a salute to my Uncle Mick (1935 – 2007) who lived with great gust through the trees and great dark-wood texture for most of his life in Ramsden Heath, Essex, quietly, with a smile
Dear Dad
it was good to see you on such a sad day
Mick would have been satisfied that we had come together as family again
whether he was there or not
I wandered in his house a little to say goodbye
and to see if there was anything I wanted to take
to remember him I didn’t take anything
I might have taken endless bits
awkwardly
or I had to realise that all my time with him
had happened thirty years ago already passed that I cannot hold onto
I have to say goodbye to him
with gratitude
to recognise what he gave to my life
and to the world
a more complete tribute
than trying to hold onto all the bits and pieces
all those people who attended the ceremony
all pulled together by eye and staple
the perfect meet of frame and circumstance*
Mick taught me to see
the colour of oil in a lamp
the deep colour of port through a green bottle
the deepest green of holly and laurel
the shadows under border shrubs
I learnt to smell hedgerows
while walking too fast past them
I listened to the ancientness
of horse and leather and dogs
I creaked the chairs and drew the wood and linen of pubs closed
to the rain-slatter of the afternoon
I envied his example – the lesson – the nobility of action
translucent gallantry and service to anyone who was around –
it was not too much to go out into the kitchen and make everyone a round of sandwiches when every one couldn’t be bothered –
quiet and strong
I remember
Ringo** lifted up to head height so that he could see himself in the mirror
(he didn’t notice, but looked at the floor)
I remember the canary-yellow sports car parked in the field
away from Nan’s annoyance
and the draw of a cigar slightly moist yet
with light brown wrapping and deep brown leaf –
he was completely arrived when he held that cigar gently between jointed fingers –
and the crawling out of a bedroom window right along the roof of the outhouses
to get THE shot in a water fight during a too hot day
and the magic – the alchemy – showing me how to paint the image of a tree
with oils – a stroke and a dab-smudge in the wind
you ‘suggest’ the shape rather than create it –
the single detail he painted on the mantelpiece in his sitting room
olive green
the near-tearful goodbyes when the visit came to an end waving until we were out of sight –
he’s still waving!
he once showed me annoyance
when he stopped me walking straight across a side street in Herbert Road
without checking I was a little stunned
but enormously honoured that he thought it was important
I probably only saw him
for forty days in my life
but he has coloured my world as indelibly as oil paint
(suggested not created)
I saw great loss in your face and your shoulders today
Dad
but please please look at all the colour and texture
in your life from the 72 years you shared with him
he was an OK painter on canvas
but he created wonderful landscapes
in our lives
he once lamented
that you and I don’t see each other much – and he was damned right of course –
his last masterstroke was to show me this
today
* Mick served in Kenya during his National Service; when he returned he worked on a farm and as a gardener and finally set up his own business framing pictures which supported him for the rest of his life
** stupid boxer dog family pet
————w(O)rmholes________________________________|—–
afternoon & green & olive & rain wormhole: bad sneakers
bedroom wormhole: dream 040198 / Eglinton Hill
brown wormhole: blue and green / a l l s o r t s
cars & dog wormhole: through the window
death wormhole: existence
doing & smile & time wormhole: t w e n t y f i r s t c e n t u r y l i f e
family & house wormhole: father figure – triptych
field wormhole: slow slow / quick quick / slo / w
hedge wormhole: 3:30 am
Herbert Road wormhole: Herbert Road diptych
kitchen & yellow wormhole: zazen in everyday life
life wormhole: tag cloud poem I – numbers
lifetimes wormhole: Have what, now?
mirror wormhole: dream / 301197 // home
muse wormhole: Saturday
Ramsden Heath wormhole: duck calls
red & silence & trees & walking wormhole: let
roof wormhole: … the discipline of shamatha / and the waft of vipashyana
seeing wormhole: zazen
shadow wormhole: point of realisation
streets wormhole: wha’
uncle wormhole: Michael Redford: // someone missing
wind & windows wormhole: across the room / through the patio doors / through the conservatory windows / at the bottom of the garden / the still bifurcated trunk of / the oak / before the let-grown hair and fringes / of the fir tree / blown every lifetime in a while by the winter sun // actually
wood wormhole: again
mlewisredford 