I
It was all tension
in the delivery room,
and you still seemed
glimpsed galaxies away,
pouring your heart out
in the automatic writing
of the foetal monitor's pen
that traced its racing.
I heard each beat
as an outside broadcast
through a squeaky speaker
live-wired to your scalp.
These electric things made
more than a potential difference
as the nurse noticed your distress.
The machine plotted nothing
and found its origin.
Shocked into memory
all I recalled was our first
virtual meeting in those
early scanning days when,
searched for like fish by sonar,
you showed up shadowy
in your secret space, waving a hand to me
that could be a plesiosaur's paddle,
a coelacanth's fin - semaphore from
an oceans away womb-home,
moon distant where you had landed.
Then, in the blink of an aeon,
you broke radio silence,
translating yourself again
into the language of graph lines.
II
I saw you born from water
into air as you barged
into the summer.
You were an astronaut to my eye,
space-walking from the mother ship
but blood-roped still,
already miming our every voyage.
It was the quick slow motion
of it all that lives in me -
you coming from your sea of tranquility,
washed up by the amniotic tide;
that suspended second when you looked
and held me in the forever of your face,
before you drew breath,
before you cried.
Copyright Michael Woods
from 'Absence Notes', 2011, Templar Poetry
Reproduced with permission
Editor: Kathleen Jones
I've just been reading Absence Notes - the first collection from Michael Woods - and this poem really stood out. It's a beautiful poem about the birth of a child from the father's point of view rather than the mother's, and that's what makes it unusual. We don't often hear about birth from a man's perspective - aren't often reminded that bonding is just important for them as it is for the mother. I like the images and metaphors, 'blood-roped' - the womb astronaut.
Several of the poems in this collection are about family relationships - Carol Ann Duffy in a review noted that it 'maps the events and connections which shape our lives - childhood, parenthood, friendship and love.' Michael is an authority on Gerard Manley Hopkins and there are echoes in some of the poems (particularly the title poem 'Absence notes') which link back to Hopkins. Apparently every collection should have at least 3 'Wow!' moments. This is definitely one of them.
"Michael Woods was born in London. He is married with three children and teaches English and Drama in Malvern, Worcestershire. His poems have won several prizes and have appeared in a number of anthologies. As editor of Tandem poetry magazine, he has sought to promote the work of young writers. He also runs live poetry events at the Lamb and Flag pub in Worcester."
Kathleen Jones is this week's Tuesday Poem editor, currently living in Italy. She is a biographer and poet, whose first collection of poetry 'Not Saying Goodbye at Gate 21' was published in November 2011. She blogs regularly at 'A Writer's Life'.
Once you have enjoyed "Joseph", take some time to enjoy the other poems posted this week by members of the Tuesday Poem community. You will find them all listed in the sidebar.
It was all tension
in the delivery room,
and you still seemed
glimpsed galaxies away,
pouring your heart out
in the automatic writing
of the foetal monitor's pen
that traced its racing.
I heard each beat
as an outside broadcast
through a squeaky speaker
live-wired to your scalp.
These electric things made
more than a potential difference
as the nurse noticed your distress.
The machine plotted nothing
and found its origin.
Shocked into memory
all I recalled was our first
virtual meeting in those
early scanning days when,
searched for like fish by sonar,
you showed up shadowy
in your secret space, waving a hand to me
that could be a plesiosaur's paddle,
a coelacanth's fin - semaphore from
an oceans away womb-home,
moon distant where you had landed.
Then, in the blink of an aeon,
you broke radio silence,
translating yourself again
into the language of graph lines.
II
I saw you born from water
into air as you barged
into the summer.
You were an astronaut to my eye,
space-walking from the mother ship
but blood-roped still,
already miming our every voyage.
It was the quick slow motion
of it all that lives in me -
you coming from your sea of tranquility,
washed up by the amniotic tide;
that suspended second when you looked
and held me in the forever of your face,
before you drew breath,
before you cried.
Copyright Michael Woods
from 'Absence Notes', 2011, Templar Poetry
Reproduced with permission
Editor: Kathleen Jones
I've just been reading Absence Notes - the first collection from Michael Woods - and this poem really stood out. It's a beautiful poem about the birth of a child from the father's point of view rather than the mother's, and that's what makes it unusual. We don't often hear about birth from a man's perspective - aren't often reminded that bonding is just important for them as it is for the mother. I like the images and metaphors, 'blood-roped' - the womb astronaut.
Several of the poems in this collection are about family relationships - Carol Ann Duffy in a review noted that it 'maps the events and connections which shape our lives - childhood, parenthood, friendship and love.' Michael is an authority on Gerard Manley Hopkins and there are echoes in some of the poems (particularly the title poem 'Absence notes') which link back to Hopkins. Apparently every collection should have at least 3 'Wow!' moments. This is definitely one of them.
Kathleen Jones is this week's Tuesday Poem editor, currently living in Italy. She is a biographer and poet, whose first collection of poetry 'Not Saying Goodbye at Gate 21' was published in November 2011. She blogs regularly at 'A Writer's Life'.
Once you have enjoyed "Joseph", take some time to enjoy the other poems posted this week by members of the Tuesday Poem community. You will find them all listed in the sidebar.
