The Frank Skinner Show - Frank Skinner's Poetry Podcast: Mona Van Duyn

Episode Date: January 1, 2025

Frank is very moved by what the poet, Mona Van Duyn, can do with an eraser. The poem referenced is ‘The Creation’ by Mona Van Duyn. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit podcastchoices.com/adchoices

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Questrade's award-winning support team is here to help you learn how to become a better investor. From placing your first trade to setting up customized stock alerts, we're always by your side. Just a few of the reasons why we are Canada's number one rated online broker by MoneySense. Get started today at questrade.com. line broker by Money Sense. Get started today at Questrade.com. Hello and welcome to Frank Skinner's poetry podcast. This week I'd like to talk about the work of the American poet Mona Van Dyne. That's D-U-Y-N. I know. And I particularly want to look at a poem of hers which was published in Poetry Magazine in September 1968. But before we begin I should give you a bit

of background on Mona Van Dyne. I might call her MVD for the purposes of this podcast. MVD was born in 1921 and died in 2004 aged 83 during which time amongst the many achievements she won the Pulitzer Prize in 1991 and was the US poet laureate from 1992 to 93. You may know from previous podcasts that they get a two-year run in the job of US poet laureate. So the poem I want to look at, look I'll be straight with you, this wasn't the Mona van Dyne poem I was going to look at. There was another one about Mona's love of graffiti and how she saw it as a kind of urban poetry, which I really love, and I thought I'd share that with you and we'd have the best time ever. And then I discovered a MVD poem called The Creation, and it's a very moving poem about the death of a friend and I just couldn't resist sharing it with you.

And that's what I'm going to do. The creation by Mona van Dijn begins like this. Now that I know you are gone I have to try like Rauschenberg to rob out line by line your picture feeling as I rob the maker's most inhuman joy seeing as I rob the paper's slow awful return to possibility. Don't give up yet, we're going to go through this together. Now that I know you are gone I have to try like Rauschenberg to rob out line by line your picture. Now there are a few things going on form-wise that is a flurry of monosyllables of one syllable words now that I know you are gone I have to try like Rauschenberg I'll come back to that to rob out line by line your picture. Now Robert Rochenberg was an American artist and in 1953 had an idea

where he asked an even more famous American artist called Willem de Kooning if he could have one of his drawings so that he could erase it and de Kooning was very interested by the idea and he sorted out one of his drawings. He said he needed to pick one that he would miss if the artistic experiment was going to work properly. He shouldn't give him one that he was glad to get rid of. He wanted to give him one that he knew it would be painful for him to see erased. And so he did that and Robert Rochenberg set about erasing the drawing. And eventually it became a work of art in its own right called Erased de Kooning drawing and it was put on display in 1953 in a

beautiful golden frame and is now if you want to go and see it at the Museum of Modern Art in San Francisco. So you have to strain to see anything really because obviously the drawing has been largely erased, but there are still pencil marks and charcoal, et cetera, on the paper. So that idea becomes the metaphor for this poem by Mona Van Dyne, The Creation, the idea of erasing a picture of your friend and then somehow

creating another work of art, in this case a poem. So we're never quite sure if she actually has a drawing of this female friend who isn't named or if it is literally just a metaphor, if you can be literally a metaphor, that would be a complicated thing to discuss and I don't have time for it here. But anyway, this is what she says she's going to do. Now that I know you are gone, I have to try like Rauschenberg

to rob out line by line your picture feeling as I rob the makers most inhuman joy seeing as I rob the paper's slow awful return to possibility so what is maker's most inhuman joy? Well, as she says, as she robs out this drawing of her friend, be it literal or metaphorical, she will see, as I rob the paper, slow, awful return to possibility. And that is a most inhuman joy because it doesn't happen in life. We don't get that second chance,

