The Storm before the Calm

Steve Midwinter of Personal Punk has been reading 'What if we were water?' a collection of poetry by Ricky Frost and says his "Heart ached, leapt and glowed in equal measure. A real gem."

Read his full review with excerpts here, then do yourself a favour and grab a copy here.

Connecting with the poet behind the poems is crucial when waxing lyrical on the subject of mental health. Essex spoken word artist and mental health poet Ricky Frost presents this collection of poems (“to tackle the trauma that’s passed on from previous generations“) via a framework of themed sections. Common threads wind throughout, helping to foster a sense of the author’s inner self, as well as providing the building blocks of his journey. The ‘introduction‘ section lays the groundwork; the utterly beautiful Empty Orchestra‘s meditative flow on filling silence with music (“Although conversation can be slow, silence is still the most broken thing I know“) contrasts with the familiar, punchy beats of Unfinished, though the latter’s style isn’t typical, in this book at least.

The Growing Up section is abundant with the most aching, melancholic prose; My Friend In White links a snowman at the end of the street to the bittersweet pang of childhood memories, while The Great War connects the war-time truce in 1914 to the uneasy peace of fractious families at Christmas. A canny trick is employed on the double-dad-whammy of The Magician and The Carnivore – the former’s tale of deception, familial blood and passed-on traits is transformed into the latter by cutting out swathes of prose to reveal a more harrowing view. Similarly, Things I Never Said (“the man that scared away the monsters that hid under my bed, failed to fight the ones in his head…“), is whittled down to a fractured narrative of naked, painful truth.

Suicide, guilt and the elasticity of time come together on a touching love letter to a family member (Did You Know), Just Figures lays bare the lie behind forcing childhood gender stereotypes, and a fractured family attempt to heal after a parent leaves the home (The Man Of The House). The Why Men’s Mental Health? section features the titular poem and, while it’s tempting to isolate parts here, this would only serve to diminish the impact of such an incredibly affecting piece of writing. The subject? Toxic masculinity struggles to break its cycle as thirty-one seamen traversing stormy waters refuse to break from traditional patterns.

Elsewhere, in I Can’t Decide What To Call This Poem, anxiety’s chaotic complexity is woven into sublimely elegiac detail.

The Love and Loss section balances the succinct (Falling Knife Has No Handleand They Say) with longer pieces like the sublime I Did Not Know Him.

More stylistic quirks appear as We Do Not Say Goodbye Just Once‘ single paragraph is /punctuated/by/slashes/ and The Bullfrog Man‘s adoption of a more pugnacious approach, a la James Domestic, softens into heartfelt understanding as it’s revealed there’s more to the story than meets the eye. An introduction to the Lads Need Dads charity heads up the Love and Healingsection before a parted couple meet to dissect their failed relationship on the aching throb of Post Mortem.

You Owe Me A Coke‘s ode to the sweet sting of true love is distilled down to just eight lines for Cooking For Two, but I have to pat this poet on the back for exquisitely encapsulating how my partner and I experience our road trips in the perfectly delightful Driving To Jupiter. He even avoids any potential oversweetness in his eulogy on the unique way couples communicate (Familect).

The final section, What Can We Do To End This Cycle?, asserts the importance of men’s mental health, concluding: “Love and support are absolutely the key to understanding the world and understanding ourselves better. Love is, and always was, the answer“. Some clichés are clichés for a reason, though there’s nothing hackneyed about the final poem in this collection; tender, poignant, Lego Moments sees Ricky beavering away at the apex of his emotional wordsmithery as the looming figure of his father resurfaces.

At 100 pages, this impactful little book does a lot of heavy lifting. Consistent, even as it veers into some engaging experiments in structural technique, the stories are relatable and revealing, resulting in an immersive sense of connection. Doubts and vulnerabilities caper alongside confident pearls of wisdom as emotions are stirred, heartstrings tugged, all earned through careful, caring wordcraft. With its strong message of self-improvement, self-care and the nurturing of empathy, my heart ached, leapt and glowed in equal measure. A real gem.

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