odd how death refuses to make itself understandable. How one moment there is the spark, the next it is gone and once having seen it leave, it is unforgettable.
Selkie, I remember vividly, many years ago, watching my cat, a cat I had had for more than fifteen years, slip away. She was on the bed, I was next to her, my hand lightly on her ribcage as she struggled to take very shallow breaths, I could feel her very faint heartbeat, and then, there was none. That memory has forever remained engrained in my mind. Life one minute. Then, the last breath, the last heartbeat. Unforgettable is the right word.
This poem, when read, is a bell tolling, each line or stanza, a toll in the pure clean air of regret slipped from grasp, of the things not said, forever lost, forever gone. If you have a child, tell them you love them today. Don't just think it. Tell them. Otherwise, they may write about you some day. :-D
Been four years, and of course, all the years before that. The feeling never fades, never lessens, never not lurks in the background like a puzzle missing a piece, a shoe untied, a shutter unhinged. But imagine all these things are in a place you can't reach, can't change, can't alter. That is the feeling. That is this poem. Sigh.
So very, very moving, this poem is profound in both artistry and command, very, very emotive. That's two very, verys which should give you an inkling of how far as reader, just as reader, this poem is considered special. That it is a very personal poem, read in the words, to the author, you, raises appreciation still further. So much so, an hour later, I am still wondering what I could possibly say that would convey the extent. I love how you have begun this poem capturing so completely the strangeness of a process that at the same time is a part of life and that we circulate in the vicinity of, sometimes closer, finally ours. We hear it said and observe time and again that the expression holds true that eyes are a window to the soul. But it is a queer experience to look into eyes and see nothing there. Acceptable in death, but the passage brought memories of looking into eyes that were living, but absent, of looking into them and not being able to find the person to whom they belonged. And so although we may think of ourselves as hearts and as souls, without the mind, they are lost. Hmmm, must ponder that a little more before I stand wholly by it. a still stagnant pool, a matchless description.
Since you comment upon the subject outside of the poem, I hope it is okay to respond a little. This part will always be missing as it always was, there is no changing it and regret will remain, but as you have written here, it has given you a greater awareness than you might otherwise have had of how influential your words and actions are as a father and your son, and daughters, will balance the scales somewhat, by gaining what you missed. This is the only appeasement (solace, restoration), but it is a blessed one. Secondly, you have a tremendous amount of special qualities, your compassion and understanding, your sensitivity and appreciation of life and love and nature (...), everything you are today came from every you of yesterday, and so although this thought can be nothing but sad, can bring forth a flood of regret, there are some other thoughts that can be incorporated and perhaps in doing so, as time passes and you watch your own children grow knowing that you have loved them openly and completely, it may get a little easier.
Very, very special poem, I didn't think I would get beyond wow. Not sure really that I have. :-)
I don't understand death. Logically I know what it is but I never can get my head around where the person I love goes.
It's a very odd feeling when you see the life and soul disappear. The unbelievable saddness, the sense of unfairness and the small glimmer of closure that forces an odd sense of tranquility.... xx
How does a thing end
11 comments:
odd how death refuses to make itself understandable. How one moment there is the spark, the next it is gone and once having seen it leave, it is unforgettable.
Splendid image, Trée…. Your texts are always also moving.
And as you evoke silence, then I will not say any more….
My thoughts are near you!
Selkie, I remember vividly, many years ago, watching my cat, a cat I had had for more than fifteen years, slip away. She was on the bed, I was next to her, my hand lightly on her ribcage as she struggled to take very shallow breaths, I could feel her very faint heartbeat, and then, there was none. That memory has forever remained engrained in my mind. Life one minute. Then, the last breath, the last heartbeat. Unforgettable is the right word.
Thank you Pierre. Nice to see you stopping by. Your kind words are always most welcomed. :-)
This poem, when read, is a bell tolling, each line or stanza, a toll in the pure clean air of regret slipped from grasp, of the things not said, forever lost, forever gone. If you have a child, tell them you love them today. Don't just think it. Tell them. Otherwise, they may write about you some day. :-D
Been four years, and of course, all the years before that. The feeling never fades, never lessens, never not lurks in the background like a puzzle missing a piece, a shoe untied, a shutter unhinged. But imagine all these things are in a place you can't reach, can't change, can't alter. That is the feeling. That is this poem. Sigh.
The image, btw, is two sets of eyes looking at each other across eternity. Father/Son.
So very, very moving, this poem is profound in both artistry and command, very, very emotive. That's two very, verys which should give you an inkling of how far as reader, just as reader, this poem is considered special. That it is a very personal poem, read in the words, to the author, you, raises appreciation still further. So much so, an hour later, I am still wondering what I could possibly say that would convey the extent. I love how you have begun this poem capturing so completely the strangeness of a process that at the same time is a part of life and that we circulate in the vicinity of, sometimes closer, finally ours. We hear it said and observe time and again that the expression holds true that eyes are a window to the soul. But it is a queer experience to look into eyes and see nothing there. Acceptable in death, but the passage brought memories of looking into eyes that were living, but absent, of looking into them and not being able to find the person to whom they belonged. And so although we may think of ourselves as hearts and as souls, without the mind, they are lost. Hmmm, must ponder that a little more before I stand wholly by it. a still stagnant pool, a matchless description.
Since you comment upon the subject outside of the poem, I hope it is okay to respond a little. This part will always be missing as it always was, there is no changing it and regret will remain, but as you have written here, it has given you a greater awareness than you might otherwise have had of how influential your words and actions are as a father and your son, and daughters, will balance the scales somewhat, by gaining what you missed. This is the only appeasement (solace, restoration), but it is a blessed one. Secondly, you have a tremendous amount of special qualities, your compassion and understanding, your sensitivity and appreciation of life and love and nature (...), everything you are today came from every you of yesterday, and so although this thought can be nothing but sad, can bring forth a flood of regret, there are some other thoughts that can be incorporated and perhaps in doing so, as time passes and you watch your own children grow knowing that you have loved them openly and completely, it may get a little easier.
Very, very special poem, I didn't think I would get beyond wow. Not sure really that I have. :-)
I don't understand death. Logically I know what it is but I never can get my head around where the person I love goes.
It's a very odd feeling when you see the life and soul disappear. The unbelievable saddness, the sense of unfairness and the small glimmer of closure that forces an odd sense of tranquility.... xx
Elise, they go deep into your heart, or at least I'd like to thing. :-)
Ms Storm, thank you. Your comments warm me like a blanket on a cold day.
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