Ruth's Real Life

Tall Standing   I am done with the safety razor life:   I have slouched in the shadows of smiles, I have been loved into comfort-fit shapes, I have run in a tight box of approval Banging against the hollow sides of my truth, Bruising heart and soul to bloodless thinness.   I choose to walk out of the photograph of self, I expose the black blank back of my eyes And dare you to stand tall enough to meet my gaze, Stretch your arms ‘till they are embrace long, Prise the words from between the stones of your teeth.   Now, call me by my name.   Ruth Everson   A comment yesterday by Mandy Collins (@collinsmandy), expressing her longing to be heard, reminded me of this poem, ‘Tall Standing’. It was written at a time when I was angry with everything and everyone. I was battling with issues of identity and felt lost in a world that seemed to demand conformity.   It’s not always easy to sing a sol...

  Two Saturdays ago, compliments of the lovely Carel Nolte, I found myself at the Zwartkops Raceway. Ahead of me was a ‘Ferrari experience’, this meant driving a Ferrari F360. I love driving and I love adventures but I have to admit to some trepidation as I perched on a stool listening to the roar of the cars hurtling around the track. The driver’s briefing was brief! Back out at the side of the track, I was pleased that I had the first of my fears behind me – the fitting of the driver’s suit. I’m not small and I was convinced that there would not be a suit to fit me. I didn’t have to wear a suit – easy! Helmeted and ready, with a number of young men watching, I manoeuvred myself into the car and was strapped in. I was so concerned about my next fear – stalling in front of everyone – that I didn’t notice the technical hitch. My feet didn’t reach the pedals. As the seat couldn’t be adjusted, I had to move to the second car. I casually levered myself out and sauntered no...

It's time to adventure again. Last night, I dreamed I was lost on the Great Wall of China. I was climbing a never-ending stairway alongside which a magnificent river rushed into a dark green gorge. Even in my dream, I knew it wasn’t the Wall. I have climbed a section of the Great Wall and it was nothing like this. In 2005 I undertook, what in my head, was a pilgrimage to China. I was in a state of flux in my life and when the opportunity to go presented itself, I  didn't  hesitate. I went on my own, knowing very little of what awaited me. One thing I was determined to do was to journal my experience and to try to extract a lesson from each week that I was there. I came away with my eight China lessons but after my return I understood that I had journeyed  26 000  kilometers  to learn the power of just two words. Let go. And I did. I let go of toxic opinions of myself. I was able to see myself in a more powerful way. I felt a newness of ...

There is always the possibility of an unfolding. This poem began with a piece of paper. I had a blank sheet in my hands while I was invigilating an exam. As I walked between the desks, I folded and unfolded the piece of paper. Life is a little like this I thought, as the possibility of a blank page presented itself as I unfolded the paper. There are pages in my life that I’d like to rip out, the deaths of my brothers Paul and Michael, the loss of my mother too soon, my father, perhaps too late as he became trapped in dementia. I’d like to erase bad decisions and pencil in decisions not made because my heart lacked courage. I’d like to rewrite words that hurt and shape them into something gentler. Those things will never happen, the past is written in indelible ink. Nevertheless, today is still to be unfolded. This poem is dedicated to my partner, Julia, who with tremendous courage chose to unfold a new page in her life. I think though, that it also applies to all who feel...

Dream big dreams This poem was written a number of years ago in response to the following story about a very special girl called Amy. Amy’s parents went away. In their absence, her grandparents came to look after Amy and her brothers. At five, Amy already had an adventurous spirit. This was a girl who loved to climb trees. Amy loved to climb the tall tree in the front garden. Her little feet knew the safe places on the trunk. All the knots and branches carried her upwards. Always, there was the longing to rise. One morning, Amy’s gran came into the garden looking for her. She saw Amy in the tree and was terrified, as any reasonable adult would be. She demanded that Amy climb down, so she scrambled down and sat on the low veranda wall. Amy promptly fell off the wall and broke her arm. The moral of this story for me is simple. People, who love us dearly, will often call us down from what they perceive to be the dangerous places. Children dream big dreams and adu...

I’ve had a blocked tear duct for at least two weeks. It looks a little like I’m keeping a giant Easter Egg under my eye. I’ve checked, there’s no Lindt or Geldhof surprise waiting for me, which is a pity. I refuse to visit the doctor for something as puny as an eye duct. When I go, I like to tick off things like back ops, neck fusions, foot reconstructions or the odd skin graft on the troublesome head. Eye will not admit defeat to something the size on a pin prick. I have tried various methods to unblock the duct. Using my powers of deduction (see what I did there?) and Google, I set about finding a solution. Dr Google suggested a hot compress. I heated up a face cloth and reclined on the couch in a tragic pose, calling faintly for tea. The compress did nothing. I’m still hoping for the tea. The next was to try an eye solution. I poured drops into my eye. Nothing helped. Julia did mention that the drops were so past their expiry date that Noah may have dropped them of...

Madiba 9 It’s Human Rights Day in South Africa today. Around the country, those who fought for our freedom have been honoured and remembered. I could say many things about South Africa in 2013 but all I really want is for us, one by one, to follow the path beaten out for us by our beloved Nelson Mandela. Madiba leaves an indelible legacy. I would like to walk on the path that he has made. I commit to doing just one, small thing that will lift someone else every day. Perhaps you will join me. Madiba 9 You could buy a pair of shoes (size 9), That would fit the feet of this man, But you will not walk in them. You will not smooth the quarry stones Into the long road of forgiveness, Or write in blood words of love. This man’s foot shifted the dyingdust, Lifted from lost, tiredtattered Hope, This man unravelled the blackness To free the barbed-bound wounded rainbow, Held it high and wonder-wide for all to see. If you would dare to wal...