Becoming a poet came late to Bev; she began to write at 50 on the near completion of her thesis. The theory drawn upon was influenced by Helen Cixous and her notion of writing the feminine, that is taking a step into the unknow and having the freedom to write about what we know. For Bev this meant writing as the embodiment of what it means to be a woman working in academia, being neurodiverse and the untimely loss of her mother.
Memories Made: An Anthology of poetry in a covid context.
Hayward, B. M., 2021. Memories Made: An Anthology of poetry in a covid context. [Kindle Edition]
The Salty Kiss of Cixous on my Psyche.
Hayward, B.M., 2019. The Salty Kiss of Cixous on my Psyche, Lamplight Magazine, Issue 1, May 2019, p. 17. Link
The Meaning-makers
Leaving behind the shame, guilt and fear,
We step into the light.
Behind us, we leave the dark.
No longer are we the bearers of meaning,
For we are the meaning-makers,
The mark makers, the artists, the creators.
Leaving behind the humiliation, the self-doubt
We step into the light,
To spaces new to us,
Here we transform, reinvent.
For we are the meaning-makers, the mothers,
The resilient others.
Moving forward, we are in the light.
Basking in this space of joy, mysticism and chimera,
Our meanings are made.
We are transformed,
We are the poets, the authors, the artists.
It is our time, our era.
Details
Beverley Hayward, Mocking the Master Narrative: The Masquerade, 2015-19, tapestry and mixed media, 30 x 40 cm, private collection. (photographed by Rob Roach)
A Cosmopolitan Encounter
An artist-educator in the land-seascape,
Sees the strangers,
As they wait,
They wait for me,
On the shores of different lands.
With my vulnerability exposed,
I escape.
I escape from the him-ter-land,
To the promised land,
To a sea of honey,
And the sweet embrace of strangers.
Those strangers receive my body,
Without judgement or question.
For the masculine, no longer coverts me:
Accepting,
Knowing,
Noticing,
We are open
To each other’s stories.
(Re)searching,
In a cosmopolitan encounter
We find each other,
Free.
We see, one another,
For the mercy of the Other floods the self.
Details
Beverley Hayward and Chrissie Peters, Travelling in a Cosmopolitan Milieu, (2022), embroidered collage with paper and acetate. (photographed by Rob Roach)
Tales from the Creative Toolbox: Turning the Tide
Diverse are the texts of knowledge creation.
We are exhibiting, crafting our curation.
Finally displayed on those whitewashed walls,
On par with the work hung in those hallowed halls.
Our art and craft in all its Majesty, stands tall.
No longer relegated to those dusty backroom stalls.
In place of all those old, white masters of the arts,
We are here, this is just the start.
Oh, what joy, oh what pride,
Our art-craft is crammed high and wide.
We have found our own Truths; we have the keys.
Our oeuvre is a cornucopia of beauty and fecundity,
See us here: we WILL NOT hide,
In a Feminist Aesthetic, we have turned the tide!
Details
Beverley Hayward, Sewing Sampler: Home Is Where the Art Is, 2014, tapestry, private collection (photographed by Rob Roach)
Vessels vulnerable; resilience revealed.
Vessels vulnerable, small, fragile.
Receptacles malleable, delicate.
Naked, clay ready to be shaped:
Painted in pictures of patriarchy;
Glazed in moulds of naked muses;
Fired in the furnace of misogyny.
Glazes glossy, reflecting back. Back
To empire, taken for granted truths.
Knowledge filled up, packed, pushed,
Squashed in, patted down. Confined.
Contained. Knowing no different,
Impermeable to the imaginary.
Once hidden, twice shy, put aside,
Inside, on the side, on the shelf,
Forgotten. Of no consequence.
Vessels knocked over.
Seeping.
Knowledges trickling.
Dripping.
On the cold stone slabs
Spilling.
Soaking into the cracks.
Oozing.
Unconfined.
Uncontained.
Unruly.
Culture untethered.
Unrestrained.
Transformations taking space.
Imagine, agency attained.
Being accepting of change
Vessels smashed. Look! Hurts healed,
Moulds broken: possibilities revealed,
Pieces scattered: mosaics made,
Beauty woken: golden mends remain,
Lacquer threaded: cracks displayed.
New pictures collaged: creatives played,
Talents developed: identities crafted,
Vulnerability shared: resilience grafted.
Vessels re-seen: old wounds repaired,
Strength renewed: courage declared.
Details
Beverley Hayward, Vessels Resilient – Vessels Vulnerable, calico and silks, 2023. (photographed by Rob Roach)
Sisters, We Hear You, We Shout Your Names
I give thanks to my ancestors,
Without whom I would not be here,
Writing stories,
Of pasts long ago.
Up were my Sisters,
As the sun relentlessly breaks the dawn,
Day after endless day,
Cleaning,
bodies broken in,
Mines,
Factories
Farms.
Labours that break the soul.
What of your souls, dear brave sisters?
Women who gave their lives.
Electrocuted,
In the asylum.
