What I've Been Reading 10

A couple of memoirs, in prose and in poetry.

The Suicidal Therapist - Liz Bentley

Subtitled Confessions of a Wounded Healer, this absorbing memoir from Liz Bentley, recounts in painful detail her journey from childhood struggles in the 60s and 70s, through years of abusive and difficult relationships, years of therapy and a diagnosis of multiple sclerosis, into the balanced parent, comedian, poet, writer, musician and therapist that she is today who, in her own words, strives to be the oldest living person with the longest diagnosis of MS.

Liz’s style makes you feel almost as though you are having a conversation with someone you know rather than reading a book, but it is quite a conversation. Her life has been full of incident, and of people who she has loved, trusted, doubted, and rejected. She had originally intended to call it 101 Boyfriends, but that plan was scuppered when the American writer Brontez Purnell brought out a prizewinning book about his 100 boyfriends.

This book is much more than a list of boyfriends. It is a story of determination, of claiming independence and of getting through hard times with grit and resilience. Readers who grew up through the years of punk music and can remember the liberation of realising that you could do things in your own way, even if it led to problems, will recognise something of the spirit of this story, but those born in other times or who have followed very different life paths will also find joy in it and both empathise with and be fascinated by Liz.

Each chapter is headed with definitions of terms from the field of psychotherapy. Although Liz points out in the introduction that it’s unnecessary to make any sense of these, they enhance the whole experience. As you read, you find yourself not only using the concepts to analyse Liz, but inevitably to analyse yourself at the same time, and everyone likes a bit of self-analysis, don’t they? I certainly do and to be able to do it whilst reading a memoir such as this one is very good indeed.

But this is a poetry site Mike, I hear you say. Why are you telling us about this book, which doesn’t have any poetry in it?

Well, dear reader, you may recall in the initial paragraph of this review I mentioned that amongst her many accomplishments, Liz is a poet, and I also have a copy of one of her previous publications, Mind Full of Mad Verse. Interestingly, many of the verses in it cover similar themes to the ones in the book, and a number of poems deal with events which are mentioned there too.

However, I shall leave those for you to discover for yourself. I wanted to share this little smoking poem with you.

My First Cigarette

The Great War for Civilization

A bullet ricochets off the tobacco tin covering his heart
into his left shoulder.

Saves his life - cliché but true.

I am 9 years old and the corner shop won't sell me fags  
and the machines are empty of ten sovereign filter No 6
and Picadilly with the sixpence sellotaped on the packet.

I take out one of the pre-rolled cigarettes
from the 1914 Liggett and Myers tobacco tin.

Parched, it burns up quickly.

A bit falls off and leaves a hole in my brownie uniform.

Adele Stanton comes round for tea and we smoke one together.

Kevin Bottomley from round the back has another.

Forty years later there are 6 pre-rolled cigarettes left
in the Liggett and Myers tobacco tin.

I am not giving this to the Imperial War Museum as suggested.
They are there if I need one. 

…

In addition to The Suicidal Therapist and Mind Full of Mad Voices, Liz has written a further book of Poetry, £500 a Line and Other Poems. They are all available here. Liz is also on Substack

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Before It’s Too Late - David Harmer

David Harmer also looks back over his life in his latest collection of poetry Before It’s Too Late, from the Crooked Spire Press, the Publishing arm of Tim Fellows’ excellent Substack The Fig Tree. Although not all of the poems are biographical, there is a thread running through the work in which David shows us snapshots of himself from his childhood (at the mercy of sarcastic teachers and cruel schoolmates) through to his current position of a man in his seventies who is grateful that his grown up kids are willing and able to tackle his overgrown garden, Organising our chaos, a job we once did for them.

Friends and family are important theme in the collection. In Fred, 1952 we meet his father, rushing to the hospital to greet him at his birth, and then later in Some Unearthly Hour we see him as a ghost who regularly makes nighttime visits to him today.

We meet David’s grandparents, reflect an early lover of his mother, and a cast of friends on road trips, in pub conversations and, in Vanity, disposing of several boxes of an unsuccessful poetry publication.

The non-biographical pieces complement the others. Birth, which depicts the birth of a calf, makes a striking contrast with Fred, 1952, and the pieces concerned with places, such as the White Peak Histories, and The Albert Plantation; Sprotbrough give a historical and geographical context to the collection and the character pieces within it.

Music is another recurring theme, whether it is a pub discussion of hi-fi speakers, or a sketch of musicians from the 30s and 40s in Swing Time. My favourite musical piece is Trio set in modern times, in which friends and family are only present in the background, as the focus is on the covers band who dream of being valued for their own material, rather than talked over, ignored for the bar, the toilet break, early leavers…

Before It’s Too Late is a rewarding read, all the better for revisiting as the themes take a grip on your imagination. The image of David as a child being denied proper access to the adult world by an officious librarian is a particularly strong one, and one that I was keen to share, given his subsequent successes as a writer for children …

By Beckenham Library, I almost Wept, 1962

They stacked the shelves with silence,
even the paperbacks had illustrations
of lips covered by a single finger.

Dustier volumes of complete quiet
were placed higher, well out of reach
of childish hands, besides I was in trouble.

A tall woman in black-rimmed glasses
knew where I lived, my name, date of birth,
declared my books a week overdue.

I was too slow, all those words
crammed between hard-edged covers
were beyond a simple boy like me.

She decided to cut my ration in half,
seized my clutch of Sherlock Holmes, Jeeves,
Father Brown and a western

said I was allowed only two each visit.
I knew I’d read them both in a week, but needed
available days, bus fares, my parents’ permission

to scale these grey-faced walls again.
She clicked away on icy heels, left me alone,
there was really nothing more to be said.

…

David has worked in education for many years, and has also had a successful career as a poet and performer, both for children and adults. His details, including publications, and how to contact him can be found on his Davidharmer.com

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Detail From Harpers Bazaar cover Feb 1898 byEdward Penfield

If you would like me to review something of yours, have a word with me, online or in real life. Sending me a PDF copy would be very useful.