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| to Lilyann Oyugi |
Everything breaks before the clear;
Nothing makes sense before it does;
My friends might leave before they
hear
What could have been – then was.
I'll have to cry while her brother
speaks
About the gift that she had for living
And watch the lens-bending water peak
And feel the heat of its leaving.
I'll have to stand and listen to all
The crack-voiced singers on that stage
And feel their throats pulse against
the wall
And remember when I squeaked, then
raged
That I did not believe my voice enough
To wrap my lips around the word
“hello.”
(that I did not move, while my friend lay snuffed
in a still that would make better I's scream
and glow).
But in this room, where every head
cries,
Where every voice is love-rent and
broken,
There's space for my tremble to fall and rise
Where no one knows what should be
spoken.
3 minutes to 1 – last set, last
song
Squeezed in after I first said, “No, never mind,”
Thinking (how could I play any way but
wrong –
Or they give any smile but a sad-nurse kind?)
I go to the front: “She took my heart
And threw it high when I was sinking
in.”
He checks my strings: it's time to start.
I call to her – and shake the walls. She'd grin.
This poem centers on loss and the healing power of music. The speaker is attending a women’s funeral. He comments on the difficulty and drudgery that comes with death. In line 5 the speaker states, “I’ll have to cry while her brother speaks.” By using the words “have to” he makes the act of crying sound like a chore rather than a natural emotion. The act of mourning is indeed a chore when it comes to death, because it can often be painful and taxing on those who were close to the deceased. In a previous comment you told me that you often use the word “still” as an idiosyncratic phrase to imply death and death-like states, as well as states of loneliness and helplessness. I noticed the use of the phrase in this poem in lines 15-16 when the speaker states “that I did not move, while my friend lay snuffed / in a still that would make better I’s scream and glow.” In this phrase the word still applies not only to the deceased, but the speaker as well as he feels he is trapped in a helpless position. Because death is a state of permanence, there is nothing he can do but sit still and unmoving. The entire room is distraught as “every head cries” (17) and “every voice is love-rent and broken” (18). However, when “no one knows what should be spoken” (20), music is a powerful tool. Sometimes, when words fail music can be a source of comfort. As the speaker walks to the front and tunes his stringed instrument, he notes that if the women were here, “she’d grin” (28). Imagining her grinning adds optimism to an otherwise dreary situation. Imagining her approval not only distracts from the gloomy oppressive presence funerals can sometimes have, but also demonstrates what a powerful healing mechanism music can be.
ReplyDeleteThis is one of those poems that you write for yourself.
DeleteI had forgotten it was here (sometimes, when you write for yourself, you feel like you're whispering in the dark, just for yourself to remember) I suppose.
But I'm glad you found it, and yes: well-read. Friends keep pushing us forward, even after they die.