
They’ve heard it all before, as have I.
A fascinating gift to the morbidly curious, and a rare instance of death intruding upon the smooth running of the media machine. John Ritter (lead actor in the light but broad US comedy version of ‘Man About the House’, ‘Three’s Company’) was filming the third episode of the second season of another comedy series, ‘8 Simple Rules’, when he collapsed, had to be taken to hospital, and died of what was later diagnosed as an Aortic dissection.
Bless their hearts, the makers of this show took a mid season hiatus and then came back with an episode which did not replace Ritter with another actor but included the death of his character, mixing up their real and natural grief with that of the fictional family they had created together. Quite a challenge for all involved, including Kaley Cuoco, who would go on to delight us all as Penny in ‘The Big Bang Theory’.
Alice Hudson reads ‘I walked with a Person’ at the Salisbury Fringe, Sunday October 2nd 2016.
That you work so laboriously
To shape into words
To make it into music
If you should read this poem
After l am dead, or even long after
Then you can know that I love you
For together we have formed a bridge
That crosses over death and time
And some small portion of our differences
If you should read this poem
While I am still alive or, worse, right here
Then you can know that I fear you
For, like any message, any attempt to leave a note
It can be misrepresented, deemed offensive
Mocked, screwed up and thrown away