This is Australian poet Frank’s third collection of poems, and in a way this is a return to the narrative arc of his first collection; Small Town Kid, after the heartbreak of his second collection, Devil in the Wind, which dealt with the horrors of the bush fires in Australia on what became known as Black Saturday in February 2009
Not only is this a personal, time-ordered narrative like Small Town Kid, but it takes up Frank’s life where that collection left off, with his taking a job at the institution in his home town housing people with mental health problems. At that time (around forty years ago), these institutions were generally known as ‘mental asylums’ although that name, as well as a lot of the attitudes that coloured people’s ideas of them, have supposedly been consigned to history.
These poems take us on Frank’s journey from his visits to the institution where both his parents worked, then as naive and wide-eyed Trainee Psychiatric Nurse through to today, introducing us to a wonderful collection of colourful, sad, genial, well-meaning and, yes sometimes, mad characters, both staff and residents of the institution and, latterly, the hostel that acts as a ‘half-way house’ between incarceration and release.
All these characters are realistically and sympathetically drawn, and I suspect that not a few readers will be surprised at the humour (occasionally black) and warmth that comes through from the average day in their lives. Frank does not shy away from showing the attitudes prevalent in those earlier days, when patients were severely regimented and often treated less than sympathetically, although I suspect there is much he does not reveal. But where he is at his best, I feel, is in depicting the almost unutterable sadness of many of the inmates. In ‘Huntington’s Marionette’ it is for the young victim of this, one of the cruellest of all diseases, In ‘Lost: One Cockerel’ it is for another youngster, this time a young man with his mind destroyed by illicit drugs. Then there are the families of these victims, often victims themselves in so many ways – dealing with loss or aggression, blame, or just the horror of watching a loved one disintegrate before their eyes.
And the institution is frequently under-staffed and the staff are over-worked, a situation all too familiar to anyone working in public health today as well as then. The final poem ‘Still its Creature’ is the book’s epilogue, and it is worth quoting the first few lines..
in aftermath
it seems so clear
there are few mental-health
happy endings
and there are no
simple cures
I give this five stars out of five.
What an interesting subject to write poetry about. It sounds like it could be very touching and a little uncomfortable to read at times but that’s probably exactly what he was after. Not nice places thankfully consigned to history.
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Indeed, it is both. And yes, confined to history, although no one seems to have worked out what system to replace them with. Long term hospital stays? Hostels? Certainly it is a work in progress.
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We are all too terrified of not being politically correct these days and places like this probably suffer a bit due to that.
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There may be some of that, but it is also true that in the past some of these places were absolutely terrible.
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I can readily bring to mind a number of places that were home to nightmares, Mick.
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I don’t doubt it!
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Hi Jonno. Thank you.
I felt it was important to not shy away from the big issues in psychiatry – to the extent that i have encountered them, at least. So it’s not always comfortable, but I hope readers come away feeling they have had a positive exposure to these things.
Cheers,
Frank
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A fantastic review of Frank’s new book, Mick. I am looking forward to reading this one.
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You won’t be disappointed I’m sure, Robbie.
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As always, Robbie, thank you so much for your support.
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A very misunderstood illness where I believe the feeling of being wanted and loved is so so important.
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Important to all of us, Daniel. Thank you.
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It certainly is, Daniel.
Thank you.
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My oldest son suffers from OCD and PTSD, Danny. He is always seeking assurance that he is loved despite his difference from other people. He is a very clever boy and I think this is part of the reason he struggles with these illnesses. The problem is, because he is so clever, people don’t acknowledge the illness and don’t understand it.
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I was diagnosed with PTSD about 12 years ago, in fact, that’s what ultimately led to me writing a book. It was a terrible time in my life and for those close to me. I pushed people who wanted to care away and lost friendships very quickly because they too could not understand the invisible pain I was going through. ‘You’ll get over it’ or ‘pull yourself together’ were the normal responses to my situation and to be honest, I still don’t know why I couldn’t. I think we are all such complicated individuals that sometimes something just gives way leaving those who suffer hanging out there by the merest of threads and often only the love of another person is going to mend it. But the proviso is that love must be accepted, and that’s the hard bit. I wish him, you and the other nearest him well.
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Recovery is a difficult and individual experience, isn’t it? Easy for folk to tell you what you should experience or do, but the journey is your own ans no one else’s.
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Thank you, Danny.
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We used to talk about some of our patients being ‘tormented’ by their symptoms. I suspect that OCD and PTSD fall into this category of ongoing trauma, Robbie.
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Hi Frank, yes, OCD and PTSD never go away and the sufferer has lapses or bad periods that come about when they are very anxious. Some of my poems about Greg are in my poetry book and I have included sufferers of this condition in some of my short stories too. I plays a big role in my life.
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I understand that completely,Robbie. Mental illnesses cause disabilities that ripple through families and all acquaintances.
The impact is too often understated in the way it affects whole families and social groups.
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Sounds like a difficult subject. But it sounds like that’s his forte.
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You could be right!
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Thank you. As always, though, I can only get the measure of my own work from the reactions of readers. I’m quite delighted that Mick speaks so highly of the collection, as I value his opinion highly.
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Poems on a this subject is not common. I have never heard of any other poet on this subject. A subject that’s a little complex.
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Hi arv!.
I agree, there isn’t much on the subject, and not a lot that is meant to be easily accessible to everyday readers.
I hope this collection meets that criteria.
Cheers.
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Well, you are an expert on this. All the best, Frank
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Cheers, arv!
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It is complex, Arv, but Frank comes to this as someone who has worked in this field for forty years, and so has a good understanding of what he speaks of.
