Visiting the Dead

Patti Smith, in 'A Book of Days,' includes a photo of an angel in a cemetery. She says, 'Visiting the grave of Bertholt Brecht, I always pause to touch her wings.' 

That 'always' makes me wonder about the frequency of her visits … her pilgrimage, one might deduce.

I suppose it's convenient for people to have somewhere to go, to remember and reflect on those who have passed on before us, whether family members and friends or those great figures we have revered. 

I don't much hold with visiting graves, myself. I also don't have much tolerance for funerals. The body, no matter how wonderful it was in life (and they are all wonderful, bodies) is a mere empty shell after the soul has flown. Funerals and graves and urns full of ashes, it seems to me, are really for the living who are  left behind.

I would rather remember my family members by their photos taken when they were warm with life; my friends by their words and actions; the 'towering dead' (as Dylan Thomas called them) by their works which remain to move and inspire us.

your living face 

the timbre of your voice 

indelible –

even after being gone

for years of memories

Note: The Dylan Thomas reference is to his poem, 'In my Craft or Sullen Art.'

In Friday Writings #106, Magaly asks us to include in a piece of writing the full title of a book we're reading or planning to read this December. I have been reading Patti Smith's 'A Book of Days' all year, one day at a time, and am continuing to do so during December.

A Book of Days

In the ancient tomes

(of which few remain)

each new day

was rich with information,

arcane yet practical:

astronomy, religion, agriculture….

My own — when I was young —

held other people’s poems,

wise insights on love and art

(not affirmations, despite

what one cover said)

and space to add my own.

Patti’s a poet, but hers

has a photo a day (she’s

a photographer too)

and words as to why

the people represented

(not always by face) inspire her.

I didn’t set out

to make a book of my own

when I lit on the idea

of writing, for every day

this year, a micropoem —

but they could form a book.

I wonder if I want them to.

I’m creating, in essence,

a daily diary. It might not

have much to offer

other readers. It’s varied,

even whimsical, sometimes dull.

I’m really doing this

to make myself a holiday,

just a small one, every day;

to deflect an old, long grief

I’ve been stirring up

in other writing.

And it’s a way of deferring 

my attention, if briefly, 

from hard decisions

I need to make

and make soon, 

and all their complications.

Meanwhile I turn the pages

Patti has made —

one a day, which I’ll do

for a year. This too

is holiday, but not escape.

She makes one delve deeper.

On (two of) these book covers, my name is crossed out and written again, because I had a different surname when younger.

The micropoems are being shared on my Instagram and facebook profile pages and at my Stones for the River blog.

For Friday Writings #61 at Poets and Storytellers United, Magaly invites us to write something inspired by the first book we read, are reading, or will read this year. As you may have gathered, mine was and is Patti Smith's A Book of Days.