{"id":277,"date":"2015-05-29T00:15:32","date_gmt":"2015-05-29T00:15:32","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.writehanded.org\/poetry\/?p=277"},"modified":"2015-05-29T00:15:32","modified_gmt":"2015-05-29T00:15:32","slug":"my-mother","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/writehanded.org\/poetry\/2015\/05\/29\/my-mother\/","title":{"rendered":"‘My Mother’ – Frieda Hughes"},"content":{"rendered":"

Poem of the Week – ‘My Mother’ by Frieda Hughes, daughter of Sylvia Plath and Ted Hughes.\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

I’ve been studying Sylvia for a short story I’m\u00a0working on, but Frieda fascinates me just as much. She wrote this poem in response to the BBC making a film about Sylvia’s life in 2003. They wanted to use Sylvia’s poems in the film, but Frieda, as executor of her state, wouldn’t allow it.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

My Mother<\/strong><\/p>\n

They are killing her again.
\nShe said she did it
\nOne year in every ten,
\nBut they do it annually, or weekly,
\nSome even do it daily,
\nCarrying her death around in their heads
\nAnd practising it. She saves them
\nThe trouble of their own;
\nThey can die through her
\nWithout ever making
\nThe decision. My buried mother
\nIs up-dug for repeat performances.<\/p>\n

Now they want to make a film
\nFor anyone lacking the ability
\nTo imagine the body, head in oven,
\nOrphaning children. Then
\nIt can be rewound
\nSo they can watch her die
\nRight from the beginning again.<\/p>\n

The peanut eaters, entertained
\nAt my mother\u2019s death, will go home,
\nEach carrying their memory of her,
\nLifeless \u2013 a souvenir.
\nMaybe they\u2019ll buy the video.<\/p>\n

Watching someone on TV
\nMeans all they have to do
\nIs press \u2018pause\u2019
\nIf they want to boil a kettle,
\nWhile my mother holds her breath on screen
\nTo finish dying after tea.
\nThe filmmakers have collected
\nThe body parts,
\nThey want me to see.
\nThey require dressings to cover the joins
\nAnd disguise the prosthetics
\nIn their remake of my mother.
\nThey want to use her poetry
\nAs stitching and sutures
\nTo give it credibility.
\nThey think I should love it \u2013
\nHaving her back again, they think
\nI should give them my mother\u2019s words
\nTo fill the mouth of their monster,
\nTheir Sylvia Suicide Doll,
\nWho will walk and talk
\nAnd die at will,
\nAnd die, and die
\nAnd forever be dying.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Published in The Stonepicker and The Book of Mirrors<\/em><\/a><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Poem of the Week – ‘My Mother’ by Frieda Hughes, daughter of Sylvia Plath and Ted Hughes.\u00a0<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":279,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":[],"categories":[3],"tags":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/writehanded.org\/poetry\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/277"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/writehanded.org\/poetry\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/writehanded.org\/poetry\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/writehanded.org\/poetry\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/writehanded.org\/poetry\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=277"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/writehanded.org\/poetry\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/277\/revisions"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/writehanded.org\/poetry\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/279"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/writehanded.org\/poetry\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=277"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/writehanded.org\/poetry\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=277"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/writehanded.org\/poetry\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=277"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}