So why the "some" in the title of this blog? I've not done the story behind the story of my work in awhile, but there is a story here, but it's just not about the work. The story is about depression---and I'm extremely nervous and wary about posting it, but here it is.
Things have changed a lot since I submitted these poems in December 2021. I was about to leave to see my father for a pre-Christmas visit. It would be the last time I would see him at that Assisted Living location. The next time I would wee him would be March of this year at a Rehab/Nursing Home when he wasn't doing well. He would die a week later.
My story, not behind these poems, is grounded in my medical chart: Severe Clinical Depression: In Remission. How could I have possibly have anticipated the effect of loss. Well for awhile I pushed it down, and then it all appeared sideways, in ways I can understand at the most basic level regarding grieving, but I cannot understand why my high intensity/low frequency actions seemed to not be in control. And I own all of it---all the shitty behavior. Thus the spiral begins....having needs, but causing harm, and pain---leading to a depression I've not experienced in years. I've reached out--beginning therapy again, but meanwhile it's that dreaded dichotomy and questions about the meaning and purpose of life, and how to get back to getting through the very basic day-to-day things.
So the poems, both written in September at Writers in the Round at Star Island. The second poem, Not Perfect Does Not Make Practice is a completely fictious piece of work. I may have heard a true story about someone's mother crashing a car into the back of a garage, but it wasn't my mother. I interjected a need of a child to get somewhere via that car, but basically not much more to explain regarding that metaphor. Now the other poem...
|Credit: Photography for the Star Gathering Website by Shoalers Sean D. Elliot, Charlie Nutting, David J. Murray, Tristan Bins and Lisa Santilli as well as ClearEyePhoto.com|
Here's the picture at the exact location I wrote The Holy Orchestrated on Star Island. It was like a symphony how the birds stopped and rested on the monument located there The movement, precision, sound and measure--within their own direction is magnificent beauty. There is peace in location and within that metaphor, but that too seems like a far away location, as I've said here, a lot has changed. Can I get back....will I see or visualize those birds? I wish to get back, as the birds keep flying, circling and perching in a place that seems very far and difficult to get to.