I love the way the lighthouse under construction becomes a metaphor for grief, the way it pulls you apart and then you have to put yourself back together again.
The interweaving of past and present is so beautiful, the way the overheard conversation turns to memories of your mother, the way the memorial plaque on the bench chimes in with another reminder of death, and then the "place" of the inscription becomes the "place" that is "mother". The blurring between memory and hope and dream and dream disappointed, all captured in such a simple phrase: "this feels like a memory".
And I think of the way birds are often psychopomps in poetry, guiding the souls of the dead to an afterlife-- but the robin is always a cheerful bird, bespeaking luck and goodness. The way the Pevensie children trust the robin in The Lion the Witch and the Wardrobe.
My favorite lines, and the hinge of the poem, I think: "She was my first place,
her heartbeat my first surf, the crash of blood through her arteries
In a beautiful poem, this (for me) was the standout line:
"her heartbeat my first surf, the crash of blood through her arteries
my first song."
Joy and grief are inextricably linked. I have described them elsewhere as different faces of the same coin - which is life. Grief can be denied, obscured, buried - even forgotten - but to do so is to hide something which is central to self aware existence, and if we do not acknowledge it, and accept it, our joys are also tarnished.
Each implies the other.
A lighthouse is a marvellous metaphor for all kinds of things. A lighthouse being rebuilt, all the more so. A fabulous subject for Brad to paint.
As for those rocks - liquidly layered, hot squeezed and warped, tilted and fractured...
Thank you so much, David!!! I've been thinking about that so much lately--that our capacity for grief is also our capacity for joy. I always treasure your thoughts! Sending you and Beth love!
We didn't see the storm, but we saw the aftermath. Heartbreaking! And New Harbor too was broken up, chunks of piers and homes washed away and carried off. Oh, it looks better now, but you know that a lot of people are still grieving for what was.
What a beautiful poem. Thank you.
I love the way the lighthouse under construction becomes a metaphor for grief, the way it pulls you apart and then you have to put yourself back together again.
The interweaving of past and present is so beautiful, the way the overheard conversation turns to memories of your mother, the way the memorial plaque on the bench chimes in with another reminder of death, and then the "place" of the inscription becomes the "place" that is "mother". The blurring between memory and hope and dream and dream disappointed, all captured in such a simple phrase: "this feels like a memory".
And I think of the way birds are often psychopomps in poetry, guiding the souls of the dead to an afterlife-- but the robin is always a cheerful bird, bespeaking luck and goodness. The way the Pevensie children trust the robin in The Lion the Witch and the Wardrobe.
My favorite lines, and the hinge of the poem, I think: "She was my first place,
her heartbeat my first surf, the crash of blood through her arteries
my first song."
I deeply enjoyed this, Alex.
In a beautiful poem, this (for me) was the standout line:
"her heartbeat my first surf, the crash of blood through her arteries
my first song."
Joy and grief are inextricably linked. I have described them elsewhere as different faces of the same coin - which is life. Grief can be denied, obscured, buried - even forgotten - but to do so is to hide something which is central to self aware existence, and if we do not acknowledge it, and accept it, our joys are also tarnished.
Each implies the other.
A lighthouse is a marvellous metaphor for all kinds of things. A lighthouse being rebuilt, all the more so. A fabulous subject for Brad to paint.
As for those rocks - liquidly layered, hot squeezed and warped, tilted and fractured...
Delicious!
Best Wishes - Dave :)
Thank you so much, David!!! I've been thinking about that so much lately--that our capacity for grief is also our capacity for joy. I always treasure your thoughts! Sending you and Beth love!
Hi dear Alex
My most concise expression of that thought was back in October, in my post - "The Sadness"
https://davidkirkby.substack.com/p/the-sadness
Love this. Home for me … you should have seen the storm that took down that wall! Thank you for all you share here.
Thank you so much, Michael! We're so honored that you spend time with our work! It always makes us happy to know folks from Maine are reading! :)
We didn't see the storm, but we saw the aftermath. Heartbreaking! And New Harbor too was broken up, chunks of piers and homes washed away and carried off. Oh, it looks better now, but you know that a lot of people are still grieving for what was.
Thanks for this.
Wow, thank you for sharing your witness! Wishing you all the best.
This is a wonderful poem. So poignant. And the painting is stunning. Thank you for sharing the beautiful commentary as well.
Thank you so much, Gianna! We’re so honored you spent time with it, and so happy it resonated with you.
I love how well you've woven vivid imagery with emotional storytelling in this poem!
Thank you so much, Jordan!! <3