but when you rob a sheet of paper clean, then you are sitting on another creation. And the actual erasing in Rosenberg's case was another creation. So it's a sort of second chance, and that's why it's the maker's most inhuman joy. Now, the maker, I suppose, could be God or could be the poet. But yeah, there's nothing human about starting again with

a second life if there's any Buddhists who believe that that is the case then forgive me I'm generalizing whoops so I'm going to move on I think from this inhuman joy. So it's obviously the death of the friend that's brought these thoughts about, about the fact that you can erase and start again, and you can erase and create something new. You can't do that with an actual human being,

but maybe with their memory, and maybe this new creation is the poem I'm reading to you now. Five times you screamed and won from your short body a big boy or a tall girl to join the rest of us here and now let daughter or son wear all that's left of your face when this drawing's undone.' So there is a hint of rhyme in this. Five times you screamed and won from your short body a big boy or a tall girl to join the rest of us here and now let daughter or son wear all that's left of your face when this drawing's on dawn. It almost, that bit of rhyme makes it sound almost like a sort of magical formula.

The idea is, as I'm sure you can tell, that yes, you had children and as she jokingly put it, five times, so five children, five times you screamed and one from your short body, a big boy or a tall girl, these massive children coming out of this short woman. And that is where her image will remain, says the speaker, because in my heart I have to erase the image that I carry. I'm not stopping much on poetic form here because it's one of those sort of free verse poems where the form

of those sort of free verse poems where the form is a subtle nuance thing. It's basically someone writing who knows about rhythms and knows about the feel of language and so it feels poetic, not prose-like, but it would be hard to break it down into formal structures. And I don't want to do that. This is a poem about feeling, as it said, to rob out line by line your picture, feeling as I rob the maker's most inhuman joy, but also just feeling as I rob. That's the end of that line. I am talking about structure now. Feeling as I rub, that's the end of that line. I am talking about structure now.

Feeling as I rub. And that is the challenge here, I think. The speaker is very close to the subject of this drawing and thus this poem. And there is a lot of feeling. So there's something slightly cold and academic about the Rauschenberg erasing of William de Kooning's drawing it's a point it's an anti-art point about how we celebrate art to the point where it has tremendous respect and

maybe it's good to tear it down sometimes. That's not going to work in this poem as we'll see because there's too much love dripping from the words. Next bit. It is hard heavy work. The pencil indented the grain of the paper and I scour a long time on a cheekbone that doesn't want to disappear hoping my fingers won't learn its line from going over and over it I replace your chin with dead white so it is hard heavy work this erasing of this picture of this woman, be it physical or mental. When Rauschenberg erased de Kooning's drawing, he said it took him about a month to do it.

He got through many erasers. De Kooning had deliberately given him a drawing which was, as he put it, hard to erase because it had pencil and charcoal but it also had crayon and I think oil as well so he really, it was a sweat achieving what he wanted to achieve with just a few tiny ghostly remaining lines on the page and the speaker here also finds this hard heavy work I think mainly because the level of emotion that's evolved in it. The pencil indented the grain of the paper so that's why it's so hard to rob out the pencil has gone deep deep deep and of course the friend indented the speaker's grain. That's why she's so hard to erase.

She went deep, deep into the speaker's consciousness. The pencil indented the grain of the paper and I scour a long time on a cheekbone that doesn't want to disappear. So she's really robbing at this cheekbone, trying to get rid of it. But it doesn't want to disappear. Does that mean that she doesn't want to forget the friend?

