Pete August 8, 2018

Exercise: Image and Text Poetry Part 2

 

Poetry is starting to defeat me as is metaphorical and visceral interpretations in photographs – I am doubting if I am an artist or just a photographer. It said that you become an artist you stop being interested in the photograph as an outcome but interested in the subject.

I need to concentrate on what the exercise is asking me interpret and react to a poem, a desperate google directed me to this website https://www.poetryfoundation.org/ and there on the opening page was this poem:

 

 

This hit a nerve straight away. In January 2017 I lost my mum to breast cancer. It wasn’t sudden but it was quick, it was my mum’s second bout of cancer but true to her nature my mum never gave up she fought that cancer to the last day, Chemo after chemo didn’t have an effect but she bravely moved on to the next recommendation. Although, this poem is American and the list of words a slightly different, the poem reminds me of my mum’s fight and it reminds of the thoughts that went through my mind as I had to return drugs to the pharmacy after her she passed away.

 

 

Losing my mum was tough as she was a significant part if my life, she was my mum, my friend and someone I looked up to. When my mum passed away I had lived away from my hometown for 19 years but we were still as close as the day I left. A large hole was left in mine and my Dad’s life.

 

 

This a poem about grief, the poet is laying her thoughts down about everything she and/or others did for a loved one who had a terminal illness. There is a feeling of helplessness in this situation you do everything you can for them, although you know in the back of your mind you know it not going to work.

 

 

I lived in Hong Kong throughout the majority of my Mum’s illness speaking to her and my Dad over Facetime every few days if not every day. And because of the 7 to 8 hour time difference every day I dreaded waking up to a text or even a phone call on the days after she had had a clinic appointment.

 

 

On 15th December ’16 Mum was hospitalised as wasn’t feeling very well, she was between bouts of Chemo, the latest one had not worked and they we looking at further option and in typical fashion Mum was fighting, I had a plan to return home to see them in late January and Mum said you don’t need to come home I’m not dying and statement that did make me laugh and actually still does. However, after a couple of days between me and my Dad, we decided it would be a good idea to go home for a visit. On Christmas Eve I booked a flight home to stay for a month, very short notice for my employers but they were initially understanding and very tough on Anastasya, my girlfriend, who wasn’t able to come due to he employment and that that we would not have been able to get her a visa at such short notice – she is Indonesian.

 

 

I spent an enjoyable Christmas with my girlfriend spending a lot of time on FaceTime with Mum and Dad and flew back to the UK on Boxing day evening. On the day I arrived home Mum was discharged from the hospital feeling better and the idea was to get her back up to strength – this started well when had steak and chips for. Over the next couple of weeks, the NHS gave my mum the best care imaginable arranging for visit from Occupation health specialist, physiotherapist and the loan of wheelchairs, Zimmers, Reclining chairs etc and I was on cooking duty. Anastasya had sent me home with the ingredients to make my mum Indonesian food, Thai Food and Chinese food along with her other favourites.

 

 

Sadly over the next couple of weeks, despite all the preparation of favourite meals, diligent drug routines, ensuring favourite TV programs and new books we available and dippy fried eggs Mum slowly lost her brave fight. This is the first time I have actually put what happened into words – it will live with me forever having to phone my Mum’s best friend to tell her not to bother coming up to visit from Essex and wait for the funeral, as Mum had slipped into unconsciousness, it was harder than phoning Anastasya later that day to say she had passed away.

 

 

Reading the poem has had me relive those few weeks and I have given this a lot of thought that time is best summed up in the picture below, it show’s the how me and my Dad survived through that time with coffee and biscuits and Bacon, the grease stains represent where thinks slipped and the headache tablets how we pulled things back; the “dippy fried egg” that was the last thing my Mum asked for tea. The Kindle was everyone’s rest bite Mine, Mum’s and Dad’s. This one was my Mum’s it became mine just after she passed because it was better than my old one and it travels with me everywhere.

 

 

I have entitled the image “What we thought worked…”