Tuesday, October 6, 2009

A poem

Well, it is always awkward for me to write about myself and self-promote, but I am honored to have my poem I am. Still. featured in the on-line literary magazine Literary Mama. This issue's topic is "Desiring Motherhood," a topic close to so many of our hearts.

Someone asked me about where the poem came from and I usually do not talk about my process for writing, but I thought it might be interesting. And well, this is my blog and it is here for just this sort of thing. This poem I wrote in January, about a month after my daughter died. I had just sort of returned to the hell that is social networking, mainly for the distraction of scr.abble. Because I had decided to keep my profile active, I also had to deal with the aftermath of posting a shitload of status updates about my pregnancy...so, I announced my loss in a note. I got appropriate condolences, but mostly people ignored it and kept playing far.mtown or whatever else they do on that site besides scrab.ble. So, besides my mass email to all friends and family I could think of, I announced Lucy's death to the other people this way. In January, I received an email from one of those old flames in my life that pops up suddenly because you have a fb account. Though our flame has not been lit for a long time, we have had a nice little rapport in which we harmlessly flirt here and there in the midst of talking about our kids, our spouses and our lives. And by flirt, I mean, mostly it is a compliment thrown in between newsy type stuff. At any rate, he sent nothing after the death of my daughter, despite receiving my loss notification in both email and on this site. Then one day, a month after my second daughter died, he just sent me an email like nothing happened.

I was livid.

Maybe it was because we had dated briefly and I felt comfortable telling him off, or maybe I was just in a place where I didn't give a crap. I didn't stop the anger. The email began, "So, do you know who I am now? I am a woman whose daughter died. I listen to the same song over and over. I paint depressing pictures. I wallow. I don't want to flirt. I don't want to hear how beautiful I am. I don't want to make small talk. I just want you to acknowledge my daughter's death. I am not that girl who wore your letter sweater once upon a time. I am an old woman whose daughter died."

He responded with an appropriate condolence. But what I realized is that I really wrote my letter to the world. This poem is one I did not continually tweak for months. I wrote it and let it stew. A few weeks later, I pared it down significantly, and sent it out. There wasn't a great deal of editorial work, like some of my poetry that I have literally edited for a decade. The process of editing my emotions in poetry is incredibly cathartic--it is like dissecting my feelings and cutting them apart into meaningful phrases. It is like painting a beautiful picture with an ugly color, if that makes sense. So, when I am working on a poem, I am less emotional, but more precise about my feelings. More deliberate. In this poem, it was almost as though I had to write these statements and emotions, then get them off my desk.

That is what this poem is about, in case anyone is interested. The other poetry in this issue is beautiful, so please go spread the love around Literary Mama.

20 comments:

  1. It is a very beautiful poem.
    We are changed people now, but a lot of the time no one realises this. Some of my friends seem to think I am just going to slip back into my 'pre pregnancy' life as though Lucy was never even here for nine months. I will never be the person I once was, sometimes I think it's this realisation that makes me the most sad. We can't be the people we were, and we won't be the people we thought we were going to be.

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  2. It really is a gorgeous poem, and I love the story. Not in a happy 'I love it!' way, more in a serious 'I love to hear about the artistic process' way.

    You are a very talented woman Angie.

    Love xx

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  3. Your poem is beautiful. Thank you for sharing the story of how you came to write it.

    It is those relationships that I have found the hardest to handle in the aftermath, those that were 'fun', those relationships that were conducted with a woman who no longer exists. Now I am 'an old woman whose daughter died' as you have written so eloquently.

    xo

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  4. so beautiful and powerful angie. so true and perfect.

    you are inspiring.

    xo

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  5. You have a gift. Thanks for continuing to share it with us.
    xo

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  6. It's lovely, Angie. Beautiful words by a beautiful mama. And I appreciate knowing the background of how it came to be. xo

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  7. An amazing poem. Monumental. It is like when Picasso quickly sketched a goat on a napkin at a restaurant and, when his fan asked him how much it would cost, said $50,000 or something. The fan said, But, it took you like five seconds to draw that goat. And Picasso said no, it took me twenty years.

    I don't know whether that story is true, but there's something true about it. It took you all your living, writing, thinking, loving, and grieving to write that incredibly powerful poem.

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  8. What a wonderful poem and knowing the background story makes it more poignant. Thanks for sharing it with all of us. (((Hugs)))

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  9. Beautiful. Moving. Thought-Provoking. Thank you so very much for sharing it!

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  10. Beautiful. I'm sorry for your loss, but your poem serves as inspiration for everyone that has been down the same road you have.

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  11. The refrain is so powerful:
    I am a woman whose daughter has died.

    Congratulations on Literary Mama--thank you so much for writing this and sharing it.

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  12. Beautiful poem. As I read it, it threw me back to those dark days. But at the end it say "She never loved" I disagree. I think she loved you as only a baby can. Loving her surrounding, loving the body and the sounds that are so familiar. I think your daughter (and my daughter) did love, just as we love them.

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  13. Angie, I just got to know your blog. You are a very good writer. The poem is beautiful and I could have written it if I had your talent. I am a woman whose son has died.
    The story behind the poem is also great. Thanks for sharing.

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  14. Beautiful. Thank you for sharing.

    Mo

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  15. Here from LFCA. Your poem is beautiful and congratulations.

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  16. That is awesome, Angie- really beautiful! Congrats on the publication - that always feels nice. It's great to have these kinds of artistic outlets for the feelings we have leftover after KuKd. Powerful and awesome.

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  17. thanks for sharing that angie. congrats on making it in the magazine. you are truly blessed with a gift for words.
    xo

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