Tuesday, January 06, 2009
Happy Birthday, Mr. Monkey Man!!!
January 5, 2009
Yes, another few words about Scott.
It is, or would have been, his 41st birthday tomorrow!
January 6, 1968
Borrowing from his original post,
YOU'LL HAVE TO LOAN ME PAIN--
Wednesday, May 17, 2006, with a few memories and recollections
about Scott and our Mom, Nadine, who we also lost to Cancer.
You are both loved. You are both missed.
I will love both of you forever and miss you infinitely as long.
You'll Have To Loan Me Pain" - life, death, love
A gentle memory and recollection, borrowed from Scott's blog.
Wednesday, May 17, 2006
5.17.06, You'll Have to Loan Me Pain...
Here is the following poem I promised, the poem following the
Creeley one (from last post)--in my convoluted mind.
From e.e. cummings' book No Thanks. Wonderfully titled, cummings being too
much before his time had the manuscript rejected
by Farrar & Rinehart, Simon & Schuster, ... Knopf, Dutton, Harper's, Scribner's,
and many, many others.
So the title is "No Thanks" and you open the books to see
"To: Farrar & Rinehart,..." and all the other myopic editors and their employers.
The poem here, "66" it might be called, or first lined
"death (having lost) put on his universe" staggers me; and I suppose some who choose to do so can read it as a wager,
with death and love, and opening with the punch line.
(This was the primary poem that inspired me in eulogizing
my nephew Daniel Ray Luna who, talk about dumb luck, died before he started at 23--
just about one year ago. An aside.)
If it's a wager, here metaphorically death loses. In our waking wish fulfillment.
death(having lost)put on his universe
and yawned:it looks like rain
(they've played for timelessness
with chips of when)
that's yours;i guess
you'll have to loan me pain
to take the hearse,
see you again.
Love (having found) would up such pretty toys
as themselves could not know:
the earth tinily whirls;
while daisies grow
(and boys and girls
have whispered thus and so)
and boys with girls
to bed will go,
(Complete Poems, 1904-1962)
That, my friends, is a poem! Love and death in the lost and found;
or, the wager between the two; what boys and girls will do, though "boys" and "girls"
must be taken openly, inclusively here.
(We'd lose half my family if not... ;-) )
Enough from me. I'm off to lie on the table, and slide up and down--
"Breath in" [PAUSE]....."Hold your breath"...[PAUSE] ...
"You may now let out your breath"....[PAUSE, NOISE] "Breath in"..[PAUSE] ...
"Hold your breath"...., belly filled with two quarts of the barium juice.
And for those who haven't done it,
don't believe the comments, the barium drink is pretty much as good/bad tasting
as pep-to or mylanta or any other chalky drink.
It's a cake walk.
Too early to evaluate the day, but I'll say Franky Scale, 8,
you get at least 8 points just for the cummings' poem.
--- Mr. Jones, aka Scott
It is the beginning of a new year (2009) and a new month
(January) and the Anniversary of Scott’s death, is just over 2 weeks and two years old.
Since that time, other people whom I love and care about, whom we love and care for,
have passed away or had someone dear to them pass away.
Which is to say, we all have experienced sorrow and loss.
We stand as a unified community of feeling and experience.
I didn't use to think about death much; hardly at all.
That ended the day my 23 year old nephew, Dan, was found dead,
for not fully explained reasons, on February 25, 2005.
And so began (at least for me) a number of deaths and losses that continue to haunt me.
Learning to live with the knowledge that the older I become the more people I will lose
and miss (and the increased experiences I will have dealing and coping with death)
and the angst and pain that is sure to follow.
This is demonstrated and expressed, written with such poetic perfection
and insight by the brilliant ee cummings in his poem cited above.
Yes, I ponder more, give pause on how love affects life and death,
how they compare, contrast and intertwine with one another.
At the end of the stanza about death, cummings puts a period (.)
perhaps to symbolize that death is final. The end.