Almost a sense of the friend not wanting to be forgotten, fighting to remain in the speaker's heart. And I scour a long time on a cheekbone that doesn't want to disappear, hoping my fingers won't learn its line from going over and over it. So there's a fear of sort of getting muscle memory of working on this cheekbone and it sticking in her mind that she's robbed it so many times to work a way to try and get rid of it, that it's going to be imprinted on her mind. So the process might lead to memorizing, which seems to be the antithesis of what she's trying to achieve here. She's trying to,

on one level, erase a too painful memory of this beautiful friend of hers. So she doesn't want to learn it. I replace your chin with dead white. Now dead, I think, as in dead right. It's dead cold in here, a sort of an extreme. It's very, it's absolutely, but obviously I replace your chin with dead white. Feels very significant here when she speaks of this dead friend. So one thing she's trying to erase, it seems is these memories, but, but they keep leaking into this poem like water into a sinking ship. Next section. water into a sinking ship. Next section. Once in a little vain coquettishness you joined your party late, hair down to your waist, and let the men watch you twist it around to a blonde rope and pin the richness of its coils into a familiar bond. And now I make you bald with my abrasion.

So this memory now of the friend. She comes down to her own party a bit late. You joined your party late with her hair down to her waist and let the men watch you twist it around to a blonde rope and pin the richness of its coils into a familiar bun. So it's very sexual this I think. You can imagine all the men, mouth slightly agape, holding their breath watching this beautiful blonde rope being formed from her rich coils as the speaker puts it. So a little vain coquettishness is how she describes this episode. She's not going to make this friend perfect, she celebrates her faults in this. Interestingly, Rauschenberg said of his erasing of the de Kooning drawing, it's not a negation, it's a celebration.

And this, whether the speaker intends it or not, becomes ever more a celebration of the dead. Once in a little vein, coquettishness, you joined your party late. I'm just going to read this again because I love the description. And it's got so much life in it and so much energy and it crackles with sexual electricity. The very antithesis of course of now being aware of her death. You joined your party late hair down to your waist and let the men watch you twist it around to a blonde rope and pin the richness of its coils into a familiar bun and now I make you bold with my abrasion as death does of course death will make her bald as well and after that image of her hair as such an important sexual visceral thing visceral is the word

everyone uses nowadays I'm not totally sure what it means. Hey, it's fine. You know what I mean. This is about life and it's about sexual energy and it's about a woman who can stop her room just by coiling her hair. And now we know that the process is beginning where she will be made bald as she rots. Next bit, and another memory now creeps in. The hours we had to drink before you put the dinner on. My eraser's wet with sweat as it moves on a frown of long tipsy decision. Now that's an interesting line, I just want to stop there for a second. My eraser's wet with sweat. Yes, there's a

rhyme there. As it moves on a frown of long tipsy decision. So she's rubbing out this frown, but where is the sweat coming from? Is it from the drawing, because this was a moment of long tipsy decision, they're all a bit drunk, so probably a bit sweaty as drunks get, or is it the sweat of the eraser, the person who erases, because this is such a tough task, as she says, it is hard, heavy work and profoundly emotional. The hours we had to drink before you'd put the dinner on, my eraser's wet with sweat as it moves on

a frown of long tipsy decision. Were we all so drunk it didn't matter or should you strain the Mornay sauce? So this is a group of people, one imagines they're all women, I don't know why but it sounds like a crazy girls night out. Are we so drunk it doesn't really matter what happens to the Mornay sauce, you know this sort of cheese sauce because we're're drunk we don't care. Or should you strain the Mornay sauce? It becomes a long tipsy decision. It's one of those things when you think about your special friends, it's those, they're not the central memories, they're those things just off to the side that seem more real and more potent.

Remember, she's trying to forget this woman, it seems. It's really not working. Already, we are worn, the eraser and I. We are nearing your eyes. So it's really, it's such a struggle. Already we are worn, the eraser and I, so not just the robber she's using, but just herself. This is such a hard task, because everything she erases becomes a trigger for a memory. We are nearing your eyes, and that feels significant, as people's eyes often are, windows to the soul, etc. Your garden was what you saw each morning, and your neighbours, making fun of her over-solicitude. And there we have a quote from the deceased. I swear that woman digs her plants up every day to see if their roots have grown.

