handstanding at FUNerals

10 days ago, Deb Dawson, a great friend & generator of much laughter in my life, died. It was after a return of the cancer she first had diagnosed 14 years earlier. Though I teased her often about her age, she was still relatively young.

Deb & I met, just six short years ago when I joined a local youth circus as the General Manager.  She was already working for them as their Workshop Coordinator. After many years working in administration roles for a range of businesses, including a long stint at a hospital, Deb had finally found her spiritual home among the freaky world of carnies.

In my role as one of the executors of her will, as well as friend to her to children, I have been primarily responsible for the planning & delivery of her funeral, in consultation with her family. I want to talk about this process a little more after we get through the poetry side of things.

Two of my poems were performed as part of the service, Baby Elephant Blues & It. It helps getting them on the bill when you’re the booking agent for the gig. But in all seriousness, both poems had a special meaning to her; & the first one, more broadly to her family.

After numerous requests from a range of people who attended asking for copies of one or both poems, I decided sharing them through my blog was a nice idea — taking what, originally, were two quite private poems, out to a wider audience.

I’ve written several poems for Deb over the past few years. She liked me reading my latest effort to her (even ones where she was not the subject matter 🙂 ), I’ve read dozens in her pink bedroom where she spent so much time recently; but she especially enjoyed ones about her.

One of these, concentric circles or: “we have you surrounded” was a finalist in this year’s Mindshare Awards — she was thrilled by that, although annoyed with me for not winning.

That’s not the one I’m going to share here (though here is a link to it, the formatting isn’t perfect – but oh well).

***

The first I am sharing is Baby Elephant Blues. [clicking on the image will enlarge it]

BE Blues.jpg

Though Deb liked my poems, she once asked why don’t you write rhyming poems. I said they weren’t really my thing. She said. I like rhyming poems. They’re easier to understand. She was being funny — she usually got what the non-rhymers were about, & if she didn’t, that was more likely my fault for trying to be too wanky.

Anyhoo. I spent last Christmas Eve at the Dawson Menagerie. I was due to arrive between 6.30 & 7. About 5 o’clock I get a phone call from her daughter’s boyfriend saying I’ve bought a book for mum & I want to put a poem in the front. Is there anything you’ve written I could use. Maybe something about elephants. I said, not really. But I’d give it a go. Sometimes adversity produces great results. This wasn’t one of those times. Actually it’s ok. It’s not my best poem by a long shot. But it was the poem that made Deb cry the most.

It was Christmas morning last year. She had been given her book. The poem had been read to her, & she had cried. At first, she didn’t even realise it was about her nor that I’d written it.  When Deb realised it was about her, she asked me to read it again & she cried even more. For while everyone around her all knew our Deb was wonderful, she so often doubted that … & found it very hard to acknowledge how many people loved her.

It certainly seemed to hit the mark as it opened the proceedings on Friday. [Though, like any poet worth their salt, I have tinkered & tweaked it, even since then.]

Note: Although this poem depicts an elephant in a circus (it blends two of Deb’s loves), please be aware I don’t condone the use of performing animals in modern circus. I justify it via the excuse that the poem is metaphorical & that no animals, except the poet, were harmed in the making of the verse.

***

The second is It. [Remember, click to enlarge]

It was the last poem I ever read to her.

it

***

The final thing I want to say is this. Deb was a quirky, glorious, crazy lady. She was determined that her funeral was going to be a celebration.

It was, though I hesitate to use the word but it was, ‘fun’ planning her funeral. Obviously, I would have preferred not to be organising it, but if we were gonna do it, we were gonna do it right. She wanted a celebration hey, alright then, challenge accepted. It felt like Deb was egging us on — if we thought, is that idea too much, we responded — what would Deb want … & we went for it. [Perhaps I have created a new career for myself, Funeral Entertainment Coordinator.]

To this end, the service began with an acrobat tumbling & saulting down the centre aisle, followed by 3 hula hoopers. So many people told me afterwards, it was at this point that they knew, they weren’t in Kansas anymore …

6 pall bearers followed, carrying Deb’s coffin — resplendent with a striking black & white print of elephants on the African savannah round right the box & a hot pink lid. Her entrance was accompanied by the “Eye of the Tiger” belting its base through the sound system.

We had the regular moving eulogies from friends & loved ones; but we also had a SPONTY — spontaneous handstand competition, a homemade video consisting primarily of blurry photos with the subtitle OOPS, a range of props, a round of applause & cheering for her life. Yoda. We had 4 talented acrobats perform a 3-high via video from Europe. We laughed. A lot. We cried. A lot. We had a professional actor who moonlights a civil celebrant deliver her lines with the perfection of scripted play. We didn’t have any dusty old hymns no one knows the words too & even less people sing along with. We didn’t, I’m not sorry to say, have any hollow words from contradictory & hypocritical “Holy Books”. We did, however, talk about how elephants care for their babies.

At the end, we invited the ‘mourners’ to come & take, in memory of Deb’s glorious laughter-filled life, one of the 150 figurine elephants that had previously occupied almost every shelf & flat surface in her house. This was one of Deb’s personal suggestions.

