The Psyche that Poems Built

Whan that aprill with his shoures soote     

The droghte of march hath perced to the roote,     

And bathed every veyne in swich licour     

Of which vertu engendred is the flour; [1]    

 

John had

Great Big

Waterproof

Boots on;

John had a

Great Big

Waterproof

Hat;

John had a

Great Big

Waterproof

Mackintosh —[2]

The poems of A A Milne have spread their tendrils through my family.

You say: delphiniums – and I will imagine blue ones, paired with geraniums (red) and a dormouse.

You say: King John. And most of my family will follow with ‘was not a good man’.

You say: James. And, my brain will say

James James
Morrison Morrison
Weatherby George Dupree
Took great
Care of his Mother,
Though he was only three.[3]

And the highwayman came riding—

Riding—riding—

The highwayman came riding, up to the old inn-door.[4]

1979. International Year of the Child. The year I became an aunt (for the first time).

The year I received a copy of I Like This Poem, edited by Kate Webb.

My copy has fallen apart. It has stood me in good stead — with help and inspiration for last-minute English assignments.

 

One thing I miss

Is Cold Ethyl and her skeleton kiss

We met last night

Making love by the refrigerator light[5]

I’m 14. It’s fourth form (aka Year 10 in Aotearoa New Zealand now / 9^th grade in US). The year we ‘rebel’ and try it on.

We had a student teacher for English. One that we didn’t like. So, my friend and I said we’d analyse NSFW songs for our poetry assignment.

I did.

They didn’t.

And, our actual English teacher (and Head of English) marked the assignments.

It’s also the year I started to speak even less in class. From just a little bit – to barely opening my mouth.

 

Love is not love

Which alters when it alteration finds,[6]

Poetry brought me out.

Poetry, and a gentle tutor. Studying ‘The Age of Shakespeare: Poetry’ in my second year of my BA, and our gentle bear of a tutor would go around the room, asking for a comment on the poem he has just declaimed. I felt safe enough to challenge myself. To say ONE thing each week – even the most banal and obvious. And, he didn’t roll his eyes. Not once. Even when I had psyched myself up to say ‘It’s in iambic pentameter’ da-DUM da-Dum da-DUM da-DUM da-DUM. I’m sure, on the inside, he was thinking ‘well, yes, it’s a fucking sonnet!’

From his gentle support, I began to challenge myself – to take jobs that would require me to talk, to interact.

 

It was drowsily warm,

with dozens of bees

lazily buzzing

Through flowers and trees.

Hairy Maclary decided to choose

a space in the shade

for his afternoon

snooze. [7]

 

Poetry, as expressed in children’s books and songs, helped pave the way.

Reaching through time and muscle memory, I reconnected to my littler self – sharing the lessons of preschool TV watching – and the songs and rhymes I learnt so many years ago.

 

I can hear you

making small holes

in the silence

rain[8]

 

But, where did my home feature? Where were the poets – especially Māori and Pasifika?

A verse, painted on the side of a building, introduced me to Hone Tuwhare.

 

Friend,

I don’t know what you are going through.

I’ve had grief in my life, but this is your grief,

your pain, and I am on the outside.[9]

 

And children’s books introduced me to Joy Cowley’s psalms. Even for an agnostic — these deeply-rooted Catholic psalms resonate. They are also catholic, in the sense of being universal.

 

Hey James,

yeah, you

in the white wig

in that big Endeavour

sailing the blue, blue water

like a big arsehole

F… YOU, BITCH. [10]

And now. Now I know more and try to do better. I am working to decolonise my brain and reactions. As a child of colonisers, I have to unsettle myself. To confront beliefs and thoughts and training.

I glide out

onto the fresh paved road

and pedal hard

until the wind

lifts my hair

off my shoulders

and a trap door

at the back of my skull

swings open,

letting the gloom

swirl out. [11]

In times of joy. In times of grief. In times of depression – poems etched into my soul, help me ground myself and find my way through.

 

And that

(Said John)

Is

That.[12]

 

~ Anne, Tāmaki Makaurau Auckland / Aotearoa New Zealand.

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[1] General Prologue of the Canterbury Tales. https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/43926/the-canterbury-tales-general-prologue

[2] Happiness by A A Milne. https://allpoetry.com/poem/8518945-Happiness-by-A.A.-Milne

[3] Disobedience by A A Milne. https://allpoetry.com/Disobedience

[4] The Highwayman by Alfred Noyes. https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/43187/the-highwayman

[5] Cold Ethyl by Alice Cooper. https://www.azlyrics.com/lyrics/alicecooper/coldethyl.html

[6] Sonnet 116 by William Shakespeare https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/45106/sonnet-116-let-me-not-to-the-marriage-of-true-minds

[7] Hairy Maclary and Zachary Quack by Lynley Dodd. https://storytime.rnz.co.nz/book/hairy-maclary-and-zachary-quack

[8] Rain by Hone Tūwhare. https://poetryarchive.org/poem/rain-2/

[9] Grief by Joy Cowley, from Aotearoa Psalms. https://www.christiansupplies.co.nz/product/9780473135591/aotearoa-psalms/

[10] 250^th anniversary of James Cook’s arrival in New Zealand by Tusiata Avia, from Savage Coloniser. https://thespinoff.co.nz/books/27-02-2023/how-to-read-a-poem

[11] Bicycle Ride from Stop Pretending: What Happened When My Big Sister Went Crazy by Sonya Sones. https://www.sonyasones.com/books/stop/a_syn_book.html

[12] Happiness by A A Milne. https://allpoetry.com/poem/8518945-Happiness-by-A.A.-Milne