You talked the ticklish roots of half-grown youngsters back in and pressed the tilth around them. So there's an interesting moment for me here. She's talking again about the actual physical act of erasing. Already we are warned the eraser and eye and we are nearing your eyes. So they're about, she's about to rob out her dead friend's eyes. Your garden was what you saw each morning. Now I said that each sort of part of her face, each part of this drawing becomes a trigger,

but that is, it's a Roth segue, isn't it there? We are nearing your eyes. Your garden was what you saw each morning. It kind of works, but it feels a bit like the memories are bursting free from the metaphor structure there. They're just coming. They're just coming of their own volition. It's not a great link from I'm about to rub out your eyes. And of course it was your garden that you saw every morning. She saw lots of things.

But this is a memory and the memories are starting to take over a bit and the structure of the poem is starting to wobble Your garden was what you saw each morning and your neighbors making fun of her over solicitude. So she used to basically, yeah, mock the neighbor who was a fanatical gardener by the sounds of it. God, now by the sounds of it. I swear that woman digs her plants up every day to see if their roots have grown and which is a funny idea obviously someone digging up their plants every day to check the roots but the speaker suggests that the dead woman you took the ticklish roots of half-grown youngsters back in and pressed the tilth around them. So maybe she was an over-attentive mother, maybe she was constantly

checking on the kids. It seems like a better sense of priority maybe than doing it with your plants, but who knows? All these memories now are starting to flood around and getting harder to control, I think, for the speaker. She's still on the eye subject. Your eyes were an intervention. This is an interesting section, actually. This is the first time discover that the woman that the speaker speaks of was a poet, just about a poet, could have been a poet, had an urge to be a poet. Here we go. Your eyes were an intervention. You saw your words begin a moody march to the page when you tried to write what you'd seen.

In poems you brought out one by one to show us, getting braver, slowly. Yes, too slowly. When you finally sent some off, too slowly. A magazine took one and printed it, too slowly. You were just gone. So this sad, sad story of hesitation, of lack of confidence, a prevarication, which means that she felt the urge to write poems, she did write poems,

she reluctantly showed them to friends, she reluctantly sent them to a magazine and by the time they were printed or one was printed she had died. Let's hear it again. Your eyes were an intervention, an, obviously something that comes in and changes things. So she had insights. She had an analytical poetic mind, it seems. You saw your words begin a moody march to the page. So she's a bit reluctant about it, and a bit moody about it,

and a bit unsure about it. And they probably nagged her to write poems, and she wouldn't. But anyway, you saw your words begin a moody march to the page when you tried to write what you'd seen in poems. So she says that she has this amazing insight. Your eyes were an intervention.

They change things. They see what not everyone else sees. When you tried to write what you'd seen in poems, you brought out one by one to show us getting braver slowly and then we get this dash Emily Dickinson style. Yes, too slowly. When you finally sent some off, dash, too slowly, dash. A magazine took one and printed it too slowly.

You were just gone. And again, we're back to those painful mono syllables. You had just gone. And again we're back to those painful mono syllables. You had just gone. She had just died. It was too late for the poems or for her to be excited about them being printed. She never saw them. Okay, we're almost there, stick with me. If I raise my head from this work, what I see is that the sun is shining anyway, and will continue to shine no matter whose pale Dutch blue eyes are closed or open, no matter what graphite memories do or do not remain, so I arise and don't look up again." So all this feeling of I'm

doing something important here, I may be able to get rid of these painful memories, I may be able to create something special myself. She looks up at the sun, it reminds me of that Emily Dickinson line, the sun proceeds unmoved and that is what happens here if I raise my head from this work what I see is that the Sun is shining anyway it is unaffected by her desperate mood in other words and will continue to shine no matter whose pale Dutch blue eyes are closed or open. I'm imagining that the friend had Dutch blue eyes. Maybe she was of Dutch extract and that's why she calls them that. There is a colour called Dutch blue but it's a deep blue for a human eye.

