After years of shutting her poetry away, an Albert Lea native has published a book of her original works.

Audrey Eberhardt Allison, a 1943 graduate of Albert Lea High School, has published &uot;Cantilenas,&uot; a collection of 71 poems. The book is available locally through The Constant Reader.

Growing up in Albert Lea, Allison said she enjoyed all the benefits of small town life in that simpler time. &uot;No one found it necessary to lock houses or cars.

The neighborhood kids played kick-the-can in the street at night without fear of traffic,&uot; she said.

Poetry was always a source of pleasure to Allison, both reading and writing, and she wrote verse even as a child.

&uot;I liked writing essays in school and won several contests.

Teachers were encouraging.

In corresponding with contemporaries now, we feel we received an excellent education from good teachers.

In particular, I recall Daisy Gudgel, high school English teacher,&uot; she recalled.

In 1952, Allison moved to San Francisco, making frequent trips to Minnesota to visit family.

&uot;I married, had two children, then found myself in the position of being a single parent.

I worked in offices for lawyers, architects, advertising executives for many years.

Needless to say, the muse did not visit me often in those years, but I did go to creative writing classes at night whenever I got the opportunity,&uot; she said.

Allison said most of her poems were created late in my life, in the last 12 years. The East Bay suburbs of San Francisco have many writing groups.

&uot;I joined a critique group and we were required to bring new poems often for review.

Contests are conducted which usually receive 300 to 400 poems for judging.

The first one I entered gave me the grand prize and $50 for ‘Daughter A La Mode.’

After I recovered from that shock I felt encouraged and continued to write,&uot; she said.

&uot;One thing I enjoy about writing poetry is that it seems to activate the unconscious.

Sometimes I begin a poem, put it aside, and words and ideas pop into my head.

Sort of like when you can’t think of Santa Claus’s eighth reindeer and then it comes to you late at night.

Of course, wordsmithing and revising are also important,&uot; Allison said.

She said she had never written free verse until she joined critique groups, but some things can’t be said in rhyme. &uot;I still like rhyme and meter, however, and have used it in sonnets and humorous poems, especially,&uot; she said.

Not all of her poems come from my own experience, although all the poems in the &uot;Family and Friends&uot; section are true. One poem in that section is dedicated to her friend, Hazel Kepple of Albert Lea:

Hazel’s Cookies

When Mother died

I gorged myself

on Hazel’s cookies

swallowing

not tasting

When the heart aches

close to breaking

nothing

slides as smoothly

down a reluctant throat

as food prepared

just for you

by one who loves you

Other sections in the book are &uot;Remembering,&uot; &uot;Out-of-Doors,&uot; &uot;Just for Fun,&uot; and &uot;This and That.&uot;

In &uot;Remembering,&uot; Allison has this one:

No Santa Claus

Over the back fence

Crystal Young confirmed to me

there was no Santa Claus.

No news flash, actually.

I’d wondered why, on Christmas Eve,

my father or my Uncle Al

would have to leave,

giving excuses that became,

to my increasingly suspicious ear,

more feeble every year.

Strange that they never could arrange

to both be there to share

the visit from St. Nick.

I was at half-past childhood, anyway;

it did not hurt. I felt all-knowing,

wise, superior. With quick

and eager steps and gleeful pride,

I rushed to share the knowledge

with my sister,

and she cried.

Allison said she also likes to relate stories told to her by others.

&uot;At times I try to get into the heads of others and imagine how they feel.

For example, I am not adopted and have never been an egg donor,&uot; she said.

Adopted

I am blessed

I know beyond all doubt

that I was chosen

wanted

loved

But sometimes when I hear

things said of others

&uot;She has the Murphy eyebrows&uot;

or &uot;He wears his father’s smile&uot;

I find myself wandering new roads

searching faces of strangers

looking for unknown cousins

with upturned noses and golden freckles

Egg donor

They abound

my children

warmed in other wombs

born to other women

They may work medical miracles

inhabit other planets

die for a crime

I will never know

I leave monuments to myself

I will never see

While her book is dedicated to her children and grandchildren, Allison also thanks her sister, Jean Sundberg, &uot;most ardent fan and supporter since childhood.&uot; Sundberg now lives in Cedar Rapids, Iowa.

Although this is Allison’s first book, some of her poetry is contained in anthologies.

&uot;I wish more people would write poetry,&uot; Allison said. &uot;It’s a great outlet and not a lot of supplies are needed.

You can write on napkins, in an address book, memo pad, whatever.

My suspicion is that some do, but shut them away and don’t share them, as I did for a while.

I’m sure there’s a lot of talent out there that doesn’t see the light.&uot;