There are some constants in our lives in the arts where we have learned over the years of the value of certain creators who never disappoint us and among them, for me, is the work of poetry master Ian McDonald. So, this week it was a joy to be introduced to his latest collection, Poems for Mary.
In the preface, Ian talks about collecting poems, written over the years, inspired by his wife, in a tribute for her 70th birthday “as a mark of love and honour for a beautiful and living person who has anchored and protected and enhanced my life.” The Poems for Mary publication produced by MiddleRoad Publishers has some work that was previously published and stands as a stellar tribute to Ian’s work over the years. In his preface to the poems, Ian says: “I was 46 and she 29 when I got to know Mary and realized that she made life a lot more worthwhile. Since that time I have written poems for her, about her, and with her in mind and situations in which her presence was deeply felt.”
Different people will find different things to laud about the 70-page publication but for me the range of subjects, propelled by Ian’s keenly poetic mind, is striking. Imagination and metaphor, two of the hallmarks of fine poetry, are very much on display here, so that we find a piece where, unknown to her, he is watching his wife combing her hair and pinning it, and the artist in him finds a poem in that, The Silver Brooch, or watching her gathering flowers for the house:
“Another time I watched her cutting flowers
How she leaned low sometimes with the grace
women have. She looked so young. Watched
how she looked for the best, no clipping
in bunches, looked at each hibiscus, rose,
sunflower, orchid, matching in her mind
vases for our breakfast room.”
Or, another time, inspired by Mary doing the ironing… yes, the ironing:
“In the market place from morning light,
The mother weary all the time
the eldest daughter nine years old
shares interminable chore of starching irons
a little wetting, sprinkled starch,
pressing neat the shirts and cricket-whites
and singlets patched and patched
and patched to use again.”
In the book we have Mr. McDonald showing us the poet’s gift of finding measure in every corner; even having a cup of tea outside:
“Beneath this old beloved tree I sit and rest
Golden leaves falling from its shadowed green,
Beautiful in the setting sun
The wind is sweet and cool; aloft the branches sway
I do not see how I could be more content.”
As I write this, I don’t know when the Poems for Mary will be in bookstores here, but it is available on Amazon. You will find a treasure on every page; the leap and the span of poetry.