I like to think that the... and I haven't made any attempt to find out who the friend is because for me it's every friend, it's everyone you've ever cared about and lost and I don't want to spoil it with a specific and that's not an excuse for lazy research. I love research, don't point the finger at me. The sun is shining anyway and will continue to shine no matter who's pale. Dutch blue eyes are closed or open. No matter what graphite memories do or do not remain, graphite obviously being the substance of pencils. So I erase and don't look up again.

Yeah, I'll get no solace from the sun it seems. Another memory now comes in leaking in. When I answer the phone I don't any longer expect your jerky conversation. One funny little comment then silence until I began trying to fill it myself. At last the intention would appear. Come for dinner and help me entertain someone I'm scared of. It was hard to believe you were often really sick and afraid. So, when I answer the phone, I don't any longer expect your jerky conversation.

It's not going to be her on the other end of the phone. This gets sadder and sadder. One funny little comment then silence until I began trying to fill it myself. At last the intention would appear. So it took this friend ages to get around to what she actually wanted on the phone. And here is inverted commas. Come for dinner and help me entertain someone I'm scared of. End of inverted commas.

It was hard to believe you were often really sick and afraid. That feels like an expansion to me. She's talking about being intimidated by a dinner guest and now the speaker is saying this, you were really sick and afraid and it feels like the thought of her illness is taking over the whole thing now. She was sick and afraid, but that wasn't what the phone call about the dinner guest was about. But it's reminded her that there must have been periods

when what frightened her wasn't a stroppy dinner guest, it was illness and death. Now she starts to really think about what it was about the friend. You heard the tune of our feelings. I think over the phone even. You like to joke. You love Beethoven.

And this is the end of your ear. So as I say, the structure is slightly crumbling. The emotions, the feelings are taking over. This very clever idea of emulating Robert Rochenberg's erasing of de Kooning's drawing. It's so powerful the feelings for this friend that they are making it hard to maintain but she's sticking with it. You heard the tune of our feelings. So you really understood us. When she says our feelings I think she means all the friends of the deceased. I think over the phone even. So you could even hear

the tune of our feelings over the phone. You like to joke, you love Beethoven and you think this is going to be random, where did that come from? And this is the end of your ear. So they have been sort of crammed into the ear section. You heard the tune of our feelings I think over the phone even, you like to joke, I guess something you'd hear. You loved Beethoven, obviously music guess something you'd hear you loved Beethoven obviously music is something you'd hear and this is the end of your ear so that's what's made me think of that I'm just robbing out your ear now like I say I think the structure is being allowed to crumble because I'm robbing out your

ear and that reminds me you like to joke which is the thing that you hear is tentative as a connection a bit like I'm moving onto your eyes and wanting you used to see was your neighbor's garden okay the emotions are more important than the structure by this stage. I see your nose redden with summer allergies. Wrinkle at your husband's pond and then straighten and fade. She's working on the nose now and she remembers, I see your nose redden with summer allergies.

And I love this line, wrinkle at your husband's pond. That sounds not like she was loving the pond, but probably slightly turning her nose up. And then straighten and fade, because the wrinkle is going because it has been robbed out, it has been erased, and now the whole nose has gone. And then we get to a very, very significant part of this friend's face.

What is left of you is graven almost, graven means carved into a surface. What is left of you is graven almost, into one kind of smile. of you is graven almost into one kind of smile. I don't think I can mourn much more than I already have for this loved irritant." So she's about to, sorry that really hits me, I don't think I can mourn much more than I already have. End of line for this loved irritant. So she's saying, I can't mourn anymore for this smile of yours, which I love,

but which was irritating. That kind of love, irritation thing, very common amongst friends, and people you care about, that combination. But it's the way the line break comes after I already have. So we get those two lines lines I don't think I can mourn much more than I already have and yes she is talking about this smile but

