Tags

, , , , , , ,

What do photos of naked men, poetry and diabetes have to do with each other? Women. Smart women who’ve figured out a fantastic way to raise money for JDRF. I would so much rather spend money on a naked calendar filled with beautiful poetry than a tee-shirt, car wash or bake sale.

The brain child of Victoria Bennett whose son, Django was recently diagnosed with type 1 diabetes at the age of 2. Bennett created a calendar, and exhibition, bringing together 13 female photographers, 14 female poets and 14 male poets for Wild Women Press.

The Naked Muse 2012 Calendar goes on general release on 14th November 2011, to mark World Diabetes Day.

Here is a sampling of the poetry to tempt you:

Yesterday, in Edward’s Lane, in Worcestershire, a green lane slunk across by Bow Brook in flood; despite being the swansong of an English summer, it was a puzzle to find a way across or, in the hedgerows, gain a path aground, or through, or over that slow ford. It seemed as if the small world had come to a close.

Your mum writes a poetry about the boy she adores:

Django loves to run, full speed! When he feels himself going high he gets up and exercises around the sofa at breakneck speed, or around the garden, or down the hills, or bounces repeatedly on the bed coming up with “new groovy jumps”, the pump a part of his body.

It gets better – although it might not get ‘better’ – yet nothing is barred. No thing: God’s speed and birdsong and tramping the Australian bush; waterfalls climbed at dawn solo with a mad sugar rush; rain-forests rent by the laughter

of Kookaburras; tree-canopies cackling with Crimson Rosellas. I flew home with my mind lit by the fling of Lorikeets, puffed Parrots, curled Koalas, by the flit and flirt of Honeyeaters. This was only in the last two weeks. This was with Type 1 Diabetes.

Just as a boy or man might find a place to stand and fend and move and care to carry on, so this is a poem that walks between us because we know there is no pose in not knowing the knowledge in us, no naked posture we can strike without showing needle-marks or blood-test sites. Injections greet the dawns and dusks. But so does birdsong.

Django, I have never felt less afraid. Of life.

 by David Morley