To this end, the monthly 'Poets Out Loud' spoken word event in my town, which happened this last Thursday, had the
I chose an old poem to share, written about a friend of mine who died after crashing her car in the early hours of a Sunday morning. This is the one with which I came second to young Jasmine Logan in the slam, as I mention at the end of my latest Wild Fridays post at Poets United. I wrote the first draft in 1979. How sad that it's still relevant.
I'd been worried that my fun outfit might signal the wrong mood, but at the first words the audience's faces became attentive and serious.
I'm sharing this poem now in Pantry of Poetry and Prose #5 at Poets United.
FOR FRAN
1. Driving home from the massage parlour
drugged and down and speeding
all at once
with a head full of pain
driving
from all the other times and ways
that she’d been smashed
home
to the latest one she called love
who bashed her up and took her money
an old story
– how beautiful her body was
how early she learned
what beautiful bodies mean
her dad when she was 10
and said to all his friends
‘Come around, Fran’s home.’
They came.
Later her brothers.
Working the Cross by 14.
Same old story.
She married loneliness
a husband chasing cash
through too many country towns
but shocked
by her earnings
the home she bought
for permanence
he kept.
She saved his face in her wallet
always
played his songs
a whiskey-sucking purple satin
razzle-dazzle girl
clanking golden chains
loved poems
music
her children most of the time
(they were girls)
and tried to mother me
but
alky / drug-runner / jailbird / slut
got what was coming
… death that was coming
just the same old story
just another woman killed by men
only once
she put her foot down
hard enough
to make an end
From Universe Cat, Pariah Press (Melb.) 1985
and Secret Leopard, Alyscamps (Paris) 2005.
First published Going Down Swinging (earlier version),
Also in The Great White Hunter Meets Darkest Africa
and Walking the Dogs (Pariah Press anthology).
I had several tries at writing this. The first half-dozen or so consisted of incoherent screaming onto the page. In the end I took out all my emotion and pared it down to facts, and that worked.
Part 2 of this sequence (in very different mood) is posted here.
I had several tries at writing this. The first half-dozen or so consisted of incoherent screaming onto the page. In the end I took out all my emotion and pared it down to facts, and that worked.
Part 2 of this sequence (in very different mood) is posted here.
I completely understand why writing this was so difficult. It was difficult to read without screaming. This stanza:
ReplyDelete"– how beautiful her body was
how early she learned
what beautiful bodies mean"
and the final stanza, too, squeeze at the soul. The world can be such a terrible place, when people treat other people like things.
And then, to be able to read it without breaking down was a huge challenge too – but necessary in order to do justice to the material ... to her.
DeleteI think what is truly heartbreaking is, as you said, that this story is still relevant and there are so many other women who have to go through this. The pain is raw and visceral. There are no words...and yet you have found the right words that hit home.
ReplyDeleteSuch sadness - expertly handled and powerful too
ReplyDeleteSadly until men realise how serious this is, such treatment will continue. When I say men I don't mean the users and abusers but the police, the magistrates and the judges who are resposible for the contining abuse by so often considering it the womens fault.
ReplyDeleteOh, Robin, if only all men were like you!
DeleteWhen I read of stories like this I always wonder were the good men are... They do exist but maybe they are also bullied by the beasts killing women...
ReplyDeleteAre good men also afraid?
I'm told by social workers that the abusers are often very charming and likeable as far as the rest of the world can see ... and as far as the women they hurt can see too, at first.
DeleteMy point being that the good men aren't necessarily even aware of the (specific) others.
DeleteNot incoherent screaming, but certainly a punch in the gut. It's a poem that makes me reel with shock, and stagger. In short, it does what it should do: jolt the reader to her senses and make her resolve to end all abusive relationships (although not necessarily her own life). Powerful, Rosemary, powerful!
ReplyDeleteI cannot imagine reading this in front of a crowd...it burns just reading it.
ReplyDeleteThis is heart-wrenching😥 I resonate with the emotions that went into writing this poem. Especially this part:
ReplyDelete"– how beautiful her body was
how early she learned
what beautiful bodies mean"
I clutched my heart near the end. The world is full of terrible people who have no compassion in their souls.😥
I feel every word in this Rosemary.
ReplyDeleteSad and shocking with such memorable details. The end gave me a chill.
ReplyDeleteA powerful and well written poem on a very real and desperate situation endured by who knows how many women. The brevity and short lines adds to the impact. Excellent poem.
ReplyDeleteYou look very Northern Rivers in all that orange:)
Oh, I'm usually quite colourful (and often tie-dyed) lol! But more with the purples as a rule.
DeleteOH the willow in me is weeping, beauty came at such a high cost. The greed of men took advantage of this woman. I think in the end she had her say and it is my hope she has
ReplyDeletefinally found peace. So very sad Rosemary and I am sure this was difficult for you to write,
read and share. I think you honor her through your voice. (sigh)
It's hard to read that and not feel the pain present as well as anger at a society that downplayed the horror of what she endured all of her life. That last verse is a gut punch. Not surprised that this piece was recognized at the poetry slam.
ReplyDeleteA hard and necessary poem to read - a harder life to live. Fran must have had a warrior spirit to survive . The hardest: her dad telling the men "Fran's home." If your father is not your protector, you are sunk before you begin. The impact of this poem is as strong as you intended. It has to be. This story is too familiar and should not still be happening. I keep waiting for our species to evolve. I have grown old waiting. Bravo, Rosemary and I am glad you read it at the slam so many could hear it. And I LOVE that photo!
ReplyDeleteIt's been read a number of times over the years. I'm only one voice; and still these things occur. But the many voices are swelling now, and when even the UN takes up the cause ... that is not necessarily tantamount to a solution, but it helps.
DeleteI'm struggling to find comment as this evokes feelings that are just beyond words. Infuriating what can happen to one beautiful life when too many conspire against her while she is so young.
ReplyDeleteIt is still relevant today....It was relevant in the 1700's and is still relevant today. I am so glad I am a homely woman. Having beauty is too much of a burden to carry, intelligence is hard enough. A heartbreak of a poem. BTW, you look mahhhhvelous in your orange hat!
ReplyDeleteHard write--and still the story for many--I wish it weren't so. Beauty can be a curse really--
ReplyDeleteThis is one of the most impactful … achingly sad … pieces of poetry I have ever read. 'same old story' … brutally true … but there is something about THESE WORDS … the haunting depth of them … that cannot help but further intensify the mounting voices for change. I am blown away by this piece, Rosemary.
ReplyDeleteI've heard of too many of these stories and each one angers me to no end. We raised our sons to be proper young men, I believe that is only the first step to end this violence.
ReplyDeleteA very good, and indeed essential step! I'm sure the majority still do so ... but with population growth come many ills, including the fact that the evils are now much more widespread, even when still in the minority.
Delete