Thursday, May 9, 2013

Her Dying: A Review

In her dying, there is no poetry.
No pretty words to honey the hemlock.
No form to give grace or soft artistry

to the rattle and rasp of the lungs locked
leaden in the brittle cage of her chest.
Shallow, unmetered breaths the pen forgot

to flesh.  But, really, what did I expect?
Barren brevity and brutal endings
are the kinds of work the Author does best.

A rough Terza Rima for Form for All at dVerse.

21 comments:

Brian Miller said...

mmm...made me think back on when my mother in law died...it rocked me pretty good...and i probably could not have written about it in the moment...you give her poetry though even when she cant find it...you know...brutal endings, maybe that is a little like writer karma eh? smiles.

rowantaw.com said...

Sometimes we just can't soften things, and we just have to face what is there before us, and that is so often the case with death.

Semaphore said...

Something so emotionally raw in this narrative. What did you say? "Barren brevity and brutal endings" - exactly that. Well played.

Truedessa said...

painful and raw makes one pause to feel the emotion of loss.

Charles Miller said...

Lovely, simply lovely. You have taken Brutal reality And forged it into music.

Claudia said...

the dying of a poet...somehow the verse reminded me of sylvia plath...so many poets died so brutal indeed...ugh... i wanna go peacefully one day...so i have to work on my endings...smiles

Björn said...

It reads very well, and the end I think sum up very well ;-)

Steve King said...

Very nice job within the form...a brutal Author indeed, but you've given a brilliant curtain line.

Sioux said...

It's been decades and decades since I read Dante's "Inferno." Now my education has been furthered...

(Hey, Shay seriously dissed you on a comment she left on my blog. It was cold--what she said. ;)

hedgewitch said...

Playing a fiddle of bones while everything goes up in flames, you have to try to find a few notes of the old melody, however jarring, just to keep yourself breathing. This is stark, vital and true, and why I prefer to think there *is* no Author. Shit just is.

Mary said...

So agree...in dying there is no poetry. Death is just death is just death.

Lorraine said...

death is brutal we all have to live it, but what comes after is what we all wonder about: SOUL LIVING, none of us will ever die, 'cause the Soul is unbreakable

Kerry O'Connor said...

And the role of author of poet is to tell it like it is, in all its brutal beauty.

rumoursofrhyme said...

No punches pulled here, MZ; this is brutal, raw and honest, lightened only slightly by the musicality of the terza rima form.

Grandmother said...

Life and death- it just is and we look it in the face and make our peace with it and describe it to those who can't. You've done that- brava.

Other Mary said...

Watching someone die is hard. There is a helplessness that is so frustrating. And perhaps worse if there isn't brevity in the ending.

Gail said...

Well done

vivinfrance said...

It's nigh on impossible to write about such a deeply emotional event, but you have achieved it impeccably.

hyperCRYPTICal said...

A most beautiful and thoughtful write on the brutal finality of death MZ.

Anna

Fireblossom said...

No poetry at all in struggling for breath. Sometimes it seems like the Author churns out some real crap.

Manicddaily said...

Wonderfully done. K.