Inspired by "An Amputation," by MargaretG
Tuning in
I felt this poem as I have felt
them all. Its truth recognizes
others who repeatedly had dwelt
with pain. No other enterprises
erase or hope to heal. I dealt
with repetition's compromise
of healing. It should have spelt
end, but remains in silent eyes.
Author notes
Poems of loss and pain can reach us as few things can.
So many kinds of loss: for instance, outlive everybody,
(any kind of repeated loss, helpless abuse or betrayal)
Accumulated pain becomes the sad background colour of life.
Have you seen this in the elderly?
Comments
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I'm only now beginning to understand and become familiar with the effects ongoing pain can have on us. I hope it doesn't cause too much of a sad background of my life.
I imagine myself too optomistic for that to happen but there's days...
Your piece here, compassionate and hopeful, is a wise write, Terry and much appreciated by this reader
Dee
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Thank you Dee, At first, we all think that,
that it will pass, and to some extent it does. When it repeats and again, that is when we discover what grief is. It is the main source of empathy. No one understands how it is as deeply as one who has lived it. No words are needed then, for the feelings connect us, joins within, unlike sympathy where concepts and vicarious knowledge are fuelled by all the right words, "She's taking it well," while they view grief academically. "Lonely old age" is a cliché until it happens... and then it is too late.
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Yes, I have seen this. Grief is an emotion and a process, which moves at a different pace for each person - multiple losses are harder. The world changes too much, as what was good is replaced by something that proves no better, and losses accumulate. Young people do not think about the end of life, and old ones think of nothing else - neither has time to spare.
"No other enterprises erase or hope to heal."
This is a deep poem, worth the time taken to consider it.
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MargaretG, thank you
--for a thoughtful comment; it includes everyone in its truth.
It is strange how soon happy events are forgotten except as a glow, but grief digs in. Losses accumulate, even when leavened by happier times, and we have no control over the hard fact of experience. The thought you quoted exemplifies the futility of overloading to be too busy in order to escape the effects.
I remember an elderly student who sat beside me in my U English class. Time had etched her face into lines of quiet sorrow, old beyond her years. We never spoke of it but I felt its presence, little aware then that the same would be my fate. I loved to see her smile, the transformation into who she might have been, and briefly was.
In the ICU with my second stroke, or the week with pneumonia, or when glare ice on the highway suddenly flung my Bronco to bounce off its roof in a gully, they had their chance to kill me. It was not my time, not even when it would have been a great relief to go. This does not diminish the history. You said, "Young people do not think about the end of life, and old ones think of nothing else." I had better clarify. According to that, I have not yet reached old age, but then, I expect to live to 105.
Pension pays me for breathing!
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Ohhhh...Terry...I read this slowly and it just sung from the depths. This is just wonderful! I truly love this poem. Knowing of pain yet not letting it destroy a life, but it forever lingers behind "silent eyes."
Of course no critique necessary here. All is perfectly constructed with your deft use of enjambments once again taking the reader sailing on flowing currents through your thoughts.
Excellent...alby
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alby, coming from you especially, those words have depth that enhances what was read. Thank you for understanding that eventually such is the lot of anyone who lives longer than expected...already nearly twenty years. . . . but that some carry much hidden grief.
Smiles, Sweetie! They float above all that.
Terry
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You are most welcome. Smiles hide lots of things and heal lots of things.
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