[stylist] Poem - "Ageing" - First Draft

[William L Houts]

Wow, Jackie.  This one is really intense, especially your use of the 
word "erasure".  It's so chilling, and so acerbic in the face of so many 
poems which go on and on about how ageing is an opportunity for profound 
growth and learning.  Well, that's probably true, in my case.  But you 
set down here the other side of the story, the one you don't so often 
find in poetry.  A fine effort here, Ma'am.


--Bill





On 6/16/2015 6:32 PM, Jackie Williams wrote:
> Bill,
> I saved this poem because I love the words you use, the internal rhyme, and
> the honesty of feelings one has throughout the aging process.
> If you look at yours as depressing, you will think mine much worse. But I
> have you by about forty years, and it is a realistic look at what happens.
> The explanation of why I wrote this is at the end of the poem. It was an
> assignment.
>
> Not One of Us is Free From the Erasure
>
> "Poetry. emotion recalled in tranquility."
> Hogwash. Emotion recollected in rage, in grief,
> in loneliness, in erasures, the frustration
> of memories lost-the final content of our poetry.
>
> Erasures of body parts that no longer work-
> the hidden control of the bladder and bowels,
> fingers no longer holding tight, knees no longer
> lifting us, taste buds making everything taste bland.
>
> Erasures put together-treasured moments-
> a life in passing, hearing the details that cause laughter,
> seeing the fine-tuned expression on a loved-one's face,
> to hear that wail-the soul of the Blues, a throbbing boogie beat,
>
> but not having the balance to dance and move to the beat.
> No transportation to beloved activities-
> concerts, jazz festivals, debates, ballets.
> No end to shrinking telomeres, non-functioning synapses.
>
> Erasures of attention-things you want to learn and know
> turn to daydreams and drifting memories-
> the poet's view of words, the fast-moving loss of them
> steals names of persons, things and places.
>
> If an erasure is erasing parts of myself to create
> something new and original, then God is picking
> through my after-life. Plagiarism is not far behind.
> If this is a new form of poetry, it will not be mine.
>
> Jacqueline Williams	April, 2015	24 lines
>
> About This Poem
>
> Our teacher used a handout from Writer's Digest by Robert Lee Brewer about
> the poetic form named Erasure. You erase the parts of the poem that inspire
> you and make a new poem of them. In researching this further, I found the
> flip side of this is a "Blackout" poem. Here you leave the original piece of
> work that you want and blackout the rest. You must observe the 50% rule and
> name the source.
> I used this form, instead, as an extended metaphor for what happens in old
> age. While depressing, if you live long enough, it is the truth.
> One could instead, use all of those erased parts and write a wonderful
> Eulogy. In either case, it is not plagiarism.
>   
>
> Jackie Lee
>
> Time is the school in which we learn.
> Time is the fire in which we burn.
> Delmore Schwartz	
>
>
> -----Original Message-----
> From: stylist [mailto:stylist-bounces at nfbnet.org] On Behalf Of William L
> Houts via stylist
> Sent: Tuesday, April 28, 2015 9:49 AM
> To: Writer's Division Mailing List
> Subject: [stylist] Poem - "Ageing" - First Draft
>
>
>
>
> Hi Gang,
>
>
> Wrote a poem today after being away from my morning desk for a few
> months.  This one's about those creaky bones we all get after several
> decades contending with gravity.  It's just a little bit morbid, I
> think, but not grossly so, or so I hope.
>
>
> --Bill
>
>
> ---
>
> Aging
>
> I'm not so old, as reckoned now: only 48,
>
> with stalwart bravest hair, an air
>
> of faint resign, and mind engraving lines of light,
>
> one hopes, instead of jangled body grousing.
>
> I house my hopes, my hymns, in stanzas
>
> silver blue and full of moon.
>
> and rising sun as well. Death, that jealous queen
>
> is on my heels, if not my heart: I start
>
> to scribe some wisdom verse, no better than antacid ads
>
> if not much worse. My shudder bones are ache with rue:
>
> complaint for pains incurred two decades past.
>
> I'll last another decade; two, if I can watch
>
> my judder step, and always brush my teeth and sparsing hair
>
> and serve the mind, our body's mayor.
>
>
>
>
>
>
>


-- 


"Oh, Sophie!  Whyfore have you eated all de cheeldren?"