The Living Dead

~ Honouring our poetic ancestors ~

And in the wake of International Women's Day –

Five years ago I shared with you the following poem by the famous and beloved Australian poet, Gwen Harwood, which was first published in 1963:


In the Park
By Gwen Harwood (1920-1995)

She sits in the park. Her clothes are out of date.
Two children whine and bicker, tug her skirt.
A third draws aimless patterns in the dirt.
Someone she loved once passes by – too late

to feign indifference to that casual nod.
“How nice” et cetera. “Time holds great surprises.”
From his neat head unquestionably rises
a small balloon…”but for the grace of God…”

They stand a while in flickering light, rehearsing
the children’s names and birthdays. “It’s so sweet
to hear their chatter, watch them grow and thrive, ”
she says to his departing smile. Then, nursing
the youngest child, sits staring at her feet.
To the wind she says, “They have eaten me alive.”


Now I have come across her follow-up, published in 1995, the year she died:


Later Texts
I.

She sits in the park, wishing she'd never written
about that dowdy housewife and her brood.
Better, the Memoirs of a Mad Sex-Kitten,
or a high-minded Ode to Motherhood
in common metre with a grand doxology.
'They have eaten me alive.' Did she write that?
The sonnet nestles in a new anthology
safe in its basket as a favoured cat.

She sits a while in flickering light rehearsing
the family's birthdays. 'Stop, you bloody fool!'
A young house-father with a pram is cursing
a child who's pushed another in the pool.
She helps him calm them. 'Eating you alive?
Look at me. I've lived through it. You'll survive.'


('I.' because she also offered 'later texts' of a couple of other earlier pieces.)

The span of thirty-odd years offers a different perspective –
both in the woman protagonist's life and in the society she inhabits. Some things, however, remain much the same. (Parenting young children can be a trial, no matter which gender is attempting it!) 

One small point of interest: in the first poem, the man feels thankful, and perhaps superior, at not sharing the woman's plight. In the second, the woman goes to the aid of the young man in her old position. A matter of gender, or the mark of changes in society, I wonder? What if the positions were reversed in the later poem? We can only speculate.

I don't think either poem needs any further comment from me. Harwood wrote both with great clarity, and with wry humour – able to laugh, above all, at herself.  

To find out more about her, please click the link on her name, above, for the Wikipedia article, and/or my post of five years ago, which has further information and some more links.

This photo of Gwen Harwood is taken from Directory of Australian Poets 1980, of which I was one of the editors. The quality of the print isn't great, but I'm using it because I don't need to seek permission, and because she selected it herself as how she wished to portray herself. It's how many of us remember her, vibrant and full of fun. (And yes, she was a pianist too.)

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Material shared in 'The Living Dead' is presented for study and review. Poems, photos and other writings and images remain the property of the copyright owners, where applicable (older poems may be out of copyright)