If there has been one thing I have been pleased to fall back on this year it is poetry, so I was delighted to hear from Candlestick Press who asked whether I would be interested in seeing some of their pamphlets again, I think I had written about them some years ago and may even have posted them off to some of you.
And as an aside, pamphlet suddenly strikes me as a fine word whose origins I immediately need to know...
Middle English pamflet, from Medieval Latin pamfletus, from Pamphiletus, diminutive of Pamphilus, amatory Latin poem of the 1100s, from Greek pamphilos, beloved by all : pan-, pan- + philos, beloved.
Beloved by all, and these most certainly will be.
For those who may not have seen or heard of them, Candlestick Press produce a wonderful range of themed collections of ten poems sold here in the UK as an alternative to sending someone a card, and given the cost of greeting cards these days I think the £4ish price tag on these is well worth the investment.
We have received so many lovely cards in recent months that I have kept them all in a special box, just like I now discover my mum did when to my surprise I came across all their Silver Wedding anniversary cards, and an album of all her childhood birthday cards. It never seems quite right to throw away something that someone has chosen and written in and thought especially of you when they have sent it. Others of mine are made into bookmarks, or used as patchwork templates, or pinned on the notice board, or propped up on a bookcase. I really am hopeless, chances are if you have ever sent me a card it will be here, in some form, somewhere.
The range of Candlestick Press themes is growing and in amongst this batch Tea, Puddings, Knitting, Fathers and Bereavement.
Ten Poems About Knitting, is, to be honest, one to buy and post to yourself if no one sends it your way, as Di Slaney says in her introduction...
'I like the idea of yarn representing the tale - the poems - in this pamphlet, words knitted together by expert craftspeople.'
A beautiful poem by Sue Dymoke entitled 'Janet's' which perfectly evokes the wool shop of old where the wool was put by and could be collected a few balls at a time, as finances allowed, and was kept in that very unique crinkly cellophane, whilst her observation about the pattern room was spot on...
'In the pattern room knitters flicked
through strange family albums : children
knelt awkwardly, always smiling,
women's shoulders at jaunty angles,
real men, purposeful and rugged.'
It didn't take me long to find a few...
Ten Poems About Tea and this delight from Carol Ann Duffy...
'I like pouring your tea, lifting
the heavy pot, and tipping it up,
so the fragrant liquid steams in your china cup.'
Or this from Lessons in Teamaking by Kenny Knight..
When I first learned to
pour tea in Honicknowlein those dark old days
before central heating..
You would need to have lived in Plymouth to know of Honicknowle, I was a health visitor there for a while back in the day, many's the cup of tea.
In Memoriam, Poems of Bereavement was obviously going to get a good test run and I can safely say that this selection, chosen by Carol Ann Duffy, could be sent to anyone. Some of you have so very kindly sent me some really comforting and consoling words, and poems amongst them, which have been greatly appreciated, and as I read through this selection one poem stopped me in my tracks and I will own up, there were tears at the kitchen table.
Staring Out the Window Three Weeks After His Death by Paul Durcan has been my introduction to an Irish poet I may not even have heard of, but on the strength of this one poem I ordered a collection, just to see, and that has to be another advantage of pamphlets like these.
Sitting by the bed of his dying father the poet likens his father's soul to a hare..
I saw that his soul was a hare which was poised
In the long grass of his body, ears pricked...
Given that copyrights have had to be acquired for all these poems I'm not sure I can post it all without some infringement, but as the poem progresses, and his father's life draws to its close, that hare first approaches, then turns and bounds away disappearing out of sight. Convinced he will never see his father again there are tears, until suddenly the hare reappears...
'Springing out of the wood into a beach cove of sunlight
And I thought - yes, that's how it's going to be from now on:
The hare of his soul always there, when I least expect it;
Popping up out of nowhere, sitting still.'
Hares have always been a love of mine, and as I read this, there was the bronze hare that my dad had bought me for my birthday sitting on the bookcase alongside...
This one has a really beseeching air about him, I love it.
And then, a few days later we were walking round a craft fair in a tiny Cornish church...and there was another one. My little Jugged Hare, made by local potter Zane Hazeldine, now sitting happily on the kitchen shelf...
Incidentally, a new potter discovered too, some very beautiful pieces.
But Paul Durcan is right..
'.....that's how it's going to be from now on:
The hare of his soul always there, when I least expect it;
Popping up out of nowhere, sitting still.'
I have often seen Candlestick Press pamphlets and wondered whether I should send one, but now I definitely will because these have brought me enormous pleasure since they arrived, and I feel sure would bring pleasure to others too.
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