A pantoum poem, two years after my husband died

On Monday 23 October it will be two years since my husband – Bill Barrie – died. These has been a difficult two years for our family, as we work to establish a new and different maturity within us.

A friend who reads my blog asked me the other day if I was still writing some poetry. I said, “Not at present.” But on reflecting overnight, I decided to post a poem I wrote for Diane Brown’s online poetry course in 2016 (the poem was written less than a year after Bill died). Diane gave me useful feedback at the time; she suggested for instance that I consider reducing the original version by two stanzas, because some of the lines were very straightforward and might not stand up to the repetition required by the pantoum format (she suggested cutting two stanzas rather than one, as that would give a little more flexibility as to which lines to keep). Diane said she revises each of her poems an average of twenty times. This poem of mine has been revised twelve times, and so I present it to you as a work in progress.

The sun umbrella (a pantoum)

On this cool and moody autumn morning

as I open up the drapes in our back room

I get a sudden shock on seeing it

lying against our crib wall, still and tall.

I open up the drapes in our back room

and see the creamy sun umbrella

lying against our crib wall, still and tall.

There’s something not quite right, but what?

And seeing the creamy sun umbrella,

I think the wind has blown it over, yet

there’s something not quite right. And then

I realise it winters in the garage every year.

I think the wind has blown it over. Bill’s

no longer here to jog my memory –

it always winters in the garage

on cradling brackets he made overhead.

No longer here to jog my memory.

We coped together as a team of two,

with lifting on to brackets overhead

until at last he was too old and frail.

We coped together as a team of two,

and so we found a practical solution

when at last he was too old and frail –

we wrapped it snug in plastic on the floor.

And since we’d found a practical solution,

for this year why should I not do the same

and wrap it snug in plastic on the floor?

Perhaps I want the shock of seeing it there.

For this year why should I not do the same?

Perhaps I want the shock of seeing it there.

Outside it conjures up team Bill and Ann

each cool and moody autumn morning.

Ann Barrie

Blog by Ann Barrie