because of the line break it just becomes a general statement as well I've talked about this before that line breaks give you a sentence and then you pursue that sentence to the full stop and that gives you two options, the end of the line and the end of the sentence to concentrate on. I don't think I can mourn much more than I already have for this loved irritant, pruned prune-pocker with ends of lips pulled up. So she's actually describing now what this particular smile was like. More than your grin it lasts. So it's a sort of a, it's a kind of a weird smile and the grin you'd think would be the dominant thing to remember about someone's mouth but this I think was so individual and so distinctive

this prune Pocko with ends of lips pulled up she can't shake it off and this whole poem is about shaking off those memories. More than your grin it lasts and with it lasts a whole characterisation I can't dispose of unless I rub clear through and ruin this piece of anti-art. I just can't get rid of that

prune-pucker with ends of lips pulled up smile. I can't shift it. It's too deep. As she says, I don't think I can mourn much more than I already have for this loved irritant. I miss that smile so much. More than your grin it lasts and with it lasts a whole characterization. It says everything about you, that one smile, in other words. I can't dispose of a characterization I can't dispose of unless I rob clear through and ruin this piece of anti-art. So I'd go straight through the paper I'd have to rob so hard. The use of anti-art is interesting. Rauschenberg's, I think, was on one level, although he said it was a celebration, not a negation. It was an example of anti-art. I think he was saying we, I worship these very macho male artists

like Rothko and who's the guy that does the drips Pollock Jackson Pollock's they were very when you see pictures of them they're always smoking and drinking and they look like workmen in a factory in their studio. And Rauschenberg was gay and didn't really like all that macho posturing. So he's erasing a whole attitude really. It is a sort of anti-art. It's anti the sort of elitist worship of art

and people deciding which art should be worshiped. This I guess, the attempt of this poem is a sort of anti eulogy stance. I don't want to write one of those poems where people wax lyrical about someone who has died. But in fact it's become, and it becomes as the poem progresses, a sort of anti eulogy eulogy, because love is stronger than structures. Love is stronger than resolutions to write a certain type of poem with a very clever idea at its base to

recreate this Rochenberg erasure idea. But love and bereavement is just tearing everything, it's too big to contain in a format. When our repRT would run too fast, or someone's anecdote run long, so she's on about no being with this group of friends. When our repRT would run too fast, or someone's anecdote run long, or someone mention a book you hadn't read, that smile meant you were hidden. So this is a different thing that the smile signified here. It seems to be saying if she was withdrawing from the group that smile would happen.

It was a signal that she wasn't happy with something in the conversation. Either she felt that she wasn't happy with something in the conversation. Either she felt that she couldn't join in, that she wasn't part of it or she disapproved of it, but she hid behind this smile, this prune pucker with ends of lips pulled up. That smile meant you were hidden. It meant you needed time to think of something clever or mean or that you thought we'd gone too far from the gentle

and sane. So it's something she used as a shield, that smile. Something she hid behind. Something that indicated she had withdrawn from the conversation for whatever reason. Now this is a, and we really are near the end, this is a significant section. It meant you were our wise, dear, vulnerable, human friend, as true and false as life would let you be. And when I move you that much farther from yourself to generalization, there is a blur and your smile stops.

This thing is done. Now, there's a massive switch there and it isn't even there isn't an end of a sentence. It happens mid-sentence. What happens here is she lapses now into full eulogy, she catches herself doing that and she pulls the rug from under her own sentiment. So she talks about this friend who withdrew when she thought something inappropriate had been said or when she felt she couldn't fit in to the group, to the conversation. And this is how the speaker begins to interpret

this in slightly grandiose terms which she almost immediately tears down. It meant you were our wise, dear, vulnerable, human friend, as true and false as life would let you be. And when I move you that much farther from yourself to generalisation, there is a blur and your smile stops. This thing is done. So we get this, forgive the rustle of paper paper but there's a lot of pages to this poem what's wrong with you people give me a break it meant you're our wise dear vulnerable human friend the sentimental adjectives now are piling up as true and false as life would let you be as true and false as life would let you be. Oh, it's all getting a bit greeting card, isn't it Mona?

