I had this printed on the Funeral Service because my husband liked it but now I see that he was in many ways like  this owl.His eyes could be very piercing.He would have loved to hover over the Pennines of the North East.

short-eared durham owl
meditating over the dale’s edge,
shadows the fields and folds
in elegant diurnal flight.
on windside, careful sight,
may swoop to prey and away.

your yellow broad-eyed look,
at once both sharp and distant,
holds me.
oh, silence,
oh, wind on green,
oh, earth,
sky.
immense your held vision,
sphere without centre,
pied geometer of flight,
sketch your descent and ascent.
Trees bunched by dry stone wall
call heart home

Click to access KaufmanSexton.pdf

Forms of poetry

Most people who read poetry have heard of Sylvia Plath.She was only 30 when she died but  is now a top poet of the 20th century… her  ambition was fulfilled.But if poetry writing is therapeutic as many people believe,why did it not help her?

I read an article about this  but am sad to  say i can’t find the reference.The author claimed that writing  structured poetry like sonnets is more likely to be therapeutic.Nowadays though,free verse and non structured  poetry is what is fashionable.Rhymes are not.Think of modern music cocmpared to Schubert or Haydn… you get the point.

Plath’s poetry was ,in a way,violent.She went to her depths but as she already had suffered a severe breakdown and  more recently deserted by her husband her depths were full of pain and anguish.

So it you feel you want to write for therapy,try writing in  a traditional form.The structure contains the feelings

Mary was sweeping the floor with her Shark cordless electric carpet sweeper just replaced by Lakeland Plastics, that store beloved of British women.Emile was watching her from the lid of the old gramophone where he sat surveying the sitting room.
Leave that spider alone,he called to Mary
Why,she asked kindly,are you planning a date with it?
No,it’s a good thing to keep them as they may catch flies and other nasty things.
Mary turned and gazed at Emile.She was wearing some tencel jeans and a bright pink top with embroidery round the neck.Her thoughtful face w as covered in Radiant Glow foundation as her friend Annie was trying to make her look more attractive to men.Which men was a puzzle as Mary liked to spend time alone  or going out with her female colleagues to search for books on Dirac’s owl,Schrodinger’s cat or Godel’s ants.
Her  male colleagues were mainly very conceited or shyer than rabbits brought up in the cliffs at Lyme Regis.
However Annie wanted Mary to marry again as she saw her  own vocation in life as being a mistress to a bright and intelligent retired man whose wife worked full time or  was in the Library studying  the Babylonian number system or other esoteric topics.So she could help Mary and herself at the same time.
Shall we have a party,she chuckled to Mary as she came in through the ever unlocked backdoor.
What sort of party,Mary asked nervously..
I want you  to meet some men,Annie reminded her.
I believe that like bombs falling on London in WW2,that if a man has your number on him he will find you,Mary teased.
Maybe your phone number,Annie retorted.Why don’t you get a spare mobile and I can put some posters with that number on the trees down the  side roads saying you are looking for a new partner.
I thought I had made it clear that as some Orthodox Jews believe that Zion will only come when God wants it to do,so a man will turn up when it is God’s will.
That’s a bit much.Do you think  you are God’s chosen person? Is God interested in finding you a new husband? Annie shouted.
Well,it may seem strange to you ,but even seeming trivia like me being married to some new man can have deep consequences for the whole world… a bit like the butterfly’s wings If I am happy it spreads around me and makes others happier too.Or if God wishes me to write a book and I need a man to cook for me then one will turn up,Mary responded in her low and musical Tyneside accent.
On the other hand God may wish me to lead a contemplative life,she carried on.
Annie was puzzled.Why do you think God has all these plans for you,she enquired.
It’s not just me,said Mary.It’s everybody but that does lead into difficulties as we look at the world around us.Does God want all. these refugees to drown or for Britain to stay in the EU?

It reminded the women of their convent school
religious classes where they had studied a simplified version of the writings of Aquinas and his proofs of the existence of God.It was  this book which had given Mary her first doubts about religion and being somewhat dim  in the tact department she had shared her misgivings with the headmistress, who was not happy tp be questioned even in front of school girls.
Emile,she cried,I wish I were a cat.My schooldays were so terrible
It’s your own fault said Annie.I just pretended to believe it and kept quiet by fantasising about my new lingerie and how my boyfriend would like it
How remarkable it is that gir ls and boys can be so different in their personalities and ways of coping with puberty.
It was like a prison,Mary said.Still it made later life seem happier.How did you afford new underwear so often,she asked Annie
I wore my mother’s!  this dear friend informed her.
My mother didn’t have that sort of underwear,Mary told her.And see how something seemingly so trivial can affect one’s personal development so much.Still I was fed and allowed to study and play  the piano and do my homework to the sound of Wagner and Richard Strauss.
Did it help you to concentrate,Annie asked in a puzzled way.
No, it allowed my brother to dominate me and otherwise he might hit me  or knock over my folding table where I kept my exercis books and pen ready to write essays on Twelfth Night and the periodic table.
Annie burst out laughing.Sorry,Mary,I asm not laughing because you were bullied but it just sounded as if tables had periods,the way  you said it.
Imagine how hard it was dealing with all that in a tiny house with the loo in the back  yard.It was taboo so had to be  concealed.When we went to Dublin for 2 weeks my two sister and I all had our  periods and we brought back  all the blood stained cloths in our suitcases.Luckily the customs man did not look inside.
Was there nobody who could have burned them for you?
The landlady  never mentioned it so  neither did we.
No wonder I am so peculiar.
Well,I like you,said Annie.You are so kind and sympathetic and good to talk to.And you  are always coming up with new ideas and interesting books.
I suppose we complement each other.Mary said shyly.Maybe we should get married and forget about men.
Annie’s eyes  opened wide.
I think I’d better  ring 999.she screamed.
And so say all of us.