Celebrating ole Janet

Kia Ora,

Being Mental health Awareness Week i wanted to raise awareness of one New Zealander in particular who lies forgotten, Janet Frame is above all else literature-wise in my opinion. One should swear by anything she says despite none of it making complete sense. She has amazing modern realist style for her lit. time. (1930s-194s).

Frame narrowly escaped a lobotomy in her 20's, she was pronounced Schizophrenic and spent eight years in a mental institute. Here she received over 800 treatments of electro-shock therapy, in equivalent, enough to kill her 100 times over. Today her symptoms would be compared to that of a mild depression..

Debatable, this is one piece of lit. which she used to destinize her mentality. It was stay or go at this point for her, and is is documented through personal conversation that this 'aided her sui-survival'.

At the end
I have to move my sight up or down.

The path stops here.

Up is heaven, down is ocean
or, more simply, sky and sea rivalling
in welcome, crying Fly (or Drown) in me.

I have always found it hard to resist an invitation
especially when I have come to a dead end.

The trees that grow along cliff-faces,
having suffered much from weather, put out thorns
taste of salt
ignore leaf-perm and polish:
hags under matted white hair
parcels of salt with the string tangled;
underneath
thumping the earth with their rebellious root-foot
trying to knock up
peace
out of her deep sleep.

I suppose, here, at the end, if I put out a path upon the air
I could walk on it, continue my life;
a plastic carpet, tight-rope style
but I’ve nothing beyond the end to hitch it to,
I can’t see into the mist around the ocean;
I shall have to change to a bird or a fish.

I can’t camp here at the end.
I wouldn’t survive
unless returning to a mythical time
I became a tree
toothless with my eyes full of salt spray;
rooted, protesting on the edge of this cliff.

Go and watch An Angel at my Table, you will fall deep in sick love..

KM