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Eighty Four is a new anthology of poetry on the subject of male suicide in aid of CALM (campaign against living miserably). Poems have been donated to the collection by Andrew McMillan, Salena Godden, Anthony Anaxogorou, Katrina Naomi, Ian Patterson, Carrie Etter, Peter Raynard and Joelle Taylor while a submissions window yielded many excellent poems on the subject from both known and hitherto unknown poets we are thrilled to have been made aware of. Curated by poet Helen Calcutt, Eighty-Four showcases human vulnerability in all its forms. From the baby in the bath who knows daddy is gone, to the woman whose father haunts her through the window, here is a diverse collection of voices, delicately speaking the intense difficulties of the human predicament, courageously engaging with the profound impact that male suicide is having on all of us. There’s a glittering strength to this volume, because of the honesty from which its poems have been created, giving this book the truth it was seeking. We hope to shed light on an issue that is cast in shadow, and often shrouded in secrecy and denial. If we don’t talk, we don’t heal, and we don’t change. In Eighty Four, we are talking. Are you listening?
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In September 2017, Helen Calcutt’s brother Matthew took his own life. He was 40 years old.
‘… the phone rang / and when I answered it / you’d killed / yourself, and that was the start / of you being dead.’
This is the starting point of an astonishing new pamphlet of poems by Helen Calcutt. At times harrowing; at others hopeful – always deeply felt and beautifully realised. These poems display the poise and precision of a poet already at the height of her powers, writing the un-writable, weaving the terrible into something relatable and filled with the light of understanding.
How do we survive the tumultuous presence of grief? How does the trauma of losing a loved one to suicide affect, our identity, our creativity, and our ability to love? How – in a world shattered by incomparable change and severe loss – do we build a life from the wreckage? Because we do.
Somehow, we do.