The Art of Losing: Poems of Grief and Healing - a book review

The first day after a death, the new absence

Is always the same; we should be careful

Of each other, we should be kind

While there is still time.

Philip Larkin

After the funeral (Carol Browne, flickr creative commons)

Death has been on my mind lately. Two of my aunts have died this year, my sister's mother-in-law is at death's door, and my own mother isn't doing that well. Pneumonia season is on the way and my mother has had pneumonia at least once each of the past three years.  Pneumonia is so associated with aging that some people call it the "old person's friend," not because it's actually a friend, but because it's always around. Why are old people so susceptible to pneumonia? There are many reasons, which this article in Slate does a great job of explaining. Even though my mom is 78 and has multiple health problems, I'm not ready for her to go. Most caregivers for aging parents are aware - or should be aware - that each visit, each year, each hospitalization might be the last. That's where Kevin Young's wonderful book comes in.

Kevin Young, an accomplished poet himself, has put together a moving book of poetry about grief and loss. The selections in The Art of Losing include many well known poems, but just as many poems that I wasn't familiar with. All of the poems, whether they speak of the raw anguish of fresh grief or the memories of long-lost loved ones, are comforting. Quoting bits of poems seems pointless to me, so I'll include two shorter poems I loved that speak to different sorts of grief. 

 

Comfort (flickr creative commons)

 

 Mourners

Ted Kooser

 

After the funeral, the mourners gather

under the rustling churchyard maples

and talk softly, like clusters of leaves.

White shirt cuffs and collars flash in the shade:

highlights on deep green water.

They came this afternoon to say goodbye,

but now they keep saying hello and hello,

peering into each other's faces,

slow to let go of each other's hands. 

 

Clifton and Mom in their 30s (personal collection)

 

 "oh antic God"

Lucille Clifton

 

oh antic God

return to me

my mother in her thirties

leaned across the front porch

the huge pillow of her breasts

pressing against the rail

summoning me in for bed.

 

I am almost the dead woman's age times two.

 

I can barely recall her song

the scent of her hands

though her wild hair scratches my dreams

at night.     return to me, oh Lord of then

and now, my mother's calling,

her young voice humming my name.

 

The Art of Losing is the kind of book you should keep on your bedside table and dip into as you need to. The book is filled with solace and insight and, yes, joy - the joy of life that goes on and the joyous memories of those who have gone before. Many caregivers, including myself, also deal with grief for the loss of their parent(s) as they knew them. This is particularly true for those of us whose parents have dementia. There is a great deal of grieving that goes on around dementia.  I said that I wouldn't quote bits of poems, but "Alzheimer's" by Bob Hicok has some beautiful lines that are appropriate to the grief of caring for a parent with dementia. In this poem, Hicok documents the losses associated with dementia and ends on a joyful note, celebrating one of his mother's lucid moments. Reading these lines: "When she sometimes looks up and says my name, the sound arriving/like the trill of a bird so rare/it's rumored no longer to exist," made be cry - a good kind of crying. Then, there's anticipatory grief. It may not be our constant friend, but it is a frequent visitor: whenever a parent/spouse takes a turn for the worse. Young's book is a comfort for that kind of grief too. Obviously, I loved this book. If you like poetry and you're over 50 - or younger and facing caring for someone - you should buy this book. You won't regret it. 

 As usual, I'd like to leave you with a song. This one is a classic. Gloomy and sad - yes - but I think it's also a joyful kind of sad that allows us to grieve and we live in a culture that doesn't value grieving. This version features one of my favorite singers - Iris DeMent.