However, he puts a comma at the end of the stanza about love,
hopefully symbolizing that love lives on--
That there is no end.
This is what I believe;
That we continue to love, to live, to ponder and relate to one another,
always. Infinite in its power--love supersedes all.
I have no idea what prompted me to read this particular post from Scott's blog
or remember this particular poem. If Scott was alive, he would be turning
the BIG 41 tomorrow, January 6.
Wow, that would have been one hell of a party and celebration.
But instead of focusing and reflecting on my gratiude for his birth and life,
I am reminded that Scott’s funeral took place two years ago, on January 6, 2006,
on his birthday. *Huge Sigh*
I spoke that day (poorly, oblivious and shaken)
with our Mom, who 2 months earlier was helping Scott move into a new apartment,
was dying at the Huntsman Cancer Center, too weak to attend her son’s funeral.
She was heartbroken. She died seven days after Scott’s funeral, January 13, 2007.
That, I’m sure, is what brought me to his blog and this particular post today.
Honestly, the shock and pain of losing my two favorite people so close together
knocked me over like the thud of a giant 4” x 4”. It was debilitating and unreal.
I have been thinking of Scott quite a bit lately, he’s in my dreams and he’s here while I’m awake.
I miss him. I miss his beautiful mind. I miss the conversations
that prompt and beg me to think--
I miss him being around; always available to laugh with, to read something new he wrote, and more,
the constancy and comfort he brought to my life.
And my Mom--how does one express and articulate the loss of your Mother?
She laughed and cried with me. While I was growing up, she read to me every single night before
I went to sleep. She was an incredible woman- she not only taught me about life,
she was my life.
Anything really worthwhile about me comes from the influence and love
from my Mother and brother. Scott and Nade. Two Little jewels.
So, for whatever reason, I am passing this along for anyone who may be feeling similarly,
whether about Scott or anyone they miss (have loved and lost).
Perhaps this particular post struck me because Scott sounds so alive; vibrant, excited,
brimming with ideas and passion! I can see and hear him saying,
“That my friends is a poem!” Grinning from ear to ear.
Even, and in spite of, facing death, Scott came to his crossroads,
his challenge, and jumped full in!
Continuing to live as bravely, as gracefully, and as determined as before.
Maybe, too, because I am facing my own crossroads; my own "leap of faith,"
during a time in my life when I’m experiencing changes, and another type of loss.
Pathetic and puny in comparison to what Scott faced,
but real and challenging, nonetheless.
Life and time are precious and priceless. I am grateful for and indebted to each of you.
You are a gift I will always be thankful for. I truly hope this finds all of you well.
The following is a poem I wrote.
I'm sharing it, knowing that most, if not all of you write
far superior to me.
But hey, I enjoy it and I'm learning as I write more.
Concrete blogs, gods, and dilemmas
that foster, breed chaos
(they) are not straight, forward
responds to fused relations,
dilemmas, of choice-
then of pain.
it is then, when,
stillness strains, with questions hushed,
the imagination stutters,
narrowing the creation, the poetic-
the pipe dream of future, nullified,
academic, robotic responses (taken to heart)
“don’t take [ it ] so hard ... “
these sentiments echoing
in my brain,
bang against my ears,
stab and creep into my tatered heart.
creating fragments, tiny pieces, “of what?”
the arteries have hardened, (like concrete)
cracks, fissures, splitting-
upon the shaken ground.
“no, nothing is simple .... “
the humanness of dilemmas, connecting,
lie beyond that which is attainable,
even in fantasy
even in thought.
there is no (one) to embrace
and everything (is) more shallow,
empty and complex
than ever before.
‘no,’ like him, "i cannot shake this world .... “
-- Sheri Swaner
"So, I get myself up, brush myself off- and start all over again."
Happy Birthday, Monkey Boy!
Between Here And Gone by Mary Chapin Carpenter
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