(formed by the conjunction or collection of particulars
into a whole mass or sum; any hard material added
to cement to make concrete; to bring together,
collect into one sum, mass or body)
So far the pieces don't match.
Diary entries leave out the dramas.
Letters carefully tailor those same
life-altering events. There is often
much ado about nothing. All
we need is love.
Most of the poems are angry.
The drawings are of another world
even the sketches of frangipani trees,
women with babies on backs.
They're all about women, they are
not about women, the head-shrinks
would say they're about me.
I study them now for hints.
They clearly demanded intense
pressure on the coloured pencils
- the Derwents - the pressure
of living and working in foreign
community, needing a new
language. I put the humour
into brief stories, short fiction.
I laid out the beauty in acid-free
photo albums from Creative Memories.
All memory being creative, I search
and research what's gone, the sum
of parts assembled, the hard stuff
added to delete, repair, review
make whole a phase of life anew.
No comments:
Post a Comment