a liminal gathering
a liminal gathering: Elixir & Star Grief Almanac 2023, edited by Iona Winter. Elixir & Star Press (2023). RRP: $32.99. PB, 188pp. ISBN: 9780473689179. Reviewed by Hester Ullyart.
It is the day of a dear friend’s father’s funeral. I open the new collection resting on my desk.
The epigraph reads:
‘Love knows not its own depth until the hour of separation.’
—Khalil Gibran
I stand awhile. Take a photo of the page. Hover over the send button. Think, is this ok?
In the wake of great loss all words of comfort seem crass, cliché. Digital pings of love on loan for the presence you wish you could fill, and the pain repair. Still, I press send, grateful for the offering in place of my own bound tongue. Editor Iona Winter eloquently describes her vision for this anthology in the foreword:
‘As an almanac reflects seasons, planetary alignments, the night sky and tips for planting, a liminal gathering creates space for connection to the natural cycles of life and death.’ (p.9)
The collection is described as:
‘A loving collection of poetry, prose, essays, photography, visual art and music, from 103 New Zealand-based artists, addressing their personal experiences of grief.’ (p.9)
The inaugural Elixir & Star Grief Almanac 2023 gathers a deeply lived, dignified, raving tangle of voices and allows them to roam together, untethered, heard. The responses are collected into four sections, heralded by the biggest stars in the sky. Those chosen are wide ranging, idiosyncratic, un-judgemental. One comes in the form of a playlist of ten songs, a welcome allowance for full aural immersion. We open with “Matariki—Pleiades,” a star cluster associated with winter, and Lynda Scott-Araya’s poem “Casting Stones”:
‘To write about grief is not to compose
for there is no way to structure the messy meanness of “friends”
who avoid me, say you would be dead if it wasn’t for me.’ ( p.13)
Here lies a place for grief said plainly in a society uncomfortable with big emotions. Alexandra Balm’s “You” perhaps gave the collection its title:
‘you were there in our hallway
a liminal space between arriving
and departing, between being and
non-being, between being loved and
being missed’ (p.20)
Her quiet revelation aptly questions the whereabouts of our loved ones, when they no longer stand before us. Ava Lane’s “Sunflower Soul” welcomes her daughter to ‘the garden.’ There is peace here, place, and a deep sadness:
‘Parihaka conceived you
PuhiPuhi embraces you
When my arms could not.’ (p.82)
The almanac moves from “Matariki—Pleiades,” to “Ruawāhia—Arcturus,” accompanied by Emily Macklow’s “Light Shines through,” a photograph of sunlight splintering trees. Time passes, merging memory, daily worlds spinning with daily reminders.
Jasmine Gallagher spends time with her father in “Tying the Dogs Up”:
‘not long after he died, wearing his old jacket, you found in the pocket
the pipe he filled with weed to ease the pain
packed it and inhaled.’ (p.57)
In “Rehua—Antares” there is a sense of the stretch, the low thrum of permanence.
“Helen” by S. J. Mannion swims coolly around a last night together before her friend took to the sea, the regret and clarity of hindsight, Joni Mitchell singing and the remembrance that:
‘She said that she felt she had done what she could, that she was tired.’ (p.106)
In the last section, “Takurua—Sirius,” Te Ikahoungata Robertson’s “You’re crack up oi . . .” blazes with humour, anger, knowingness, the repeated phrase ‘Crack up’ bringing another meaning in altogether:
‘Crack up having to coach your fuckn Pākehā mates through the tangi process.’ (p.134)
Then later,
‘Crack up my karanga being the last conversation I had with you.’ (p.135)
This is a hopeful resource, much needed. A rope of stars thrown out into the murk of grief. I recommend this almanac for every shelf, for death touches us all, and no one need struggle alone.
Hester Ullyart is an award-winning multi-disciplinary artist of poetry, theatre, film and music, based in Ōtautahi. Original performed works include The Ballad of Paragon Station, Paragon Dreams, Notes on a Migration and I am all the rooms of the house. Her poetry has been published in Catalyst Volumes 17 and 20, A Fine Line, and Mountain Culture 1964, among others. She trained at the Royal Academy of Dramatic Art, London and hosts Common Ground Spoken Word in Lyttelton.