Stations of the lost
When was a time that someone neighboured you?
Dear friends,
Hallo to you this weekend. Happy Easter and Happy Pesach, for those who mark them.
Firstly — many, many thanks to all of your for your kind comments last week about Poetry Unbound. We love making it. And we love being in touch with you. Thanks so much to those of you who are able to give to the ongoing costs, whether you’d already been doing it or you signed up last week.
Many years ago, one Easter weekend, I was all prepared for the events. But someone died. So what was expected to be one kind of meditation about death became another experience of death. No resurrection.
I’ve long been interested in the informal rituals that surround grief in different places. In Ireland, burials are normally quite quick. It’s entirely possible that someone could die on Monday, be waked in their house for a few days, and then buried on Wednesday or Thursday.
The neighbours take over: tea, acres of lasagne, casserole, stew. Once, at a wake house, I saw a neighbour arrive with an extra kettle and a pack of toilet paper. The house was filled with mourners; it was a kindness to be so attentive to the needs.
I’ve written a series of poems (not published yet) titled Stations of the Lost. As I got to thinking about the strange marking of today — resurrection — I found myself wondering what a practical consideration of that would be. During a time of mourning, we often long for solitude. When the solitude comes, we may be wanting company. So here it is.
The Fourteenth Station of the Lost: Burial
the handshakes the wake
the sandwiches the cups of coffee cups of tea
the acres of casserole and lasagne
the people in the house the company
the kettle always boiling the beep it makes
the spring
cherry blossoms out today
the birdsong
it should be quiet
it goes quiet
you nod off to sleep
the neighbour knocksFrom the sequence Stations of the Lost (c) Pádraig Ó Tuama
That neighbour — who are they? It’s an easy answer: you, of course. You, the one who knocks, who texts, who drops a note in the mail. Maybe the neighbour is the one who asks if you want company and believes you when you say you don’t. Or the one who says, no bother, I’ll check again tomorrow, and they do. Some want people. Some definitely don’t. It’s the consideration that is helpful, I think.
That’s my question for you this week: When was a time that you’ve been marked by a kind of grief and someone neighboured you?
Once, turned inside out during a time of shock, Toby sent me flowers, and Nadia sent a blanket. As Julian of Norwich would say: a neighbour, kind and known.
I’ll see you in the comments, friends.
Poetry in the World
A list of events: In Australia (Melbourne, Queenscliff, Sydney) and Ireland (Cork, Dublin, Listowel)
April 26–27, Melbourne, Australia
I’m giving a two-day retreat on “Poems on Being with Each Other,” with the Small Giants Academy lovelies. Registration here.
May 2–4, Queenscliff, Victoria, Australia
I’ll be speaking at the delicious sacrededge festival. More info here.
May 7, Sydney, Australia
The marvelous Miriam of Poetica is organising a poetry reading in the evening. Get tickets here.
May 8, Sydney, Australia
I’ll be speaking in the morning at the Welcoming Cities Symposium. Registration here.
May 8–11, Melbourne, Australia
I’ll be speaking on the Saturday (May 10) of the Melbourne Writers Festival. Festival info here.
May 13–17, Cork, Ireland
I’ll be reading and conducting an interview at the Cork International Poetry Festival. Details here.
May 20, Dublin, Ireland
I’ll be reading at the International Literature Festival Dublin (ILFD). Information here.
May 29, Listowel, County Kerry, Ireland
I’ll be reading at Listowel Writers’ Week. Information here.
Once many years ago now I lived alone after a long marriage that ended in a divorce that left me with very little financially. I became very ill, had surgery, had to miss weeks of work as an hourly employee. I was down to bare bones in the pantry. Friends brought so much in the first week or so, and then things got quieter. One morning, a stranger knocked at my door. I wasn’t dressed, didn’t want to answer, but she didn’t knock. I knew her from town, but had never met her. She left an envelope in my post basket and then left. Somehow she knew my situation and left me cash. It was enough to get through the next week or so with groceries. Eventually I was able to thank her. It changed something in me, too. I’ll never forget.
My husband recently had a stroke. During this difficult period of time as we learned to navigate our new reality, friends showed up. A few fed the cats, some left flowers on the counter and swept the floor. A musician friend showed up with his guitar and played music. I ran out of wood to burn after my heating system failed and a kind neighbor I had never met heard about it and delivered a load of wood that he stacked neatly on the front porch. There were mysterious offerings of food left in my refrigerator or on the porch. Many showed up to visit . Some called and messaged. We were not alone. We had a community of friends- many from diverse persuasions who did not know each other, but all caring and helpful because it was needed.