Poetry Review ā WHAT IF?: Maxine Linnell gets to know June Hall through the honesty of her poetry
What If?
June Hall
Grey Hen Press
ISBN 978-1-9996903-9-7
Available from www.greyhenpress.com
or from June Hall at jphall@waitrose.com
Ā£4, (all profits to Parkinsonās UK)
I was tempted to begin this review with Parkinsonās Disease, because the poems gather around June Hallās experience of Parkinsonās over many years. But the strongest impression of this book is of June herself. Whatever collection of stereotypes, knowledge and anxieties any of us might bring to the topic, these poems show us a woman who has a relationship with Parkinsonās, who knows it and is willing to face up to it and to her feelings about living with it. That is a gift to us all.
Parkinsonās is Juneās constant companion, but there are so many other relationships in this book ā with family, friends, doctors, her past, her fears and her frustrations. She gives names to aspects of Parkinsonāsā impact which allow her to take a step back, rather than fully identifying with them. June is not Mrs Wobbly or Mrs Dribbles; she is June negotiating a relationship with her experience and her life as it changes. As she says in her introduction, āliving with Parkinsonās is tough, but not all of it is bad.ā The poems map shifts in identity, the bumpy journey of illness.
Thereās lightness and humour, thereās anger, fear and despair. And thereās something powerful about all of those being expressed in the form of poetry. Poetry can distil life, with a strong spirit being the product.
The poems are open, accessible in language and form. June starts at the centre, the beginning of her relationship with Parkinsonās, in āStrangerā:
Uninvited, you greet me
circling the web of hands
in the still spaces of the dance
to claim me as your partner.
The images are of dance, and of contact:
Your touch startles,
trembles and feathers my hand
like a wounded sparrow
palmed in an unfamiliar hold.
Juneās skills with words and images are evident right from the start and they remain intact and resonant. But the best poetry isnāt only a matter of skilful words and forms; thereās the sense of the poet daring to look and live and name what many of us prefer to keep hidden or unknown.
There is the first meeting with the consultant, the one where the label is fixed irretrievably and the future is spelt out:
I query his catechism of certainty.
His suit grows darker, his smile
wider as it cracks around the mouth.
That relationship continues through the book; thereās a sense of time passing, life changing. āMrs Dribblesā maps another stage of working it through, with anger, loss and frustration.
Dear Mrs Underdrugged, said her Consultant, the time
has come to celebrate the wonders of science. Believe me,
this new drug, though much maligned by the press, is
a good drug. You cannot buy Time by not taking it.
Former Businesswoman and Entrepreneur, now
Mrs PD, knew when she was beat.
Perhaps this book might go on the booklist for trainee neurologists. Perhaps we all need to remember about whole people. And, as someone who doesnāt have Parkinsonās but knows people who have, Iām strongly reminded never to reduce anyone to a label. I know June wants to share her experience with others who have Parkinsonās, and perhaps that will support others in staying aware and whole in the midst of it all.
Many of the poems have a recognisable form: regular stanzas of two, three or four lines; and there are two villanelles. Thereās order and organisation to convey and condense experience. Then thereās the disorder of āThe Shakeā on the page, mirroring the disease:
Everyoneās hand shakes
sometimes,
doesnāt it?
Mine used to before.
At the half-way point, āShiversā tracks memories of shivering from childhood to now. The writing is condensed and sharp. The sounds echo the feelings:
Crone-child, draped
in towels heavy with wet, smitten with shivering fever.
The sense of time passing is strong in the two villanelles in the book, āFineā and āTen Years On.ā None of the poems have a date attached, but I remember āFineā from an earlier collection. The two poems face each other on the page, written ten years apart. They map the āhelpfulā responses from other people, and the reality of the poetās feelings. In the first, thereās still a possibility of masking, of acting as if things were better, of saving othersā feelings. And then thereās the outburst at the end:
Well, bugger off. I want to whine.
āTen Years Onā puts us in the place of the acquaintance not knowing what to say, and the poetās internal response (in italics):
PD? Of course, itās hard to name.
Why whisper? Is it for my sake?
Youāre looking fine ā you seem the same.
Iām reminded of Katherine Whitehornās book, Youāll Get Over It, about othersā reactions to her grief at her husbandās death. And Iām remembering how in grief I searched out the writers who were willing to speak out as courageously as June does about the lived experience.
