Only luck and genetics protect us from the “visitation” spoken of in this poem. Some of us “stay sharp” past one hundred years. Some even find good life quality at an advanced age. Consider: Asian American (86 years), White (78), Native (77), African American (75). These stats are quite variable depending on the data source. By this count, I have 7 years left. Shoot! Always thought 80 was my mark. In any case, that final date on the calendar is almost always too close in, although there are tragic exceptions.
But I digress. This post’s poem is about mental incapacity – a death before death, perhaps. I ask forgiveness for giving the speaker greater ability than circumstances and faculties allow; however, what other way is there to delve into the impaired mind but to dive in and swim behind their eyes.
A Visitation
I am not sure now
but I think I know my name
I am not to blame
Furred familiar curled
beside me, head on my knee
a clawed nameless paw
Completely undone
the green grass that once survived
lies flat, lifeless, gone
Unmade durability
What’s the name I’ve called myself?
Not to know – indignity
I hear them name this
“unlucky visitation”
stranger to myself
Unknown to others
I’ll exhale – leave this hour
Now I’ve come to this
So strange to myself
No one comes to see me now
who stands on gallows
Look! Look! Here it comes
What is it disturbs my nights?
Comes. Goes. Comes again.
Look! Look! I depart!
I will vanish now
go without complaint
Brave constant star in black air
So far beyond – incredibly near
Hush now! I will appear
Background
Both my parents had most of the experiences in the visitation spoken of in the poem. Since that time, I’ve lived in an anticipatory, hopeful state of mind. Of all my physical and mental capacities, the one that underlies my personal contentedness is my healthy mental capacity which I have observed has already declined. I am 71 years old, and I realize that in more than one way, aging is a progression of loss – personal loss internally and externally – that is fairly far along for me. Young people are prone to think either, “Oh, that’s so far away”, or “I’m strong – that won’t happen to me”, or “If it happens to me, by then there will be a cure.” And so many other rationalizations. So many emphases on “me.” In short, unless you are Japanese (or to some extent, Asian American), it’s a crap shoot. Well, actually a crap shoot however one looks at it – city buses, skyless aircraft, and cardiac infarctions included.
Exploration 1: Can you identify the poetic form employed in this poem? Actually there are two.
Exploration 2: Have you known someone close to you who experienced the visitation? How did it affect you?
Exploration 3: Do you think there is a way to live in a peaceful state with such a disability as described in this poem?
Comments
Post a Comment