Welcome to Glimpses into Words in Winter, a weekly showcase of writings from some of the talented presenters and authors joining us for this year’s festival.
This week, we feature local poets Ross Gillett and EA Gleeson, both published by Liquid Amber Press. They will be part of the poetry event, “Am I dreaming? Poetry and the Dream Imagination” on Sunday, 30 August, from 1:30 pm to 3:00 pm at Bar Bamford, Daylesford Hotel. Book your tickets.
Earlier in the same day, from 11:30am-12:30pm and as part of the Town Hall Talk series, EA Gleeson joins Dr. Hannah Gould and local death doula, Amy Pagett for “The Last Good Conversation”- a panel discussion about death, grief and dying. Book your tickets
Explore the full festival lineup at the Words in Winter website” www.wordsinwinter.com
A Blessing on the Hard Days
EA (Anne) Gleeson
On days when her body is at odds with herself
when tremors are stopping every enjoyable thing
On days when drugs send her body to oblivion
when her body needs to sleep and sleep
On days when she hardly knows who you are
when her words have gone
On days when her eyes move wildly, when her mouth hangs
when she seems separate from every living person
Bring the blanket
Keep her hydrated
Stroke her head
Touch her arm
until her body finds its way back
Rejection
EA (Anne) Gleeson
I leave the curtains open.
I want him to drive by slowly
and notice the two wine glasses
sitting intimately on the tiny table
he made for me all those years ago.
I want him to see your jumper flung
across the back of the couch. If he stops
by and tells me that he needs to see
the children, I will not draw attention
to the scenario. I will leave it sitting
there like an everyday occurrence
and, if he alludes to it, I will not
tell him that this is the aftermath
of a poetry workshop, and that
you are a priest.
The Mirror Lovers
Ross Gillett
There are those who will never release their mirrors.
They cannot surrender their perfect self-portraits.
They sleep with them. They wake up beside themselves
in dim rooms, and wonder if they have married.
All day there’s a quicksilver gleam in their eyes.
They feel strangely flat. They have to resist
an impulse to mime the movements of others.
Their minds are full of unwanted reflections.
At night, they return to the mimicry of marriage.
The fingertip touching, the two-dimensional tenderness.
Cloud Climbing
Ross Gillett
Grab the lightest line you have,
a thread
of nothing.
Throw it at the clouds.
It may take years
but one day you’ll do it,
snag the edge
of a drifting cliff.
By then you will be very old,
paper thin,
weightless.
Haul yourself up.
