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A man of restraint
My recording on soundcloud
https://soundcloud.com/user-391664655/a-man-of-restraint
I remember
you as a man of few words.
Communication carefully measured,
small talk was not of your parlance.
The tracks you so quietly laid down
and embedded within us
are still followed.
I remember
hearing you come back from the pub
one evening, when I was in bed.
I wanted to be part of the late-night warmth
but fell down stairs
trying to be unobtrusive.
You scooped me up
and shared your
salty, dripping-drenched fish and chips.
I remember
coming home from a church fete,
having spent sixpence
on a vase for Mum.
Cobbled road and cracked pavements
conspired
and a stranger brought me home
bleeding.
Not accustomed to patching up,
you said very little
as you plunged my hand into neat Dettol.
I remember
getting my O’level results
in a phone box in Scotland.
Waiting anxiously for your approval,
which never came verbally
but was demonstrated with
a new jumper from Jenner’s.
Expensively grey and cashmere.
I remember
the heartbreak when young love floundered.
The call home,
the weeping anguish.
Two hours later you were on my doorstep
car keys in hand.
The entire journey home
broken only by my muffled sobs.
“Your mother’s waiting”,
you said and went back to work.
I remember
the later years, our love of wine.
Tipsy evenings where we sampled
the liquid delights of interesting bottles.
You, pretending to like the food I made.
Food, once a pleasure,
had become difficult.
But you were effusive in your praise,
softer, easier, mellowed.
The searing blow hits hard,
leaving me numb
and I remember
the small, frail man in the hospital bed.
That room.
Those last minutes.
Time suspended.
It's not the dull ache of grief
that troubles me.
It's that moment,
when I realise
You have gone.
Last few words:
I ought to add, dripping as in the dripping-drenched fish and chips, is the fat they are fried in. It's called beef dripping, as surprise, surprise, it's from a cow.
Editing stage:
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Comments
Ali Zonach
Tue, 2017-07-25 12:35
I simply love this amazing write, Jane;
a wonderful portrait of a man short of words but with his heart filled with love and consideration for his lifelong partner. The ending is especially sad and touching. Much adored. Ali
jane210660
Tue, 2017-07-25 12:50
Thank you Ali
It started out as a re work of an older poem I wrote called Grieving.
But........... as is the way, it turned into a completely new poem. I have only just finished it - if indeed we ever do finish poems.
Your comment means a great deal, thank you.
Jxx
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author commentObadiah Grey
Tue, 2017-07-25 13:54
A lovely reading of a
A lovely reading of a heartfelt piece.
jane210660
Tue, 2017-07-25 14:29
Thank you
Fellow man from the north.
Jx
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Don't forget to offer critique on poems you read.
author commentscribbler
Tue, 2017-07-25 17:44
Hi Jane
The difficulty of writing about the loss of a father is one I have yet to overcome although he left 17 years ago. Kudos for Your being able to handle it and write so well about it.....stan
jane210660
Wed, 2017-07-26 02:57
Hi Stan
Yeup it's a toughie. What I tried to do, was bring out nuances of my Dad's character - taciturn - rather than dwell on the act of grieving and dealing with grief.
Miss him terribly.
Jxx
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Don't forget to offer critique on poems you read.
author commentjane210660
Wed, 2017-07-26 13:27
Thanks Mark
Hate not spotting typos. But missed that one.
Jxx
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Don't forget to offer critique on poems you read.
author commentRula
Wed, 2017-07-26 13:43
A v. heartfelt
writing Jane. I find writing about child and adulthood memories the most difficult ever.
You excel as always.
❤❤❤❤❤❤
Please follow me on Instagram
https://instagram.com/poetry.jo?igshid=YmMyMTA2M2Y=
jane210660
Wed, 2017-07-26 17:03
Rula
Thank you so much for reading and as ever, your comments are so much appreciated.
Jxx
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Remember we are a workshop site.
