Friday, March 6, 2020

Wild Fridays #9: I Wish I'd Written This


I Dreamed Again

I dreamed again you were alive, and woke
certain   it was your voice
love is whisky, it is milk,
it is water   don't ever, you said in the dream,
think I've gone

I woke a little more, a moment or two,
then remembered. Memory makes it so. Keeps you
under the trees.

So I did not turn on the lamp
but lay until I felt again your warmth with mine
heard your voice in my hair

I lay there a long time,
forgetting

By Anne Michaels
from All We Saw (London, Bloomsbury, 2017)


This poem came into my email inbox a couple of Aprils ago, courtesy of Knopf Poem A Day, which anyone can subscribe to in order to receive poems daily during April (which is poetry month in the USA and has become so by extension in many other parts of the world – at least online). It’s a nice thing to have happen … and this is one of a number of those poems which has stayed with me. Sometimes Knopf offers free downloadable broadsheets too (see below).

I have since discovered, via Wikipedia and other sources, that this Canadian poet is also an acclaimed, prize-winning fiction and non-fiction writer, best known for the novel Fugitive Pieces, which was made into a film.

It’s not very surprising I should be touched by this poem, and the simple beauty with which it unfolds. I was widowed seven and a half years ago – can’t believe so much time has passed already.  There are still no days when I don’t think of him, though by now more fondly than sorrowfully. 

I know I’m blessed to have had a happy, loving marriage. That very thing probably makes the journey of grief harder at first. 

I’m not the only one. Even just in the online poetry community (this and other branches of it to which I’ve found my way) there are people who have been through it, or are going through it right now: navigating the loss and grief, and working out how to make a life for themselves on their own. 

Poems like this, from others who have made that journey, can help. We all make it alone, but some parts of each singular experience resemble each other’s, in mood if not in detail.

I never had that exact dream which Anne Michaels recounts, but I have had many others from which I woke in that same mood, and did as she describes, trying to hold on a while longer to the memory / the illusion.

Wonderful use of that final word, ‘forgetting’! For it is the reality, the now, which she allows herself to forget – for that while, and conscious all along, in the background, that that is what she’s doing ... choosing to do.







Material shared in this post is presented for study and review. Poems, photos, and other writings and images remain the property of the copyright owners, usually the authors.

This photograph of Anne Michaels by Dan Harasymchuk, taken at the Eden Mills Writers Festival 2013, is made available for free use under the Creative Commons licence CC BY-SA 4.0


The broadside is available for download here.

18 comments:

  1. Than k you so much for sharing this poem, Rosemary. The words that stood out for me, thinking about those I have lost, are: 'Memory makes it so. Keeps you
    under the trees.'

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  2. It's a great poem indeed, and a reassuring choice, Rosemary, wonderfully amplified by your comments. But neither this poems, others like it, or even your reassuring experience helps me. Every time I try to imagine outliving My Beloved Sandra, I crumble, knowing I don't have what it takes. She's well more than just half of me.

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    1. I didn't say my experience wasn't hard!

      The price of love, however.

      I hope it may be long before you (or your Beloved) face that situation.

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  3. Thanks for sharing this, Rosemary. Many people I know are going through this, and the rest are in the waiting room.

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    Replies
    1. As I said to Ron., it's the price of love – a heavy price, yet worth the cost

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  4. Rosemary, this such a sorrowful,but beautiful poem find, in your mail box. I have been told Mother Nature has given us life to outlive our pets in order for us to take care of them all their lives. Perhaps humans are set for the woman to outlive her man for similar reasons.
    ..

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    Replies
    1. Oh what a lovely thought, Jim, about the pets – and perhaps also what you suggest, as it does seem to happen more often that way.

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  5. This is by far the most heartfelt poem I have ever read, Rosemary! I am in absolute awe of the simplicity of language and depth of emotion that Anne Michaels portrays. Thank you so much for sharing!💝

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    1. You nailed it, Sanaa – 'simplicity of language and depth of emotion'. Yes, exactly.

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  6. I've always thought that grief, like so many other pains, is less difficult to deal with when share. This poems--and your commentary--reminds those of us who have lost, that it is okay to hurt, that we are not alone, that things will get less devastating... eventually.

    Thank you for sharing, Rosemary.

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    Replies
    1. And this is why I chose this piece, to reach out and say exactly that to those experiencing grief – whether new or old. (It never really goes away, but in time becomes something one can live with.)

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  7. This poem touched my heart. My husband has been gone for 40 years, and yet on occasion I dream of him so clearly. It is amazing the memories we have stored in the attics of our brains. Thank you for sharing, Rosemary.

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    1. 40 years is a long time! And yet, I still say that we who have such happy memories and lasting loves are blessed.

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  8. thank you for sharing this beautiful poem.
    i have been through this. time eases the pain, but sometimes out of the blue, the grief comes back. a face, a voice, a dress. it turns your head. yes, sometimes a dream.

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    Replies
    1. Ah yes, I have often seen my dead husband in the street – only to realise next minute it's someone else. This also happens with friends who have passed.

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  9. The price of loving so fondly is grieving in equal measure at separation. But that shouldn't stop us from loving as deeply and well as we can.

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