And we are at the three year anniversary of the death of my Granny Olga.
Olga, or Aryamati in her Buddhist Community and close circle of friends, as a writer, researcher, lecturer, poet, linguist and somehow managed to be a much loved Mum and Grandma to her family at the same time.
Today, I'd like to remember her by sharing with you two poems which she wrote about me.
"There are too few love poems now" said Carol Rumens
I didn't allow myself to hope
My character too odd for most
Days passed, weeks passed, and then months, some years
I made sad hobbies into pleasures.
Then suddenly in June she arrived
out on the dark, into the light
She looked with large brown serious eyes
as if her thoughts were deep and prized
I worshipped this queen: Isabelle
So lovely strange–my first grandchild.
At two you piled your dolls' pushchair with books
Serious lover before the words dawned.
Later wrote comics to make your cousins now.
Now twelve, your black dress tempts your mum.
Your charcoals sketches speak joyful crudity:
Lusty lipsticked celeb, softly shaded skirt
Somewhere between shyness and sophistication
The astonishing grows.
Today, everyone who loves eccentric, enigmatic and compassionate Olga will remember her to