I was told I\u2019d need tissues. Indeed, Victoria Bennett\u2019s poetry about her mother\u2019s passing evoked much emotion from me \u2013 but not always in the way I\u2019d expected.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
In To Start The Year From Its Quiet Centre<\/em>, the poet spares us the dramatics, instead staying true to the title and portraying death with calm observation of the details, seemingly small in many cases, but deeply meaningful. So attentively put together, this pamphlet is filled with a warmth which I found ultimately uplifting.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018The Suede Shoes\u2019 opens the collection. The first line of which reads \u2018No good news from now\u2019. <\/em>But the poem continues:<\/p>\n\n\n\n <\/p>\n\n\n\n Why bother planting that seed?<\/p> Why turn the beds<\/p> for a summer that will never come?<\/p> Why bother buying the pretty suede shoes?<\/p> We choose the shoes because<\/p> we can still find joy in a step.<\/p> We plant the seed because<\/p> we still love the way<\/p> it insists itself into life.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n<\/div><\/div>\n\n\n\n <\/p>\n<\/div><\/div>\n\n\n\n In its final line, the poem confirms: \u2018and there is still good news.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n Of course, there is anger within these pages. Where there is love and loss, this is inescapable. But there is also a furious energy which liberates, at once brutal and bright.<\/p>\n\n\n\n <\/p>\n\n\n\n At night, I brush your weeping hair, <\/em><\/p> button the new nightdress, <\/em><\/p> fingers tender like a mother\u2019s, <\/em><\/p> tracing each lace flower. <\/em><\/p> When she can no longer move,<\/em><\/p> the doctor cuts it from her skin, <\/em><\/p> frees her flesh from its hold. <\/em><\/p> This garden has grown wild.<\/em><\/p><\/blockquote>\n\n\n\n This freedom in death is further explored in \u2018The Last Vigil\u2019:<\/p>\n\n\n\n I almost missed you leaving. <\/em><\/p> You travel upwards, <\/em><\/p> weightless, <\/em><\/p> turning cartwheels […] <\/em><\/p> You leap from star <\/em><\/p> to star and then, <\/em><\/p> you are gone. <\/em><\/p> The quiet of the dark,<\/em><\/p> faint night-singing.<\/em> <\/p><\/blockquote>\n\n\n\n Next, in \u2018December Hovers On The Advent Hour\u2019, the poet writes \u2018I am sure I hear you laughing, riding \/ the back of the storm, all the way.\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n The aforementioned tissues are indeed a requirement when reading Victoria Bennet\u2019s pamphlet. But what I draw from my multiple readings of it is a message of love which shines through the sadness, inextinguishable, making the grief worth surviving.<\/p>\n\n\n\n A perfect example can be found in the final lines of \u2018How To Watch Someone Die\u2019:<\/p>\n\n\n\n