Rose Mary Boehm

Rose Mary Boehm was born in Germany, a year before WWII began. Not a good time for little kids, but from it emerged a novel and a poetry collection. She wrote her first Angst poems in German, of course, and most of them rhymed, of course. As soon as she could, she left home, her language, culture and any prejudices she may have acquired in order to travel, and wrote more poetic prose in Paris, at night when she couldn’t sleep and couldn’t (yet) communicate. And so it went. Eventually she married and had two wonderful children in London, and that was her new life, her new language, her new culture… and, of course, as much as is gained, as much is lost and there is always a price to pay.

Now her language is English, to which she tends to bring a certain foreignness in images and perceptions. Perhaps. She lives with the word and can’t imagine a world in which she wouldn’t write. Having alienated her mother tongue to reinvent herself in English, she must now guard her (almost) native English against the encroachment of Spanish. But she is delighted to be able to read Cesar Vallejo, Pablo Neruda and Octavio Paz in the original.

‘The Rain Girl’ is her fourth collection. These are poems about everything. Everything that comes to mind when reminiscing about life, loves, war and the surreal. At over 80, she has seen, watched, felt, accused and forgiven. She can appreciate the unusual and wonder of the impossible. Join her on this journey to inner and outer worlds.

The Rain Girl by Rose Mary Boehm

The Rain Girl by Rose Mary Boehm

Series: Poetry
Tag: Poetry

In The Rain Girl, Rose Mary Boehm’s poetry explores our world through a lens of disorienting contrasts: past and present, youth and age, male and female, escape and entrapment, real and surreal. Through the current of time, we see sharp images of wartime Europe and fairy tales, violence and dreams and, through it all, a love ever-lost but ever-seeking. The speaker in these psychologically-fraught poems becomes “the note between the / harmonies, the breach between severed limbs, and the twilight / between worlds.” And though the ground continually shifts beneath readers’ feet, they walk wide-eyed through this collection, willing travelers in times they can never quite trust due to the transience of the subconscious. As the poem “Haunting” tells us: “the time that passes between / lighting and thunder, / that’s where you’ll find me.” It’s also where you’ll find yourself – fascinated from start to finish.

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