Poems! Out in the wild!
if you pre-order my book i will love you forever / send me your writing
Hello folks
Some exciting news (for me anyway).
My first poetry chapbook is available for pre-order from today!
The official release date is 4th Feb, but you can pre-order HERE today from Bent Key Publishing. Being a small, independent publishers, it really helps if you pre-order so they get an idea of quantities needed.
These poems are about memory, identity and connection, written through the lens of dealing with family members with failing synapses. It's also about love, care and what it means to be a human animal in strange and messy times. There are mushrooms, caves and trees.
It feels strange to release these poems into the world, because the feelings I had when I wrote them are quite different to the feelings I have now. Some were written in the midst of dealing with an intense period with my Dad- many hospitalisations and a rapid decline of faculties. He doesn’t have a spouse, so me and my brothers/sister became the caretakers. Some poems were written about my Grandad and his experience of dementia. Others are about exploring my own memories. I have found them to be strange, flimsy things bolstered only by childhood photo albums.
I have found poems to be a very comforting way of exploring tricky topics; something like coping with dementia in loved ones is hard but also a fairly universal experience. At the very least, having to care for someone, or having to be cared for is something none of us will be able to avoid. There is no one true feeling about it all, one minute you are beside yourself trying to keep someone clean and safe, the next you are sending inappropriate jokes to your siblings on your group chat.
A poetry collection allows the space the view things from all the different angles. It’s that famous Rilke quote:
Let everything happen to you: beauty and terror. Just keep going. No feeling is final.
None of the feelings in these poems are final. For one thing, my situation now is different and much more remote/light touch. I have tried to be very careful with the personal nature of some of the poems, and have found this a difficult tightrope to walk. The people in the poems are still here, and I didn’t want to unfairly present anything. I have had to just accept that this is my view of things. Whilst there is some anger and honesty, I hope you also find them generous.
A reminder that if you would like to join us for the evening to celebrate, you would be most welcome. We have an absolutely stellar line-up of poets for you, and the beer is always cheap at the Socialist Club!
Invitation to write/play
I had intended to post one of the poems from the book this week as a prompt, but as I’ve been writing this I thought of something else…
Send me your writing! Something you have already written, or something new. Something about memories, identity, caring for loved ones, finding respite, anything really. I would love to incorporate them into the launch somehow. Perhaps I’ll slip them into copies of the book or distribute them on tables for people to read. The more the merrier. Send more than one thing if you like.
You can simply write your contribution in the comments, or if you want them to be formatted properly send them by replying as an email.
As ever, thanks for reading.
Much love
Em x
Hi Emily
Your post made me think of a beautiful poem by Vita Sackville-West called 'Craftsmen'.
People with dementia can often gain pleasure and reassurance from contact with familiar objects from their lives. I've thought about retired tradesmen and how their old hand tools could evoke powerful memories as they touch and hold and smell these objects that they would have used every day of their working lives. My friend's dad still used the same hammer he had as an apprentice.
I can't find a copy of the poem online so here is a quote:
Tools have their own integrity;
The sneath of scythe curves rightly to the hand,
The hammer knows its balance, knife its edge.
All tools inevitably planned,
Stout friends with pledge
Of service; with their crotchets too
That masters understand,
And proper character, and separate heart,
But always to their chosen temper true.
She must have really understood how it feels to use the same hand tools and become really proficient at a hand craft.
Other than that I have written two poems. I'll try to email one over to you. And I am trying to follow the exercises in Josip Novakovich's book, Fiction Writer's Workshop. I'm writing about my home town, Leyland, at the moment.
Thanks for the blog, I always enjoy it.
Dave
Emily, the cover is stunning. I really can’t wait to read it, and to celebrate with you on the evening. Thank you for being an inspiration, I started my own substack, inspired by you. See you soon, friend.