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Forty years is a good amount of time! Half the life, actually!
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Most of one’s working life, indeed!
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👍
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Mick. Thank you for your wonderful review and this exposure of my work to your readers.
I feel very grateful.
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You’re welcome, Frank. Any time I write a review I always worry I might not quite have got the measure of a work, or missed something important, so I feel relieved if the author is happy with the review.
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Very happy.
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Reblogged this on Frank Prem Poetry and commented:
Thank you Mick Canning for a wonderful review of The New Asylum.
Mick is based in the UK and is an author and artist I admire very much.
Scoot across to his place and check out his work, if you have a moment.
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Mick, a superb review of Frank’s book. I imagine this is not an easy one to read set in such a location. Perhaps it’s been cathartic for him to write about his work here … it must be hard for the nurses as well as the patients.
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It can be Annika. I’m an old hand now and don’t get too fazed, too often.
My time with patients has generally been very good, even if difficult sometimes.
My worst times were spent in Policy development and high levels of management.
I didn’t and don’t write about those.
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it’s a nicely written review. and it sounds like the sad parts of the book would be hard to read. There was a mental hospital for many years, not far from my hometown, and when it was closed down, they created an exhibit from the luggage and belongings that people had brought with them to the hospital many years ago. It seemed somehow from looking at these possessions, you got the idea that so many of the people expected to return home at some point, but very very few did, and it seemed very sad indeed.
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Thanks, Robert. The sad parts are, well, sad, it’s true, although they repay the effort of reading them. That exhibit you mention seems a little strange, although I suppose its purpose would be to highlight the human aspect of the institution since many people probably thought only of the occupants there – if they thought of them at all – abstractly as ‘mad’.
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When I first heard of the exhibit, it seemed like a final posthumous invasion of privacy. But I think your point is exactly right – you see these mementos, suits & neckties, etc. and old suitcases, as if they were keeping them ready to go home, and it’s impossible to not feel more sympathy and compassion for these folks, who almost always were in the hospital for keeps.
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The sadness of the Human Situation, I guess.
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I think there is similar exhibition in our national archives over here, Robert. A treasure trove of the trivia that made up entire lives.
So few possessions tell such a big story.
Thanks for sharing.
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Thank you, Frank. A couple of years ago, I read about a Nat’l Park Service exhibit, that prompted a similar discussion of the often-unknown stories behind random objects. This was a selection of items left at “The Wall” (the Vietnam War monument in Washington). Purple Hearts, photos, letters, stuffed animals, etc. – apparently 100,000’s of objects have been left there, and the NPS gathers them up and catalogs them.
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These are very moving displays, IMO. Such small things that represent very big events and ideas.
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Brilliant review, Mick. And well deserved, Frank. 🙂
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Thanks, Andrea.
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Thank you, Andrea. It feels a little bit all-consuming at the moment. November is a big month of launch activities that a re a little scary and a little thrilling. Wears me out.
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In a good way, I hope. 🙂
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Ye…ee..sss…
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Not sure, TBH, andrea.
For the first time I’m thinking of taking a sabbatical from posting to the blog and social media. Probably won’t happen, but the fact that I’m contemplating it or a major change tells me that I’m a bit worn down.
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You’ve done a lot since you published Small Town Boy. You’re allowed to take a break, but maybe not immediately after publishing The New Asylum! 😉
Hang in there a bit longer. After that, choose the social media that you actually enjoy. It’s the only way to not burn out.
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Good advice, Andrea. I’ll plug along, partly because I’m addicted, partly because I have so many projects I want to pursue – all at once, of course.
I’m hoping to formalise some Workshop activity – in person stuff. I find I enjoy that very much.
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lol – I know how much poetry you have. You’ll be busy publishing for a decade!
Definitely go with what you enjoy. That way it never becomes ‘work’. 🙂
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I think we all need to do that occasionally, Frank. It’s a chance to re-charge and come back refreshed.
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Yes. I’ll probably just turn my head 30 degrees and go nuts over something next.
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Just don’t read any newspapers or listen to any news.
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Got it, Mick,
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I like the premise and your take on it. Will surely add it to my TBR.
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It’s definitely worth it, Damyanti!
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Damyanti, I would be delighted to hear your reactions.
Thank you.
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Very brave of Frank Prem to pen the poems in this book. (Have just had a look at in on Amazon where there’s a sample of more content). I, for one, would find them too-uncomfortable reading as I’ve had first-hand experience of ‘receiving’ mental health care. Thankfully not in an institution such as those with padded cells, but certainly in the psychiatric wing of a general hospital, and at a day centre earlier, that was quite enough. Also, I’m a doctor’s daughter, so… up to a point, ‘been there’. Anything to get rid of the stigma, though, has to be good.
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Getting rid of the stigma is a good way of putting it, Val. I’ve only had very limited experience of working in that area, but spent many years working with people with learning disabilities who were certainly feared / mocked and stigmatised terribly for a long time, having an especially bad time of it in institutions. Thankfully, that is largely behind us, now, but in many people’s minds I think that stigma lives on, and it’s certainly true in mental health.
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I’m not sure if the stigma has really gone (for mental health and for people with learning difficulties), unfortunately. I know people are working toward it and that’s very commendable but I suspect full acceptance is unlikely to come during our generation…
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No, the stigma certainly lives on in many people’s minds. And I fear full acceptance is a pipe dream, much like hoping there will be a time when no one is racist or misogynistic.
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Sadly, I agree with you.
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Thank you, Can. I hope life is treating you well now.
Cheers
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Apologies. That was meant to be Val that I wrote. The auto function took over.
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It is, but I’m not Can. 🙂
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