Graeme Hetherington: ‘Ursus Horribilis’ and ‘Home’

Ursus Horribilis
(What’s in a name?)

She called me “Bear”, meaning at first
“My Ted”, knitting me a brown
Coarse-textured heavy cardigan,

Which I, mistrustful of a nick-
Name from an English wife referred
To as a straitjacket, a trap

Imprisoning my bulky form,
That of an unkempt shaggy beast,
An escaped cannibal-convict

Captured to dance to Madame’s tune.
It seemed a harmless joke to share,
With just a bit of an edge as

Lovingly she zipped me up, till
I drunkenly labelled all Poms
As “born-to-rule inveterate snobs”,

And woke to her having hung round
My neck “Ursus Horribilis”.
In fulfilment of this I soon

Was her sore-headed grizzly who
Dipped paws in other honeypots
And uprooted the tethering stake

Of marriage, fleeing for fear I
Might tear her hunting-dog tongue out,
Baiting me now at every turn.

Graeme Hetherington

Home

Teetering timidly on the edge,
Afraid to take the plunge, immerse
Myself in blood and sweat, I seemed

Misplaced, born all wrong for the rough
And tumble of Tasmania’s West,
The physicality of fights,

Preferring distant combat in
The form of throwing stones. And when
My younger brother took my part

I’d turn tail, leave him to it, then
Reward with jealous rage. But I’ve
Endured all this, self-hate, the shame,

Unbroken by reproaches from
Judgemental parents teachers peers,
Consequent alcoholism,

Loss of wives, children, friends, my life-
Long unsuccessful searching for
Where best to live, during which I’ve

Learnt to look cowardice in the eye,
To never cut and run as I
Wrestle with words to create from

The mess that seems to be myself,
Poems, that sublimate, transcend
Childhood’s defeat and are my home.

Graeme Hetherington