After five posts on the theme of flight, we are moving on to a root topic, perhaps not apropos to the holiday season, but a theme that is always with us none the less: Death. I will be as gentle and “positive” as I can be, dealing with death with a happy ending (yes, it’s possible!), the end of the year, the end of a bad stretch. I won’t promise not to venture into the conventional definition of death. That said, I will no doubt throw in a zinger or two, so read this introductory section of the posts to determine whether you want to read farther.
This is one of my own poems. I have started to write more lately. That always happens come winter when the crystalline world pumps up my creative “maple sap.” So, without any delay, here you are: “Any Dead Woman Can Tell You,” the first post on the theme of death and the dead.
For Dr. Bob, 2022
Any Dead Woman Can Tell You
Any dead woman can tell you
it’s not easy to crawl back over the bar
one side all marigolds and lullabies
one side chrysanthemums and requiems
The Boatman’s calloused hand brushes her cheek
a benediction from the river’s dominion
Death’s stone finger points in no direction
The song sticks in his stone throat
He does not speak
His tongue ripples a Desolation Sound
The waterfall’s chatter crushes her bones
with the cataract’s blade drawn out of the stone
A dead woman’s essence crosses the bridge between
Wisdom dwells without knowing yellow, blue, or green
she sheds her colors, but the red trees don’t grieve
The Boatman’s ferry nods fore and aft
just so, the bar blocks the road back
Yet somewhere between the boat and the bar
another is speaking not near but not far
This One calls for others who flit, fuss and fret
while she unravels the spun-again gold of her net
Another calls, “Cover the corpse.”
“Ending isn’t an option.” His voice again.
That smooth potent voice in the dark
his hand hovers over her idled heart
Another advises, “We should stop now.”
“No,” says the first as he wipes her brow
The shine of his strength now incredibly near
Calm with shadowy secrets – his voice in her ears
“It is alright. You will stay here.”
“Am I going? she whispers her question
to death, false companion, hollow as glass
with its bar and its bridge that she has already passed
somewhere and nowhere and in between
Wind in the weeds, now at the unyielding bar
She scrambles over quitting the arctic star
Sly Boatman dips and poles his vessel away
As he fades, he chuckles and calls out, “You know you can’t stay.”
“I am come,” she says. “Is it not so?”
She hushes the voice of the obsidian crow
Background
Now that you’ve read the poem, “Any Dead Woman Can Tell You,” perhaps you’ve come away with your own interpretation, even a poetic meaning. I hope so. I like to remember that once poetry is released to the world – be it to one person or to a million – the poem no longer belongs to the poet; it belongs to everyone and becomes part of all poetry – all songs.
I once wrote an epigraph for an epic poem that applies here, and I hope expresses the nature of the poetic effort:
Symphonies flood the oceans . . .
. . . a whale song originates in one ocean and is heard by whales in all oceans, who pick up the song, add to its splendor, then voice their own sounds that resonate around the planet. Waves of whale song rumbling in the oceans.
Is it not so. . .?
Exploration 1: Have you, or someone you know had a near-death experience? Describe and comment.
Exploration 2: What is the story and meaning of this poem? There are many big hints if you need to read it a second time.
Exploration 3: By way of instinct, research, or both, ferret out the allusions in these two lines.
His tongue ripples a Desolation Sound
The waterfall’s chatter crushes her bones
ReplyDelete1. I’ve only read about near death experiences. They are portentous and controversial.
2. This poem I think is about someone having a near death experience, perhaps in a hospital. The ferryman is ready to carry the spirit to the land across the river. But someone from this side pulls the spirit back. Stay tuned for more.
3. There is a Desolation Sound on the coast of British Columbia. The discoverer, George Vancouver, said of it, “there was not a single prospect that was pleasing to the eye”. He might have been having a NDE that day.
There’s a waterfall or καταράχτης at the mouth of the River Styx.