Tag Archives: Lehan Winifred Ramsay

Soul Walk

15 Monday Mar 2021

Posted by in Sandshoe

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Soul Walk

Written by Sandshoe

10 March, 2021.

I often reflect on Lehan Winifred Ramsay and what she has meant to me.

Coming out of a University building after a Clubs and Associations training meeting yesterday evening my eye was taken by the sky. I had emerged out of the building into a dark side path I found was not lit as I expected.

Perhaps it really was because I had taken a road less travelled I happened on a friend at an intersection of the path I further took to walk home. My friend Dom is a mature age student whose specialist attention is in IT. I feel we found such important common ground in our shared talk.

I walked further with one of the security staff. He makes a difference in the work he does on campus. He walks a regular beat and recognizes the students who need the warm or plain kind word of a person who listens as another speaks. He walks a path less travelled.

Reading back over shared communication with Lehan, I see later she and I meet at intersections of a sort and I would in some ways too sadly forget if they were not captured on pages of The Pig’s Arms where we met. I wander around online and view her life work, her photography, read what we at the pub here, this wild and romantic blog post, had with Lehan as a contributor, our bold and innovative off-the-wall friend.

The work she sent me is not listed anywhere that I have found. ‘The Lotus Pond’ is one of her most beautiful and possibly significant paintings. Fireflies flash their illumination of magic and dart across the pond surface.

Lehan Winifred Ramsay

10 Sunday Jul 2016

Posted by in Algernon, Lehan Winifred Ramsay

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Lehan Leaving

Pig’s Arms Envoy, Lehan Winifred Ramsay

A tribute by Algernon

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rUWYdaXwWcQ

Part of a documentary about Mt Hakodate, interviewing Lehan Ramsay about her project; an exhibition of large black-and-white photographs of people and places in Hakodate, Hokkaido, Japan. Winter 2008-9.

I found this youtube video a while back. While it’s entirely in Japanese it does give us an insight into some of her work when she was living there. We also hear her speak as part of it.

Emmjay met Lehan in Sydney between her visits to Japan but I didn’t know Lehan personally, other than by her writings here and at The Drum and her artwork she so freely shared with us at the Pig’s Arms. We all know of her struggles with depression. Her time in Japan and return to Maclean where she had trouble settling back in, going back to Japan then returning again.

Depression and mental illness has touched some of us either directly or with family members. I’m distressed that she has succumbed.

I will miss her artwork, some of which can be found here http://lehanramsay.blogspot.com.au/ and the conversations where she would write a a stream of consciousness.

I will miss having her with us at the pub and the richness she provided to all of us.

Rest in peace Lehan.

Lifeline: https://www.lifeline.org.au/ Ph.13 11 14

Beyondblue: https://www.beyondblue.org.au/ Ph. 1300 22 4636

 

 

Euthanasia

02 Monday Mar 2015

Posted by in Lehan Winifred Ramsay

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bd

bd

Story, painting and photograph by Lehan Winifred Ramsay

Vale to my old dog, old dog, old dog bd, who died yesterday, pretty old but not as old as I would have liked him to be. And this is for him, this consideration of euthanasia.

A year and a half ago we went together to the animal doctor, me crying and him grimacing, and I asked the doctor to euthenize him. The doctor said no, he was still in pretty good shape, and he was right, it wasn’t an end ailment he had, not a spiralling sickness, it was temporary and he got over it. The doctor didn’t give me medication, he gave me some painkillers because I asked for them, and I put them away.

But on Monday we went there again, walking the kilometre or so along the road. Bd’s tumour had grown immense, and it was now changed, and it was damaging, nasty, impossible to heal. I had received a second opinion about removing the tumour, it was the same as the first, it was too big to remove. I took a plastic box with the last piece of my birthday cake in it, chocolate gateau, because I wanted the doctor to euthanize bd, and I wanted him to have that cake before he died.

But the doctor refused. Refused to euthanize him and refused to treat him. I suppose he had a particular line, at which he would euthanize, and we had not yet crossed that line. And I had already told him I had received some ointment from another doctor, so I suppose he felt he could also refuse treatment. Also, I suppose that he hastened the line, and in his own way that was treatment.

And so we came home and the next four days were kind of like a horror movie, and I was a bit frozen, a bit slow, as I went over options, went over possibilities, tried to figure out how to do this, how to do that. On Thursday I gave bd a painkiller. Painkillers are essentially useless for this kind of thing because once you start them you are going to have to continue them, the pain will be much worse when you come back to it. So okay, I thought, I can do this if bd can have painkillers, and if I can have antidepressants. Because the pain of this is going to kill me too. But with those two things it’s doable.

The other doctor came on Friday afternoon. We didn’t talk about it in advance. He brought the drugs. He described the situation, the options. I held bd, and we ended his life.

A year and a half ago I thought it was simply my judgement, that I was not capable of knowing, because I am not an experienced doctor, when is the time for ending the life of something. Now I think that is only half of the story. It is also that the doctor treating the patient is not capable of knowing, because they are not close to the patient, when is the time for ending their life. And that, I think is the fundamental difficulty.

I, here, was thrown into the dark ages.

He didn’t get his chocolate cake, in the end, he didn’t get any chocolate. The pound said they would collect his body and they came pretty soon. They said they would also take some flowers or food if I wanted. While I waited for the pound to come and collect his old body, I made him a brown felt lions collar, I put it in a little pouch with a block of chocolate.

lion bd

Teaching an Old Dog New Tricks

24 Wednesday Dec 2014

Posted by in Lehan Winifred Ramsay

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ThisOldDog

Story and Painting by Lehan Winifred Ramsay

The cat has taught him how to escape.