Dying
In the workhouse,
Dying
In the big house,
In service,
To the masters who abused bodies and babes.
Sisters, Aunts,
Cousins,
Dying
In childbirth.
Babies,
Crying,
Not heard by those that would have loved them.
Given
Up,
Up to those that are not knowing.
But I know you; never forgotten.
You are all
Seen,
Heard.
Names, now spoken in dusty archives
Found, not forgotten
Searching
Fearlessly,
Tirelessly
Not in vain,
Broken is the seal of shame.
We are here.
Proud to know,
Florence, Lizzy, Daisy, Lucy, Doreen …
I, with you my Sisters, shout all your names.
Details
Beverley Hayward, Remember, shout her name, tell her-story, tapestry with mixed media. (photographed by Rob Roach)
Wandering Women: Journeying to the Feminist Imaginary
Where the red sky flows bleeding into the sea,
The turbulent tides of the raging wild Imaginary.
Turns back the tiny trickling stream of the Real,
As the essence of the mystic’s gifts are revealed.
Here the depths of the feminine knows no bounds.
In a kaleidoscope of psyches, sights and sounds.
The beautiful abundance of flora and fauna,
Shore up the banks of a flooding limitless aura.
Diving into the pool of the creative unknown,
And dreaming in the unconscious, now shown.
What jouissance the rich mystic mind conjures,
Made possible in the mysteries far beyond us.
Picture the flood of tempestuous transformations …
Whirling in the pools of majestic imaginations.
Feeling the surges of oceans’ expansive emotions.
Forming imaginative concepts
see the explosions!
Absorb the experiences. Lie back, … take it all in.
Sharing, embracing the wild waves of feeling,
Floating in land-seascapes, boundary-less, timeless.
Be knowing of our freedoms, enchanting success,
Embody the mysteries of those that transgress,
Where the azure sky seeps into the sea green.
Let us bask, enjoy our expansive senses. Seen –
Are the swirling, flooding, overflowing, women,
Wandering, joining, together. We invite you in.
A Story of Hope: The Lifelong Dyslexic Learner
As a child I was disabled, now I’m neuro diverse,
Anxiety and stress just make it worse.
It was to the remedial hut that we all went,
Sometimes stammering, stuttering, often silent.
At least learning is for life; so time’s on my side,
But how that illiteracy shame dented my pride.
Labelled thick, stupid and slow.
Can’t spell, read, write; feel so low.
Please don’t pick me to read out loud;
Head bowed, humiliated in that crowd.
Gaze lowered, sinking down in my seat,
The anxiety is palpable, how fast my heart beats.
Forty years on, a creative force,
My head held high, determined, on course.
Pick me now, I can read, write, speak out loud.
I kneel before the Master, to the applause of the crowd.
The nightmare ends, dreams come true,
Whether gift or a curse, the prize is my due.
Fifty years on, the pretence is over; I can be myself,
Learning is lifelong, not just about books on shelves.
Who cares if my spelling is poor, or if I stumble on a word?
Not I, my shame has abated, my voice is heard.
Having learnt my knowledge creation has worth,
Joyous is my transformation, my rebirth.
So, for those that missed out on schooling and learning,
Do not be deterred, there is hope as an adult returning.
In the Beginning
In the beginning was the Word,
The Word was the Law of the Father.
But this is not the Word,
That I and all women heard.
For in our beginnings there were no words;
But the sounds of the joyous Mother.
In our beginnings was the rhyme and rhythm of the womb
Where is your Word, women of the world?
Let us break the seal of our oppressive tomb
Gaia, Isis, Freya, you once were held in the highest esteem.
Rise once more and let your greatness be seen
No more are our bodies covered in the shroud of shame
We rise up and we make our claim
In the beginning was our power
Found in the noise and colour of our dreams,
But in the conscious World
Our Word was yet to be heard
Once, still, silent, asleep
We no longer weep
Standing together in this world we rejoice
Writing, singing, speaking, dancing,
Now we are heard.
Wandering Women: A Journey as Feminist Imaginaries
Let this tale of the Feminist Imaginary begin.
Telling stories of a band of Wandering Women,
As we are learning, resisting, communicating,1
Glorious!2
Triumphant, in the acts of liberating
Women’s minds. Despite the mastery culture,
We go dancing in the feminist utopian future.3
Repainting, reimagining, repurposing, reframing,4
Knowledges together, threading, reclaiming.
Weaving wisdom5
to educate, engage, connect.6
Subjects, on this journey for
celebratory affect.
Gathered to be persistent, resilient,7
innovative,
Listening, creating, responding,8
with creative
Voice and stories!9
So violence is eradicated.
For far too long, we stoic women, have waited,10
Now, collective actions are a phenomenal feminist key,
To transform women’s lives,11 despite patriarchy.
Take courage,12 inspire others. Love13 abundantly,
Basking in the tales of the jubilant Feminist Imaginary.
For Women’s Power14 is all pervasive, ever present,
In amazing, enduring experiences lived and dreamt.