Don't forget to offer critique on poems you read.
author commentbrittle light
Wed, 2017-07-26 14:14
Jane, Jane , Jane!
This gentle style, so cleanly executed, reminds me of when you first arrived here.
I loved it then, and love it now.
ostentation is for the less skilled, you shine with the glow of simplicity; a quality I so admire.
This flows effortlessly and yet, so poignant.
I guess that's enough gushing, for now....
p.s. your recorded reading of this piece was superb
sincerely,
Al
jane210660
Wed, 2017-07-26 17:08
Al
Thank you very much for the feedback. It means a huge amount to me.
I've been at a poetry reading tonight and read it there. A lady I've never met before came up and thanked me. She could identify with it perfectly she said.
There were poems at this reading, that were incredibly obscure - long strings of long words. We all sat and listened politely, but I asked myself why? Is it to look clever? Or is it that they are clever and I am just short of a few brain cells.
I want my poems to be accessible, I want people to identify with things in them. So, this lady, who had never been to a reading before, but liked this poem, also meant a lot to me.
Thank you very much for taking the time to tell me what you thought. I appreciate it.
Jxx
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Remember we are a workshop site.
Don't forget to offer critique on poems you read.
author commentEumolpus
Wed, 2017-07-26 22:19
your peom
strikes a chord with me, I recently lost my best friend . (heart attack on the golf course), it was sudden, but the remembering of events to the finality when you realize that person is gone...that strange paradox of sorts, that is a deeply felt thing. You have nicely crafted a poem to that point.
Eumolpus
I'd rather learn from one bird how to sing
than teach ten thousand stars how not to dance
ee cummings
jane210660
Sat, 2017-07-29 05:06
Mark
Again thank you for taking the time to read and comment.
The finality is the cruelest blow. Coming to terms with that is almost impossible.
Perhaps our memories mean that the finality will never be reached.
Ooooh, I have the glimmer of a ghost of a poem in my head now. Hope it doesn't fragment before I can snare it.
Jxx
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author commentEumolpus
Sat, 2017-07-29 22:35
lol
It's like catching butterflies...but they can be radiant butterflies!
I am always with a little pocket notebook...
hope you caught the ghost, and made it confess!
Eumolpus
I'd rather learn from one bird how to sing
than teach ten thousand stars how not to dance
ee cummings
weirdelf
Sat, 2017-07-29 23:28
Goodness gracious me, the comments say it all.
I utterly adored reading it for the first time accompanied by your voice.
This IS poetry, from the beginning and henceforth a voice, a sound in the mind.
This is actually the first time I've heard and read a poem at the same time ever and it is perfect.
My only angst is very personal. I hated my dad and his last words to me were blaming me for his heart attack by worrying about me.
I hope everyone can see and hear how important the voice is. I don't remember seeing this on our Facebook page, will you post it there or shall I?
cheers,
Jess
A new workshop on the most important element of poetry-
'Rhythm and Meter in Poetry'
https://www.neopoet.com/workshop/rhythm-and-meter-poetry
jane210660
Sun, 2017-07-30 05:16
Oh master of recordings
It would be lovely if you posted it. Particularly as I'm on a mobile phone at the moment.
What an incredibly cruel thing your Dad did. Unless it was the meds talking. With a heart attack, possibly not, but possibly his own fear. My Dad said some awful things in his final days, but it wasn't him. The meds and the toxins in his system, put him somewhere very bad. I just discounted what he said and removed it from my memory bank as of no import. No doubt over the years a lot have offered their 'home counselling ' regarding your Dad's final message. Trust me, I'm not presuming to do that, just telling you how I coped. On reading it back, it sounded a bit like I was trivialising your situation or offering a handy way out. Not what I intended.
Thank you for posting it on FB.
Yours Grasshopper xx
Ps one small thing, I've edited poem slightly after recording, so it doesn't match 100% in places. Only odd word here and there. I didn't want to re record though.
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