But Soon
I’m writing speeches for my father’s wake,
deciding how I’ll hold my hands and head
while speaking calmly of the newly dead.
Enunciating grief without mistake.
I will not pull away if strangers break
my spine in crushing hugs, attempt to thread
their fingers through my own. I will not dread
their platitudes or pity, and will make
myself a smiling puppet. Casseroles
will bring me solace. I will never cry
in public, nor permit my hands to tremble,
nor fuss when dripping calla lily bowls
leave lasting rings on the piano. I
shall be as still as that man I resemble.
This poem is getting to be pretty ancient, an artefact of my father’s first stroke. What frustrates me about the damned thing isn’t anything in the poem. It’s my inability to do anything else. My father died two years ago, a couple of years after this poem was written, and I have yet to come to terms with that death, emotionally or poetically. I’m still writing speeches for a wake that is long past, deciding how to hold my head instead of deciding how to hold my pen.
I’ve had glimmers of being able to break out of it, but then I slump back into a general malaise. Blaming the dead for my inability to write poetry. Now there’s a mature attitude.
I don’t have writer’s block, I have writer’s don’t wanna. I don’t wanna push past this. I want to be past it, but not to do the work to get there. I think part of me even thinks that it’s disrespectful to my father if I get over it. I don’t know. I’m writing speeches, writing speeches, writing speeches.
Julie – all the best. I hope you do manage to move towards some kind of resolution to this, even if a bit of you wants find resolution and a bit of you doesn’t. The poem is just terrific.
I remember this poem, Julie. If it’s any consolation, it took me over ten years (I won’t say how much over) before I could write poetry after my father died, and I’ve only written one about him (The Youngest Bridles Lily’s Hands, which can be found at http://www3.telus.net/public/raelin/lily/youngest.html) and it has nothing to do with his death.
I don’t know what that’s saying,but it’s saying something anyway.
BTW, any objections to a link from my blog to yours?
Cheers
Rob, I appreciate it. I’ve always liked this poem, I’m just a little annoyed with it right now. It’s nice to see you.
Scavella, so I’m not alone? That makes me feel strangely better, as if I’m not just a freak or something. I’m off to read your poem.
And feel free to link. I’m just getting started with this blogging thing, so I’m unaware of all the possibilities.
Thank you both.
Julie
Heya, Julie. I had to come and read your blog after you posted a comment at Cheesecloth Moon. (and I’ve linked to it, hope that’s ok)
Don’t beat yourself up to much about not being able to write a decent poem for your dad yet. (notice I say “yet”) I’m not so sure we ever really do stop grieving for a loved one, but rather we just learn to handle it better as time goes by.
I’ve been writing poems about my mom’s death, and having my own problems with them. (and it’s funny, I also wrote one about the experiences I had at her wake. (Hmmm, great minds blah blah blah and all, ya know?).
The thing is to just not give up writing. Go back to it infrequently now and then but don’t force yourself to do anything with it. Just read it and think and absorb what you’ve written. Someday something will gel, and if it doesn’t then let it be because then it’s not meant to be. One thing I”m sure you know is that you can’t force poetry to come to you – no way no how. If the words won’t come, then that’s it.
Well, I’m glad you commented over at the Moon because now I can read what you’re writing again and that’s a GOOD thing. I’ve missed not seeing you post anything at PFFA for a very looooong time.
Be well as best you can. My thoughts are with you.
Bests,
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