Finally, she was carted out again, after an hour of laughter, tears & reminisces & driven off very slowly in the hearse to the tune of “Another One Bites the Dust” (again her choice) to the, at first, incredulous looks of everyone who had come to wave her off, before they gradually got the gag, & realised it was one last joke from the Dawson repertoire.

Oh, & did I mention, her favourite colour was pink — & everyone had been instructed to attend wearing a little (or a large) splash of it. Looking over the audience was like looking at a rose garden.

Now I’m not saying everyone has to have a service like this. For one thing, circus performers don’t come cheap.

But maybe it really is time we reconsider the rituals we use to farewell our loved ones. Having attended a few funerals now in the past 18 months, it does feel a little bit like we are stuck in a drab sepia-coloured, perhaps Victorian-esque photograph of what a funeral should be … & maybe it’s time we moved into a more modern, more joyful, more vibrant HD multimedia-VR-holographic celebration of what it means to have lived …

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Valentine’s Day presence

So, the pay off for some hard work over the past week or so is here — I’ve been exploring/researching the world of epublishing.

love: a test run is my first foray into ebooks. I still seek publication via the literary journals & poetry publication websites & competitions, etc … but the reality is, I have already written more poems than I’m ever likely to see published via traditional methods. & I’m certainly not writing poetry for the $$$$. Not to mention, much of what I write probably doesn’t fit the criteria for online journals …

So be it…

I want people to read my stuff. Or at least have the opportunity to. To connect with it. To be moved by it. Even to disagree with it. Which is why epublishing is so amazing. & why I’ve taken this first Test Run step … & why there are more planned.

& so to love: a test run

Love - a test run

This collection of poems came out of an experiment for a project a fellow poet & I are working on (giving rise to one of the multiple meanings of “test run” which makes up the book’s subtitle).

The task was simple, to write a poem a day, every day for a month.

24 hours to conceive, plan, write & edit a new poem every day & email it to each other before midnight. Well, the midnight deadline didn’t always quite get met, but the poem a day did. This was not for the famously challenging event NaPoWrMo (National Poetry Writing Month) but shared similar draining/exhilarating characteristics. Oddly enough, once you got over the hump, it became easier the further on it went. Some days several poems came out of the exercise – but we only shared one per day.

The catch: every poem was to explore love in some form.

I haven’t edited them overly much, just a tweak or two here & there for clarity. I wanted to keep it close to what I churned out, I mean, produced in that furiouso month. I have altered the order of several poems to make the whole have a better flow; & a couple of the poems I sent through, I have replaced with others written in that month because they felt like they fitted the collection better. I would have liked to have shuffled the order more, but I really went with the “snap shot” notion of the test run here.

What pleases me is their diversity: there’s a wide range of styles evident; there are several different voices; the tone varies; some are more experimental than others; some are profoundly personal, others wholly imagined; even just simple things like the variety in their length (both of lines & overall poem); & of course, some succeed better than others. Naturally there are certain topics, images, phrases that echo themselves – but overall, I hope they make for an eclectic, interesting read.

What remains constant is the theme: there’s poems about true love, soul mate love, infidelity, whale love, first love, lost love, unrequited love, undeclared love, dark love, abandoned love, arrogant love, ghost love, broken love, eternal love, love-at-first-sight love, literary love, 10-second love, pure perfect impossible love, painful love, imagined love, fantasy love, universe-ending love … & more besides I’m sure.

I hope you seek out & enjoy love: a test run …

it’s available at these addresses:

https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/519315 (sample & full download available)

http://www.wattpad.com/myworks/32748708-love-a-test-run (sample only)

& via your ereading devices shortly (i hope, once it gets approval) ((if i understand how it all works 🙂 ))

if you read & like, leave a comment.


but as a taste test of the test run …

here are two poems i particularly enjoy

Day 10. explaining the universe, using the physics of love

here’s what happened
put into the simplest
language i can muster
as best as i understand
20 years on

i gave you more of my heart
than i could reasonably
be expected to lose
then you died
gone — none know where

that part of my heart so gifted
went with you

& that … is how
black holes are made


Day 16. love poem to my plump lover

how do i love thee
let me not count the weighs


Later skaters. May you survive Valentine’s Day — whether it is a day of joy or pain for you …

April 12 – Day Twelve: anniversary (a year, a week & a day since you moved in)

The original intention was to publish this a year & a week from the day our lives meshed. The tech glitches described in such eloquent detail in a previous ~interlude~ prevented that.  So now it is online, a year, a week & a day since that wonderful day.  You’ve changed my life in ways I didn’t believe possible.

Belated Anniversary Poem

It occurred to me yesterday, I forgot an anniversary
A big one, too. A year together. A full year. Our first.
I’m not the man who wept last Easter. I am un-entombed.

I met you on a Monday, you’d moved in by Friday.
We met on April Fools Day, which some think’s funny
but for me is no laughing matter. It suits us perfectly

& even though I’m reasonably confident you’re okay
I forgot — no doubt not realising the significance either
for me it’s important to sing to the stars I’m the best

I’ve been since you came, the world’s broken in two
even to the point of my own personal timekeeping
symbology — AD is After Dog; BC, Before Chester.

Lick you!

 

 

*****

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Image: ChesterLickyTongue, by moi