Lewis is our first participant in the project that I hadn't heard speak at a poetry event. He met Graham, our Founder at TheNeverPress and asked if he could send a submission. Our first inbound project request! What follows is a heartfelt love letter to his father and a deep reflection on the healing power of speaking your truth out loud in front of people. I met Lewis for the first time in the gardens at the Imperial War Museum and we quickly found common ground. Both having experienced the toxicity, potential for burn out and dangerous behaviours in male dominated, fast paced businesses. And, how we both found solace in art. He mentions Under Milk Wood, in the article, Dylan Thomas’ lyrical, poetic play. I was new to it and fell in love with it. Finding parallels in the human tales of Llareggub and the experiences Lewis and I chatted about of the chaos of big city living. How, no matter where, when or why, people are just people trying to get by. Hoping that someone, somewhere is watching over and seeing the light in them:
As Rev. Eli Jenkins recites in his sunset poem in the play -
We are not wholly bad or good
Who live our lives under Milk Wood
And Thou, I know, wilt be the first
To see our best side, not our worst.
Please be mindful WSR content can be thematically sensitive.
Lewis
I’m a 30 year old professional working in the corporate world in London. I have type 1 diabetes, which I think has always made me a little more introspective than others.
I was born into a wonderful, loving family in London where my parents met. Soon after, we all moved to Swansea where my mum is from- I distinctly remember the total eclipse in my grandparents’ garden in 1999 amidst a time of change in my young life and thinking how incredible the world was at the time. I’ve always been curious about the world and have leaned on my father to help me understand the “why” of things. He’d always have a well thought out answer; he never really spoke unless there was something meaningful to say and given that, he always also spoke succinctly. He was diagnosed with cancer nearly two and a half years ago and this started a process of grief for me which turned me to poetry as a means of explanation around who I am, as well as an emotional outlet.
He died at the start of last year at 70 years of age, over Christmas. I spent the last month of his life with him regularly. It was a horrific experience to see him in the care home where he spent his dying days, slowly deteriorating. But it was also a wonderful experience in a way for me- it was a chance to get to know each other in a way that would never have been possible without his imminent death. I was there right to the end and saw how undignified it can be.
I wrote this poem at his bedside in that moment, and eventually read it out at his funeral. This was a brilliantly fulfilling experience for me because it gave me an opportunity to explain perfectly how I felt about him to everyone that cared about him. This is what got me into writing.
A Giant of a Man
Now you lay there
A giant of a man
You look at me with glassy eyes
I joke with you, a smile warms your face and mine
What a mess I say
Suddenly I’m far away
Sat on your shoulders on a beach on a sunny day
Up so high I can see all the world before me
You set me down and life returns to its way
I return to your bedside,
A giant of a man
Struggling to move, you grip my hand
No heights of the world to show me now
But I’m already high in the sky
Soaring on your shoulders as life passes by
I stand up now, gigantic as well
Ready to step
Onto life’s carousel
On the writing process
Honestly, I don’t really know what I’m doing! Over the last year or so I’ve found at times this urge to expel how I’m feeling – one day I picked up a notepad and wrote some of my thoughts down. I realised then how incredible a catharsis writing could be for me. For a while my writing was my own. I liked it this way because it enabled me to write more honestly about myself. Keeping poetry to myself enabled me to pour my emotions out without the fear of what others might think.
Practising the poem about my father over and over forced me to embrace the grief and sadness of his passing, which I clung to in remembrance of him. I was terrified of getting up to read it out at the parapet on the day of the funeral, but then doing so (and holding it together) symbolised my desire to do the man justice. The difficulty of dealing with his death leading to that catharsis at the end really showed me the power of poetry when it comes to navigating grief. The process of writing helps me to form my own ideas about my life and how I feel about it; showing my poetry to others has helped me accept my life and who I am – it has made me more content, and more in pursuit of contentment. It has inspired me to participate in this project and to take another step on this journey that has just started for me.
Favourite poets, poetry nights, books or other resources:
Being from Swansea it would feel wrong not to talk about the beautiful rhythm that Dylan Thomas created in his poems. It was amazing to me when reading his work that he could create a form of beat through his use of grammar and language – this stuck with me since reading “Under Milk Wood” in school:
“To begin at the beginning: It is spring, moonless night in the small town, starless and bible-black….
Time passes. Listen. Time passes.”
You can find the wonderful, full cast BBC play here.
Write Speak Recover, in collaboration with TheNeverPress is an open, free collection of original portraits of poets using their art to find strength in their recovery journey from any form of dis-ease.
We invite you to follow Write Speak Recover on Instagram and to reach out to Tim Foley at WSR or us directly at the zine to learn more, or put yourself forward to be featured in this initiative.
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If you need support, here are some resources:
Samaritans
Alcohol Change
Recovery Dharma
Alcoholics Anonymous
Be kind. Stay present. One moment after the next.
This article was put together by Tim Foley, the WSR contributor and Graham Thomas.
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