A Poet’s Lament
I forgot how to write poetry
like I forgot high school French,
shorthand, and fractions
I don’t know the date of the Magna Carta
I don’t remember my old locker number
Forgetting how to write poetry
isn’t like forgetting where I live
It’s more like forgetting
my own phone number
how many two’s
what comes after the four
where to put the dash
Prose has overtaken my poetry
Like nettles in my friend Jayn’s garden
A nourishing enough spring green meal
but what about the peas,
string beans, and basil for pesto
The nettles sting when she pulls them up
It’s easier to leave them alone
Some things I can only say with poetry
I need lines that aren’t sentences
stanzas that aren’t paragraphs
I don’t want to think about punctuation
But I’ve forgotten
like I forget what to buy at the store
because I don’t have a list
like I keep forgetting the name of the actor
who lives in Kingston Massachusetts
who lost his disabled teenage son
and won an Oscar for his role
in American Beauty
I spend too much time thinking
about Emily Dickinson
because I get her confused
with Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Both were reclusive and lived in the 1800’s
but only one was ever married
to a poet
Missing lost poetry
isn’t the same as missing my dead brothers
It’s more like being lost in a city
forgetting where I parked my car
or losing my keys
I don’t know how to make the whole thing go
or make it go away
I’d like to forget cold facts
the image lodged in my mind
deranged lost soul
with vest full of bullets
pointing two pistols
to kill me – or you
projecting self hate onto innocent others
I’d like to forget
what happens next
I’d like to go back
to writing poetry
~ Colleen Redman 4/20/07
April 22nd, 2007 9:44 pm
I’m sure a lot of other people feel your need to go back too.
I know a lot of my co-wokers wish we could go back, It’ll come back to you though.
Very true & great poem Colleen.
Here from Micheles since you got skipped.
April 22nd, 2007 9:45 pm
I don’t think you’d ever really lose your ability to write poetry, Colleen. It seems to be baked into your DNA, which is entirely a lucky thing for us.
April 22nd, 2007 11:11 pm
Very moving piece. Thank you. Oh, how I wish we could go back…to a morning when everything seemed “normal” and not infused with shattered hearts or broken futures, when long-standing grief did not reside in each sunrise and insurmountable confusion did not find us walking in circles, when unfathomable violence did not play like a nightmare in our heads. How did life become so skewed that our children must live with this threat?
Hmmm…Kevin Spacey?
April 22nd, 2007 11:35 pm
Chris Cooper. Homophobic neighbor. Violent shooting suicide. One of the clues I only later noticed as to where the sub-conscious poem journey was leading me.
April 22nd, 2007 11:56 pm
“Missing lost poetry
isn’t the same as missing my dead brothers
It’s more like being lost in a city
forgetting where I parked my car
or losing my keys”
while i only have one brother and he’s alive, i love this stanza. probably because i totally get it. it’s such a familiar sensation, the forgetting of important things in important places… =)
April 23rd, 2007 4:24 am
LOVE LOVE LOVE this Colleen…I see someone already answred the Actor from Mass. question…well it really wasn’t a question…but anyway…This is just absolutely perfect, my dear….And I just saqw what Carmi said and I agree with him 150%. It is in your DNA, Thank The Lord! And we are the lucky recipients!
April 23rd, 2007 5:39 am
(o)
April 23rd, 2007 7:26 am
Everytime I visit you, I am moved. Deeply.
April 23rd, 2007 8:40 am
You didn’t forget….that was great!
April 23rd, 2007 8:51 am
You haven’t forgotten, sweetie, no more than you can forget how to breathe. Carmi is right; “baked into your DNA” is a perfect way to put it.
This was a very powerful piece.
April 23rd, 2007 10:34 am
yes….very powerful! and moving…and what all the other’s said!
i could feel this one……
April 23rd, 2007 11:14 am
I’m sorry you forgot how to write poetry. In the past two years, I’ve forgotten many things. Among them, how to admire poetry. It really doesn’t sing to me like it used to, and I’m not sure I miss it.
April 23rd, 2007 5:13 pm
I noticed you wrote this on Dad’s birthday. And before the shooting on April 16th.
I feel as you do too.
April 23rd, 2007 6:32 pm
She, I wrote it four days after the shooting. I meant to say 4/20 not 3/20. I fixed it.
April 24th, 2007 7:12 pm
you know it’s this sort of thing that makes me write fabulous things about you in my blog.
This is really fantastic and you’re definately right, sometimes it takes a poet to say what others cannot.
April 25th, 2007 7:15 am
I love the whole irony that you say you’ve forgotten how to write poetry from inside such a great poem!
Also love that poet’s answer..to go and live some more. Writing is truly born of experience….pretty difficult to write from a blank slate.