I held her hand, that was always scarred by Alan Jenkins — Analysis & Translation

Original Poem

I held her hand, that was always scarred From chopping, slicing, from the knives that lay in wait In bowls of washing-up, that was raw, The knuckles reddened, rough from scrubbing hard At saucepan, frying pan, cup and plate And giving love the only way she knew, In each cheap cut of meat, in roast and stew, Old-fashioned food she cooked and we ate; And I saw that they had taken off her rings, The rings she kept once in her dressing-table drawer With faded snapshots, long-forgotten things (scent-sprays, tortoise-shell combs, a snap or two From the time we took a holiday “abroad”) But lately had never been without, as if She wanted everyone to know she was his wife Only now that he was dead. And her watch? – Classic ladies’ model, gold strap – it was gone, And I’d never known her not have that on, Not in all the years they sat together Watching soaps and game shows I’d disdain And not when my turn came to cook for her, Chops or chicken portions, English, bland, Familiar flavours she said she preferred To whatever “funny foreign stuff” Young people seemed to eat these days, she’d heard; Not all the weeks I didn’t come, when she sat Night after night and stared unseeing at The television, at her inner weather, Heaved herself upright, blinked and poured Drink after drink, and gulped and stared – the scotch That, when he was alive, she wouldn’t touch, That was her way to be with him again; Not later in the psychiatric ward, Where she blinked unseeing at the wall, the nurses (Who would steal anything, she said), and dreamt Of when she was a girl, of the time before I was born, or grew up and learned contempt, While the TV in the corner blared To drown some “poor soul’s” moans and curses, And she took her pills and blinked and stared As the others shuffled around, and drooled, and swore… But now she lay here, a thick rubber band With her name on it in smudged black ink was all she wore On the hand I held, a blotched and crinkled hand Whose fingers couldn’t clasp at mine any more Or falteringly wave, or fumble at my sleeve – The last words she had said were Please don’t leave But of course I left; now I was back, though she Could not know that, or turn her face to see A nurse bring the little bag of her effects to me.

Translation (English)

I held her hand, which was always marked From cutting, slicing, from the knives that were hidden In the sink, which was raw, The knuckles red, rough from scrubbing hard At pots, pans, cups, and plates And showing love the only way she knew how, In every cheap piece of meat, in roast and stew, Old-fashioned food she made and we ate; And I noticed they had removed her rings, The rings she once kept in her dresser With old photos, forgotten things (perfume bottles, tortoise-shell combs, a photo or two From when we went on a holiday “abroad”) But recently she always wore them, as if She wanted everyone to know she was his wife Only now that he was gone. And her watch? – A classic ladies’ model, gold strap – it was missing, And I’d never seen her without it, Not in all the years they sat together Watching soaps and game shows I didn’t like And not when it was my turn to cook for her, Chops or chicken pieces, plain English food, Familiar tastes she said she liked Instead of any “strange foreign stuff” Young people seemed to eat these days, she’d heard; Not all the weeks I didn’t visit, when she sat Night after night and stared blankly at The TV, at her own thoughts, Struggled to stand, blinked and poured Drink after drink, and gulped and stared – the whiskey That, when he was alive, she wouldn’t touch, That was her way to be with him again; Not later in the mental hospital, Where she blinked blankly at the wall, the nurses (Who would steal anything, she said), and dreamed Of when she was a girl, of the time before I was born, or grew up and learned disdain, While the TV in the corner was loud To cover some “poor soul’s” cries and curses, And she took her pills and blinked and stared As the others shuffled around, and drooled, and swore… But now she lay here, a thick rubber band With her name on it in smudged black ink was all she wore On the hand I held, a blotched and wrinkled hand Whose fingers couldn’t hold mine any more Or weakly wave, or fumble at my sleeve – The last words she had said were Please don’t leave But of course I left; now I was back, though she Could not know that, or turn her face to see A nurse bring the little bag of her belongings to me.

About the Poet

Alan Jenkins (Contemporary)

Alan Jenkins is a British poet born in 1955. He is known for his poignant and reflective poetry, often exploring themes of memory and personal history. Jenkins won the 1994 Forward Poetry Prize.

Historical Context

Literary Form: Free verse
When Written: Published in the late 20th century
Background: The poem reflects on themes of memory, loss, and the passage of time, capturing the emotional complexity of familial relationships and the impact of death on those left behind.

Sources: https://poemanalysis.com/alan-jenkins/effects/, https://genius.com/Alan-jenkins-effects-annotated, https://www.litcharts.com/poetry/alan-jenkins/effects, https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Allan_Jenkins

Detailed Explanation

The poem 'Effects' by Alan Jenkins is a poignant reflection on the life and death of the speaker's mother. It begins with the speaker holding his mother's hand, which is scarred from years of domestic work. This imagery sets the tone for a meditation on her life, characterized by hard work and a deep, if understated, love expressed through cooking and care. The poem explores themes of memory and loss, as the speaker reflects on the physical and emotional scars left by her life and death. The removal of her rings and watch symbolizes the stripping away of her identity and personal history, while the speaker's recollections of her habits and preferences highlight the generational and cultural gaps between them. The poem's free verse form and conversational tone enhance its emotional impact, allowing the reader to feel the speaker's regret and longing. The final lines, where the speaker recalls his mother's last words and his own absence, underscore the theme of guilt and the irrevocable passage of time.

Themes

Literary Devices

Word Dictionary

Word	Meaning	Translation	Transliteration
scarred	marked	having marks from wounds or injuries	skaar-d
knuckles	joints of fingers	the joints of the fingers where they meet the hand	nuh-kuhlz
scrubbing	cleaning hard	cleaning something by rubbing it hard	skruhb-ing
falteringly	hesitantly	in a way that shows lack of confidence or certainty	fawl-ter-ing-lee
disdain	disrespect	the feeling that someone or something is unworthy of respect	dis-deyn
contempt	dislike	a feeling that something is not worthy of respect	kuhn-tempt
psychiatric	mental health	relating to mental illness or its treatment	sahy-kee-a-trik
blared	made loud noise	to make a loud, harsh noise	blaird
effects	belongings	personal belongings or items	ih-fekts
moans	groans	long, low sounds of pain or discomfort	mohnz
curses	swear words	offensive words or phrases used to express anger	kur-siz
gazed	looked steadily	to look steadily and intently	geyz-d
fumble	handle clumsily	to handle something clumsily or without skill	fuhm-buhl
blinked	closed and opened eyes	to close and open the eyes quickly	blingkt
unseeing	not noticing	not paying attention	uhn-see-ing