No, I don't have any immediate plans for a big move.
When I wrote this one, I was beginning to think about the time when downsizing would be the practical thing to do. I looked around at all the things I had accumulated over the years, and it seemed an impossible task.
It still does.
It's really hard to turn loose of things ... I have trouble seeing them as being only "things" ... because they stir so many memories.
I'm actually making the effort now to turn loose of some items ... to use up others ... to give some away. It's still not easy, but I'm trying.
When I wrote the poem, I tried to take a light-hearted look at this dilemma which faces so many people.
Still, after one reading before a small group, one listener told me that she liked the poem, but found the ending a real downer. She thought I was referring to someting very dark there ... death.
That hadn't occurred to me ... in fact, was furthest from my thoughts. I was actually thinking of Hawaii, a place I've never been, but wouldn't mind seeing someday.
Meanwhile, back to the shredder.
BEFORE I GALLOP
The time has come,
in this hunkered down,
bunkered up life
of mine, to start
turning loose of all
those precious papers,
stacks of things
left unread,
undone, untouched
these many years,
to end each day
with less than I had
at the beginning,
to divest, to shed,
to shred, to trash
all those dear things
that I can't take
with me, whether
I simply move
to more fitting
local quarters, or go
the whole route,
whisking away
my tell-tale tracks,
then galloping off
toward some
distant paradise.
© 1999
(originally published in Midwest Poetry Review)
***
Today's word: furthest
Afterthoughts ... in response to your comments:
I think you've hit the nail right on the head, Magran. There are times when climbing to ... and from ... the various levels of Brimm Manor can be quite a chore ... and I long for a place that's all on one level ... but this is home. I seem to belong here, so much more than to some place out there ... one of those unknowns you indicate.
Thank you, Hechan, for that good advice. I can't imagine the trauma of having everything swept away by a hurricane ... and I really admire the courage of considering it a chance to start over. And here I am, trying to turn loose, voluntarily, of all these things which have little individual value ... if any ... but finding it difficult to do that.
And thank you, Featheredpines, for that additional perspective. I identify with your love of books and photos ... and I find them particularly difficult to part with. I think it's almost in my genes. One of my earliest memories is of my grandfather ... with a handful of bent nails, freshly removed from an old piece of lumber. He took a hammer, placed each nail on a solid surface, tapped it gently back into shape, and stored them all in a coffee can ... ready for that day when he knew he'd need them again. I'm sure he threw things away ... but my memory is that he saved things ... everything ... and I know ... now ... it's hard to break the habit.
3 comments:
I think that the unread, undone, untouched "stacks of stuff" might be our excuses for not going the distance to those places unknown. (all subconscious of course)
I do think Magran hit it just right. I do like my "things," though. After Hurricane Andrew and all was blown away I was almost glad I could start at the Land of Beginning Again, but now I have as many things as before. I didn't mean to downsize so drastically, but it's nice to be able to just lock the door on the condo and go for as long as I like and not give it a second thougt. You and Phyllis might like it...but never would you like the moving...not choosing just what to keep and what to pitch or give away. Barring a hurricane or other disaster, I'll stay put, but I'll work on getting rid of some of my things. I'd never thought of it the way Magran put it...I think she's probably right with a lot of us.
I am going to duck because I am one of those rare people that even when I had my career and a very comfortable lifestyle I was never a saver of things. Sure I loved books and photos and art and gifts from friends were strewn throughout my house, but it was still pretty minimalistic. Now that I no longer have those things, I find it is the memories of them and the joy the giver felt and gave to me that are what stand out in my memory. I thought I'd crumble if all of that was ever lost but it has been and I feel an odd sense of relief in some strange way, instead.
It's almost as if no longer having things, the memories are as much more intensely wonderful equal to the losses of their material representation. Now, if I have a few magazines I haven't read or have and want to keep, I feel almost claustrophobic, ha ha! I read a wonderful book once in which a woman in China decided to look at her unjust losses as a way to live an unfettered life. From personal experience, I now understand her comment and find I also feel as freed!
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