Rachael Clyne, from Glastonbury, is widely published in journals and anthologies. Now retired, Rachael was a professional actor in her youth, appearing in TV dramas and series including Coronation St. She also worked in theatre and in the 70s, briefly joined the Sadista Sisters female rock cabaret. She also played the lead in Victoria Wood’s first play, Talent. This has fed into her enjoyment for live readings of her poetry. She later trained and worked for over 30 years as a psychotherapist, practicing in various settings and running counselling trainings. She has published two self-help books, for cancer patients and on self-esteem issues, and co-founded one of the first cancer support resources in London.
It is only in later life that she began to seriously develop her poetry. Her prizewinning collection, Singing at the Bone Tree (Indigo Dreams, 2014), concerns our lost connection with nature. Her pamphlet, Girl Golem (4word.org, 2018) explores her Jewish migrant heritage. This new collection, You’ll Never Be Anyone Else, was published by Seren in 2023.
About You'll Never Be Anyone Else
You’ll Never Be Anyone Else reflects the poet’s journey of coming to terms with her sense of otherness. Her alter-ego Girl Golem, based on the legendary man made from clay to protect Jewish people from persecution, appears at several points in the book. Rachael explores her Jewish and LGBTQ+ identity, which she says felt like a double whammy during the era in which she grew up. She surveys attitudes both past and present. This collection joins a chorus of poetic voices who challenge us with their difference and touch our shared humanity. Rachael uses a variety of forms to explore migrant heritage, sexual orientation, relationships, domestic violence and ageing. Her work is peppered with quirky imagery and humour, even in its darkest corners. The poem, "Jew-a-lingo – Codeswitching for Jews," takes the form of a lesson in how minority groups behave within their culture, then self-censor in the outside world. The book presents a distinctive voice from someone who has learned self-acceptance and as a therapist has used that knowledge to help others do similar.
You can read more about You'll Never Ben Anyone Else on the publisher's website here. Below, you can read a sample poem from the collection.
From You'll Never Be Anyone Else, by Rachael Clyne
Three Piece Suite
Mother, the rickety chair, teeters;
needs a wedge to steady her.
A chair from the Old Country,
carried on backs, luggage racks, smuggled
across borders. Father, a wooden
ironing board, hides in the understairs
cupboard, lost in the hiss of his steam-iron,
whistle of hearing aids and bash of his klomper.
Grandma, the leathery pouffe, smells
of olives, lemon tea and shit on shaky fingers.
Between chair, ironing board and pouffe,
I, their tailor’s cushion, bristle with pins.
Girl Golem
The night they blew life into her, she clung
bat-like to the womb-wall. A girl golem,
a late bonus, before the final egg dropped.
She divided, multiplied, her hand-buds bloomed.
her tail vanished into its coccyx and the lub-dub
of her existence was bigger than her nascent head.
She was made as a keep-watch, in case
new nasties tried to take them away.
The family called her tchotchkele, their little cnadle,
said she helped to make up for lost numbers –
as if she could compensate for millions.
With x-ray eyes, she saw she was trapped
in a home for the deaf and blind, watched them
blunder into each other’s neuroses. Her task,
to hold up their world, be their assimilation ticket,
find a nice boy and mazel tov – grandchildren!
But she was a hotchpotch golem, schmutter garment
that would never fit, trying to find answers
without a handbook. When she turned eighteen,
she walked away, went in search of her own kind,
tore their god from her mouth.
Golem: man made from clay and Kabbalistic spells, by rabbis to protect Jews from persecution. Truth: אֶמֶת was written on his forehead and God’s name on his tongue. Tchotchkele (diminutive of tchotchke): a trinket, a cute child. Mazel tov: good luck. Cnadle: a dumpling. Schmutter: a rag.
Unfitting
After Caroline Bird
Like a glove on the wrong hand,
the moon out at noon. I was salt in tea,
shoving my leg into a sleeve,
stuck on the singles table at weddings,
stifling the crush on my best friend,
calling my partner they, or trying
to book a double room in a B&B.
How I distanced myself from those women
in the bar on the Kings Road,
where some wore cufflinks, others,
heavy perfume, tight dresses.
I couldn’t bear a skirt, without
the safety of a gusset.
The chips from my shoulders make
a magnificent outfit: gloved, salty
and stitched with gold.
You’ll never be anyone else
so you – yes you, with your warts and wings
will just have to do.
Acceptance is your food and shelter, without which
you are brushwood
left to the mercy of any foul wind.
Stop drinking the poison
labelled Hate me. It’s that simple.
I didn’t say easy.