Last summer I was on a walk with my daughter, and we were processing her great loss, the loss of her person, the one she still loved. I can't say that I lost a person in the same way she did--still so deeply in love with them. Those are not the kind of relationships you usually see come to an abrupt, and I do mean abrupt, end. We were all in shock, because no one saw it coming. It will take a lifetime to process for us, many more lifetimes for her.
But I was trying to cheer her up, (I'm not good at cheering up, that's for damn sure) and I remembered an old villanelle from my Modern Poetry days, called One Art. My memory was bad, and I thought it was called, The Art of Losing, but it's One Art, by Elizabeth Bishop. (Would that poem cheer you up? I don't think it did her either.)
I started to recite the bits and pieces I remembered, going on and on about losing this and that, and something about a disaster. It didn't so much speak to my daughter, but it was yelling, quite loudly, to me. Later, I looked it up, read it over and over, tried to memorize it.
More months passed, and I forgot about the poem. But then, a few days ago, remembered it again, on another walk, with my husband, trying to recite One Art, still messing it up, still renaming it The Art of Losing.
So, yeah, I made a decision to have that depressing little poem framed and hang it in my new room in the barn. It was the first personal item I decided upon, and it was decided from my heart, not my brain, but now, from this vantage, I see it is the theme since we broke ground on the barn. The perfect first item. Why? Because it's true, and it is begging to be acknowledged, even accepted.
That is where I am at with the barn project: What do I bring into this sacred (yes, the barn is sacred to me) space to express this point in my life?
I love that poem. Years ago there was an exhibition at a photography art gallery. The task was to submit a photo that spoke to the poem. I was shocked to be chosen but it was an incredible experience. As I get older this poem resonates with me more and more.
ReplyDeleteThat's amazing, Teresa. Did you share a photograph? I'd be curious to know what it was. I could share quite a few that I feel would speak to the poem.
DeleteYes, it does resonate more and more. I had originally written this post to include the thought that our lives have many chapters, and several Parts, and Part IV or whatever number it is, surely includes the essentials of this poem. They come "farther and faster."
I didn't end up framing it. I had ordered a frame, and it didn't come, and I took that as a sign that it shouldn't be on the walls. I taped it into the large armoire in the room, to keep it more personal and private. I'll see it whenever I open the doors, and whenever I'm feeling the gut punch of loss, I can read it again.
Hi Linda, you can see it here: https://journeywithadancinghorse.blogspot.com/2012/09/im-famous.html . It was the one on the left.
DeleteHad to smile at the renaming & remembering words. Happens to me too. No offense to the author, but I think your title makes more sense.
ReplyDeleteI had to re-read the poem to understand the message of the last line. Guess I find some poetry hard to interpret. Still not sure I get the point of (Write it!). I assume, because it is hard to admit/say/feel and therefore write that losing a person is like a disaster. If not, they lost me lol.
Your barn remodel is so beautiful! I look forward to seeing how you honor your Cowboy, and what else you bring into your sacred space.
I think you are spot on about that poem. That's how I have always read it. A villanelle is an obsessive style of poetry, so right away you can see that she's obsessing about how to make losing easier on herself. She's saying, look how easy this is to practice. No big deal losing my mother's watch! (It probably is a big deal, though it didn't kill her). I have rewritten the poem for myself several times, and I replace "the joking voice" with my own memory of the loved one gone. For Cowboy, he had this low whinny, and I could easily pick it out from the rest of the herd. It always made me so happy to hear it. So, whatever it is you loved, and lost, there are moments, especially at first, that it feels so painful, but there is no way to escape the process of grief, even with our inevitable "practice."
DeleteFor some reason, reading that poem over and over, obsessing about it, releases some of my sadness. For me, it's a healing poem.
Whew! Makes total sense now. I am not very familiar with styles of poetry. Some of the more common were assigned in school, like Haiku. My friend Google says there are a lot of poetry styles! Now I am curious. Thank you for sharing and enlightening me.
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