Poet's Workshop

photo by Gerry Williams

Poet's Workshop Relections on Birth, Death, and Poetry by Terrie Leigh Relf ©2003 All rights reserved

Perhaps it’s because winter is here, we’ve just passed into a new year, and are about to enter the Chinese/Buddhist year of the Water Goat. Or maybe it’s because I’ve recently lost two friends, one after a surprise diagnosis of Cancer, another quite suddenly, but I find myself shifting gears for this column, find myself in a more contemplative mood, with thoughts of death and dying, and yes, of rebirth and transformation as well.

When I think of poetry on death and rebirth, epitaphs, odes, requiems and dirges, Japanese death poems, chants, pujas (or prayers), and supplications come to mind. But when I’ve experienced a loss, feel angry, sad, or even elated that that a time of my life is behind me, I don’t feel bound to a form. Feelings often defy form, refuse to be catalogued and labeled.

I know that death is part of the life cycle of all living things, and some would say of those things which supposedly lack sentience. A mountain "experiences" the elements. Streams freeze, thaw, flow, often altering their course in the process. Trees shed leaves, lose branches, then quicken once again. Flowers bud, bloom, go to seed, then the process repeats.

When I’m feeling down, I usually just allow myself to feel it, however briefly. When I sense a need to shift, I’ll often load Igor Stravinsky’s "Rite of Spring" or "The Firebird Suite" into my CD player. Music, like poetry, has the power to assert lifeéand to resurrect it!


From personal experience I know that writing poetry can be a powerful experience. An overwhelming one as wellÜWhen I write, and reread what I write, I want to be honest, and I want to see things "as they are", rather than how I’d like them to be. It requires patience, too, something I’m not always that great atéespecially with myself.

Sometimes I’m so busy that I don’t create enough time to reflect, to just be, to do nothing. I ask myself questions, but don’t slow down long enough to hear the responses. That’s why I almost always have a journal or paper and a pen with me.
I’ve kept a journal since I was about eight. For some strange reason that I often regret, I throw out my journals. I think I do this to let go, but when I’m more honest with myself, I realize it’s because I don’t want to be reminded of certain parts of my life, or feelings that I had. On a few occasions, I’ve joined with other women to ritualistically burn our journals in a ceremony of passage.

We need to be kind to ourselves; beginning a poem is an excellent place to begin.

When I started writing this month’s column, I couldn’t stop thinking about my friends. Then it dawned on me: I’d never written a poem about a friend who had died. I don’t believe it’s something I avoided, but I just never felt compelled to do so until now. I’ve written short stories based on friends and family who have died, but never a poem.

Is the process all that different? Perhaps poetry is more personaléwhich is something I never thought I’d say. Poetry doesn’t have to be personal, but when it is, are we, its readers and writers more moved? Can we sense that this is about something that "really" happened? I know I’ve been moved by poems I later learned were based on "fictional events and people". It didn’t lessen the experience; in some cases, I applauded the poets’ ability to make me believe it was realÜ

But didn’t the poet’s own experience inform this? Didn’t they call upon a "real" situation in order to "invent" this one?

For all their supposed proclivities toward confession, many poets would probably not answer this publicly. Privately? Perhaps. It’s not really any of our business, is it? The poem is what it is, and poets don’t sign disclosure agreementsÜ

To be perfectly honest, poets don’t always know where a poem comes froméor this poet doesn’tÜIt’s there on the page, and I don’t know how it got there. I believe it’s mine due to circumstantial evidence (i.e., that’s my handwriting or computer disk). It is said that possession is 9/10 of the law.

A screenwriter friend of mine says that the difference between us is that he keeps his characters on a tight leash; if he doesn’t want them to do/see/feel/say something, then they don’t.

I don’t like leashes, being constrained, being told what to think or feel, how to think or feel it, so I suppose I must be too easy on my characters. Na­ve. Easily persuaded. That’s me. I let my characters have their way. I listen to them and act accordingly, sometimes against myéor some other editor’s--better judgment.

Why? Because it’s more than a little challenging to put just the "right thing" into words. It’s about trust. When we step aside, trust the process, allow the words to come uncensored to the page, they will lead us somewhere. Hopefully, that "somewhere" is a place of honesty, where we can revisit our friends, acknowledge the difference they made in our lives, and as a result, often see them in a fresh way.

In closing, I’d like to share two poems. Jan and Jim, I’ve felt you looking over my shoulderÜThese are for you!

red
to Jan, who died suddenly on December 19, 2002


I see your red toe nails
freshly painted
as you take command of the mall
swinging a bag of
9 West shoes
four pairs
on sale

you had a thing for shoes
stockingless feet
open minds
and laughter
that still resonates

yes
I heard you
yes
I saw you

as a poem already
taking form
still defying formlessness
the last time we spoke
in dreamtime

bathed in pearl grey sleep
all I see
is the lightening flash
of red toes
dancing

you called me
For James B. Baker


I can’t sleep for thinking about you
far beyond the clichƒ of time and space
your journey continues
in the air I breathe
even the inky sky with which I
pen this poem
now
that the moon madness
is upon me
and I’m sitting here
by an open window
wondering if you’re
riding the tail end of
this Santa Ana wind
as sentient stardust
emissary of
panspermia
your espersense*
transcendent
my mind filled with
a multiverse of worlds
where trees speak
and oceans call us by name




*AKA "esperense" or "ESPERENSE", James B. Baker, former publisher of Promartian.com, created this neologism to represent, among other things, the connectedness of all things. It is also closely related to ESP. Visit http://www.samsdotpublishing.com for more information.

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