And she spots it. And when I move you that much farther from yourself to generalization, there is a blur and your smile stops. So what I've done here is I've moved away from you the individual. I had these memories that were you, they were just you and what I've done is I've made you universal. I've broke away from the particular. I've gone into full eulogy as true and false as life would let you be and immediately and when I move you that much farther from yourself to

generalization there is a blur and your smile stops so the memory suddenly crumbles Because she's allowed herself to stray from the truth into something much grander. And of course there is a blur because she's being robbed out. That smile is gonna stop because she's physically, at least in the metaphor, robbing it out. But then she says and the stanza ends, this thing is done. I can't go any further now. I've lapsed into full-on eulogy. That's not why I'm here. I need to stop.

And now she sort of reflects on the whole process. This is the end of the poem. Swept empty by a cyclone inside. I lift the paper but before I blow it clean, sketch now in rubber crumbs another face is on it. Mine. Sneak, poet, monster trying to rob you with words Your death was your own And I don't think we see that coming swept empty by a cyclone inside That is what this process has meant to the speaker swept empty by a cyclone inside So she too has been erased empty by a cyclone inside so she too has been erased. Maybe she's speaking of the memory of the friend but I don't think so. I think it's some part of herself

that has been swept empty. I lift the paper but before I blow it clean you know you have to, if you've been rubbing something out, you have to blow all the bits off. As she says, sketched now in rubber crumbs. I love that. What a great description for the debris left by an eraser, rubber crumbs. Another face is on it. Now, of course, the idea of the Rochemberg Erasure is that you create another work of art.

And she sees her own face now and says suddenly and quite viciously sneak poet monster and I think she feels regret that she has lapsed into eulogy and in erasing the memory or trying to on one level erase the memory of the friend she has created another work of art just like Rauschenberg did and she feels pretty bad about it sneak poet monster that's how she views herself trying to rob you with words views of self, trying to rob you with words, trying to take who you were and put it into words. Your death was your own. I can't, why should I have a poem about your death? That belongs to you, your death, and all aspects of it. But of course that isn't true, that we all own to some extent the death

of people who are close to us. And that's why the poem is produced and the poem appears. She didn't erase the poem, certainly not. But she does acknowledge, and maybe every eulogy does this a bit, that she is somehow making the death about her making herself a Central character in this tragedy so yes She is a sneak and a monster and a poet that the fact that those three are put together To be called a sneak and a monster is pretty bad to be called a poet and that to be listed as if it's of equal severity seems harsh. But she

is using another's death, another's erasure to create something new of her own, just like Rauschenberg did. Phew. Look, if it makes you feel any better and has a bit of light relief at the end, it was not the only time that Mona Von Dyne used that Rauschenberg erasure drawing in a poem. There is a poem called In the Cold Kingdom when she says, in the cold kingdom when she says a Rauschenberg tongue fondles this rich donnais then begins to erase it. A donnais is a French word obviously, it means a sort of recognizable theme, a trope. And I'll give you again a Rauschenberg Tongue fondles this rich Donne, then begins to erase it.

Oh, what is it this time? Another dead friend, another terrible tragedy. Now the thing that the Rauschenberg Tongue fondles and begins to erase in the poem In the Cold Kingdom is a ice cream consisting of blueberry licorice and Zanzibar cocoa. So she's obviously fascinated Mona van Dyne by the Robert Rauschenberg erasure drawing and she's happy to use it to describe the process of bereavement or the joy of a large ice cream. God, I respect her versatility. Do check out Mona van Duyn. I know I always say that, but I sense there'll be people who haven't heard of her. And she is really special.

I've got to pull it surprise for goodness sake. Thank you for sticking with me. I love you all. Thanks for listening to series 10 of Frank Skinner's Poetry Podcast. Don't forget you can find all of the previous series and episodes from wherever you get your podcasts. First beginnings start with a click. And now you're one click away from experiencing it yourself.

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