In memory of my mother, Marjorie Pizer Holburn, 3rd April 1920 - 4th January 2016

Marjorie Pizer died on the 4th of January 2016. She is sadly missed.

It's impossible in a short time and with my limited time and writing skills to summarise her.  Here is my brief message.  In time I will perhaps add links to other people writing about her.  If you knew her please feel free to add a comment.

My mother was a poet, artist, psychotherapist and a deep thinker. She had many unconventional beliefs, which she held passionately. Politically, she almost always sided with the underdog; and she was troubled by the inequities in our world. She was inspired by the beauty of nature, and loved music, poetry and art of all kinds. She read 2 or 3 books a day, every day, on almost every subject imaginable, until near the end of her life. My mother was a member of all the local libraries; municipal, city and state. Brought up in Melbourne, she lived much of her life in Sydney where she went to the beach and swam nearly every day for forty years of her life.

Marje was one of my best friends for my whole life. I was always much more a scientist and she a poet and writer, our discussions were always wide ranging and broadened both our view points. She was and is a reference point for me for ideas and values. Although in later life I agreed with her ideas less, we always had lively and interesting discussions.

When I think of my mother I picture her surrounded by books and works of art and odd found objects from the beach. Pieces of driftwood, and a vase of fresh cut flowers on the table. We would eat a simple meal together, have a cup of tea and discuss the state of the world. This is how I will remember her.

Marjorie's books can be bought at lulu and apple and amazon.  They are published by Pinchgut Press (me). 

Daniela Torsh's obituary from the Sydney Morning Herald: Poetry Marjorie Pizer's vehicle of optimism and understanding. And her speech.

A memory

When my son comes home late,
He sits on my bed
And tells me about his day.
Someday he will remember this
When I will be no more,
When I have had my say
And gone before.
Then I will not exist
As I am now.
This me will be a memory
Of his when I,
Who now am here alone,
Have gone into oblivion.