Poetry is pleasure

Our Tuesday assignment was to write something delicious. Unsurprisingly, there were a lot of poems about food. 🙂

I ended up writing about a painting I have by Margaret Hudson Ware (she paints under the name of Margaret Tyndall). It isn’t a delicious theme, I not great at delicious. I am putting the poem here and then below it the painting and what I was thinking about. As poems shouldn’t need explanation and analysis don’t read the other bit if you don’t want to. FG

Her spine a straight line into weather

The cold grey light against the white river the grey stones the grey and white clouds.
Probably the mouth of the Rakaia.
I can see the top half of his head in the side mirror, furrowed, impatient, impotent.

This image distracted me from the flying baby and you in your long red dress.
Your oversized forearm, a wrestler’s desperate hold around her bare bottom.
Arched bare feet in shadow against the boulders.
Your other hand gripping the tiny foot, her arms
reach for the grey white sky.
Her spine a straight line into weather.

Your lips are frozen stone on her bald round head, your eyes grey slits.
She’s heading straight for the white river, a slippery fish, cold and urgent.
And you, you go under, sink stony frozen, grey and white.
Your air is oxygen is and there is none.

He revs and revs the engine.

Sue Heggie

I have owned the painting for over 20 years and it is again, one of those “things” I would hate to live without. (see yesterday’s post)


I have always thought the man in the wing mirror is her angry father and she had the baby “out of wedlock”- hah what a phrase. She has been made to put the baby up for adoption and is saying her last goodbyes in that cruel and stony environment.

So poignant and painful.

Still on a more cheerful, delicious note I am so happy to be at home all week without any obligations. Please send me opinions, feedback anything you want to contribute so I know you are out there. FG


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