He taught the cat how to take walks, him on the leash and the cat darting freely and in return the cat taught him that it is not necessary to have a human with one to do that.

The cat does not know how to open the door but this old dog has now taught himself and I look up to find both of them have silently exited the house and are out on the road wandering freely and holding up the traffic.

Welly

10 Tuesday Jun 2014

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Welly

Welly

Story and Painting by Lehan Winifred Ramsay

On the way to the station I passed a house with a small box lined with newspaper outside. A kitten box devoid of it’s occupant. I found the kitten under a grate but I couldn’t catch it and I stopped and considered cancelling my work for the evening. But I am poor, I went on. On the way home I stopped at the convenience store for some chicken nuggets. The kitten was no longer under the grate but wailing in a carpark against a wall, and he was easy to catch. Too easy, sadly, and although I tried to help him he died after two days. I was carrying him to the animal doctor.

On the last day I came home and found his condition had suddenly worsened. It was four hours before the animal doctor opened. I painted his picture on a board and frame I found in the garbage.

His name was Welly.

Hung One On Whitman

08 Thursday May 2014

Posted by in Neville Cole, Poets Corner

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poets_pub

Story by Neville Cole

I’ll admit it. I tied one on with Hung One On down the Pub last night. As I recall, it all started amicably enough. All the locals were there celebrating the 5th Anniversary. Viv’s spread was a real treat. Gregor took to the mic early on and told some raunchy jokes. Big M was singing Karaoke. I had a grand old time catching up with Algy, Shoe, Voice, Asty, Lehan, Gerard, Helvi, Warrigal and, of course Emmjay. But, much, much later, as closing time drew nigh, things got a little…well, strange. Hung grew increasingly introspective, almost wistful, as the night went on and we began to talk – as we often do when we get this way – about life, about love, and about…poetry.

“Some day, Mate,” he says to me, “I’m gonna go walkabout. I gonna drop this…” he paused for a moment to choose just the right word, than added: “façade…and start living.”

“I know exactly what you mean,” I replied, appropriately emphasizing exactly in exactly the right way as I downed my last Trotters.

“I think you do. I think you do. I know you do!” Hung said with a sudden smile. “You and I aren’t the types to be penned in by… by rules…and, and rules. We are the truth tellers. We are the rebel alliance. We are poets, man…and we should be out there poeting our guts out.”

“We are poets,” I agreed with him. “When I look at you that’s exactly what I see.” I was at this time somewhat fixed on the word exactly as you might have already guessed. But I continued nevertheless: “You, for sure, are a fucking poet, Hung. Walt Whitman’s got nothing on you, brother.”

“Walt Whitman!” Hung leapt to his feet like a sleeping dog woken by a noisy cat. “That’s it!” Hung cried climbing his stool to reach the bar.

“Hey, hey,” Merv sang out. “Closing time, Hung. You don’t have to go home, but you can’t stay here.”

“Hear him out, Merv,” I said quietly. “He’s on a roll.”

“Warrigal kept to himself. Quietly sketching away in the corner; but I saw a wry smile break across his face as Hung began to recite a poem in a loud, clear voice.

“Song of MY self,” Hung announced to the almost empty bar. “By Hung One On Whitman.

And what followed, I recorded exactly as it poured from his soul…’cause no one would believe it if I didn’t write it down.

 

Song of my self

 

Come breathe the musk of morning
sit silent at the desert dawn;
Listen for my breath
Here me cry the empty sky
into being
Bathe in the light
I am not lost
nor hidden in rock
I am not dead
you are not dreaming
we are Life eternal.

Throw off your shoes
Did toes in solid earth
Draw kindred souls into your veins
There is not end in sight
no apocalypse is nigh
there is not one of us will die
we all are Life eternal
we are the one supernal
I take you in as you do I
Give yourself to the forests and the seas
We are all what feeds the other
There is no turning back
This is a never ending track that leads back to an open door
no floor
no ceiling to block the light
you are in my sight
no need to fear the night
Feel my warmth on you skin
Let me in
Turn your face to me
Give me a smile for today
You are Life eternal.

Look to the sky
Not a cloud to block the blue
This is my gift to you
This blue sky
that greenish-yellow leaf
the purple pinkness of the flowers
the richness and ceaseless variety
you are wrapped in a multitude of color
all for you this glorious display
I paint the world this way
To make each day your canvas
Take it in
Hold it with you to look upon
During the hours of grey and black
Remember my gift
Seek it out
The new day is just beyond the horizon
It will not be slowed or stopped
It will not hold back from you
Even if you doubt or despair
Even if you curse and cry
Even if you lose your way
Even if you forget
A new day is coming
Every moment
a hundred million every second
all across the Earth
a billion others like you and I
feeling with us
We are Life eternal.

Hung stopped for a moment, then a moment more, then paused, then graceful as a dancer, he bowed deeply and humbly. Emmjay and I cheered. Even Warrigal rose to his feet in applause.

I don’t remember much that happened after that. It’s a bit of a blur. I remember watching the sun come up a few hours later and replaying Hung’s poem in my head; but that’s about it. Still, it was a top notch 5th Birthday bash and I can’t wait till next year’s party.