I wept at the poems which name what happens, as for instance the āStranger called meā in āChronicā who has to be accommodated and canāt hide anymore. Thereās no sense of being passive here: the emotions flow and overwhelm, but there is June in the middle of it all, still seeing, feeling, writing, shaping. The book is a challenge, and a delight too, for all its honesty.
The last poem is a poem of protest and determination, written as the poet looks at the practical aids people use:
You wonāt find me on the ropes for long,
a user of funny devices. Not me, not yet
And thereās no full stop at the end.
London Grip Poetry Review – June Hall
June 8, 2021
Poetry Review ā WHAT IF?: Maxine Linnell gets to know June Hall through the honesty of her poetry
I was tempted to begin this review with Parkinsonās Disease, because the poems gather around June Hallās experience of Parkinsonās over many years. But the strongest impression of this book is of June herself. Whatever collection of stereotypes, knowledge and anxieties any of us might bring to the topic, these poems show us a woman who has a relationship with Parkinsonās, who knows it and is willing to face up to it and to her feelings about living with it. That is a gift to us all.
Parkinsonās is Juneās constant companion, but there are so many other relationships in this book ā with family, friends, doctors, her past, her fears and her frustrations. She gives names to aspects of Parkinsonāsā impact which allow her to take a step back, rather than fully identifying with them. June is not Mrs Wobbly or Mrs Dribbles; she is June negotiating a relationship with her experience and her life as it changes. As she says in her introduction, āliving with Parkinsonās is tough, but not all of it is bad.ā The poems map shifts in identity, the bumpy journey of illness.
Thereās lightness and humour, thereās anger, fear and despair. And thereās something powerful about all of those being expressed in the form of poetry. Poetry can distil life, with a strong spirit being the product.
The poems are open, accessible in language and form. June starts at the centre, the beginning of her relationship with Parkinsonās, in āStrangerā:
The images are of dance, and of contact:
Juneās skills with words and images are evident right from the start and they remain intact and resonant. But the best poetry isnāt only a matter of skilful words and forms; thereās the sense of the poet daring to look and live and name what many of us prefer to keep hidden or unknown.
There is the first meeting with the consultant, the one where the label is fixed irretrievably and the future is spelt out:
That relationship continues through the book; thereās a sense of time passing, life changing. āMrs Dribblesā maps another stage of working it through, with anger, loss and frustration.
Perhaps this book might go on the booklist for trainee neurologists. Perhaps we all need to remember about whole people. And, as someone who doesnāt have Parkinsonās but knows people who have, Iām strongly reminded never to reduce anyone to a label. I know June wants to share her experience with others who have Parkinsonās, and perhaps that will support others in staying aware and whole in the midst of it all.
Many of the poems have a recognisable form: regular stanzas of two, three or four lines; and there are two villanelles. Thereās order and organisation to convey and condense experience. Then thereās the disorder of āThe Shakeā on the page, mirroring the disease:
At the half-way point, āShiversā tracks memories of shivering from childhood to now. The writing is condensed and sharp. The sounds echo the feelings:
The sense of time passing is strong in the two villanelles in the book, āFineā and āTen Years On.ā None of the poems have a date attached, but I remember āFineā from an earlier collection. The two poems face each other on the page, written ten years apart. They map the āhelpfulā responses from other people, and the reality of the poetās feelings. In the first, thereās still a possibility of masking, of acting as if things were better, of saving othersā feelings. And then thereās the outburst at the end:
āTen Years Onā puts us in the place of the acquaintance not knowing what to say, and the poetās internal response (in italics):
Iām reminded of Katherine Whitehornās book, Youāll Get Over It, about othersā reactions to her grief at her husbandās death. And Iām remembering how in grief I searched out the writers who were willing to speak out as courageously as June does about the lived experience.
I wept at the poems which name what happens, as for instance the āStranger called meā in āChronicā who has to be accommodated and canāt hide anymore. Thereās no sense of being passive here: the emotions flow and overwhelm, but there is June in the middle of it all, still seeing, feeling, writing, shaping. The book is a challenge, and a delight too, for all its honesty.
The last poem is a poem of protest and determination, written as the poet looks at the practical aids people use:
And thereās no full stop at the end.