About the Dead Woman Who Listens

About the Dead Woman Who Listens

The woman, dead, listens,
hears the sounds of falling
snow on marble or is it
alabaster? She cannot
recall the stone she chose,
cold, pure, unforgiving to
assaults of elements, to
words accusatory or de-
riding. Impervious is she
to all of these as she lies
wondering why they bother
to pretend to care. She thinks
it true, has heard that it
was fact, that once she settles in
this state of inconvenient
silence she might return a
time or two, conclude unfinished
business in a random dream.

More About the Dead Woman Who Listens

The dead woman listens to
the sounds of sighing wind,
stirs within her tomb (or
soul?) aware of changing forces
without knowing sources of
relentless stirrings, questions
left unanswered in the wandering
of her lifetime’s progress through
uncertainty. She washes in the
river she once knew, loosens the
detritus of the wasted years and
wonders if the others understand
futility. Her journey takes her
onward to another lifetime.
Left behind—the useless
messages. New regrets and fears
will challenge her return.

This poem is written after the style of Marvin Bell, creator of Dead Man poetry. I’m submitting it for dVerse Open Link Night. Over at the pub, we’re in the midst of a joyous celebration of our first year anniversary as a poetic community. If you are not familiar with dVerse Poetry, please stop by, sample, enjoy. Add a poem of your own! Thanks Brian and Claudia for bringing this group of talented poets together, and thanks for allowing me be be a part of the staff.

Here’s some info on the poetic form:

From Marvin Bell:

The Dead Man poem is a form I created a few years ago and then couldn’t shake. Dead man poems come out of an old Zen admonition that says, “Live as if you were already dead.” But you needn’t feel remorse. The dead man is alive and dead at the same time. He lives it up, he has opinions, he makes bad jokes, he has sex. Is he me? No, but he knows a lot about me. Dead Man poems come in two parts. Each line of poetry in a dead man poem is a compete sentence, long or short.

The form is comprised of two sections. One is titled “The Dead Man and …” and the second “More About the Dead Man and … .” All lines are written as sentence lines and enjambment matters quite a bit. The first two lines generally turn back on each other. The two versions seem to discover or expose different things about the Dead Man, one more internal in nature, the other external.

Photo: Google Images, cachescrazy.com

The Dead Woman and Her Sister

Image by diver227 via Flickr

I enjoy experimenting with odd poetry forms and this one is crafted after a style introduced by Marvin Bell in his volumes of Dead Man Poetry. The theme this week for Jingle’s Poetry Potluck is Siblings, Cousins and Friends. While many loving images come to mind on this subject I decided to take it in a dark direction. Be sure to visit some of the amazing poets who will participate in this challenge at: http://jinglepoetry.blogspot.com/

The Dead Woman and Her Sister.

The dead woman stirs
from a dream of endless
nothingness and travels
to meet her sister who,
in life, she despised.
She opens her mouth to
speak but words remain
trapped inside a thought
bubble. The sister
turns over in her sleep
and groans as though
a breath whispered across
her restless body.

More About the Dead Woman and Her Sister

The dead woman returns
to a void of regret.
Water floods into
the tomb and cleanses her
regrets and clarifies
her understanding so
that she knows freedom.
Her body floats
upon a sea of tears
and in the passage to
the cosmic depths
she drinks the cup
of forgiveness.

A couple of notes about Dead Man Poetry: Bell structured his work in two parts: The Dead Man and More About the Dead Man. Another characteristic of the form is what I would call “disconcerting” enjambment (line breaks).

About the Dead Man and His Funeral

Image via Wikipedia

About the Dead Man and His Funeral

The dead man watches the parade
unfold: faces of former students, still
boyish in his memory, smiles masking
questions of innocence defiled.
A wake is not a place, he muses,
for such considerations, such that
defy propriety suited to the occasion.

More About the Dead Man and His Funeral

He isn’t sure how it began, the day
he fell from grace, dragging them along.
Nothing heralded that it would be
anything but typical–lectures,
papers, preparations and mentor-
ing. Ah! that was it, he gasps, behind
closed doors. A hand upon a thigh
and then the tangle of emotion. ‘Twas
all it took. He bids farewell and plummets
into the flames of hell.

Submitted to Big Tent Poetry: http://bigtentpoetry.org/ The prompt for today was a Wordle, which prompted a poem darker than that which I usually write. Child molestation is a sad reality of life. The form is Dead Man Poetry, the Brain Child of Marvin Bell. I was able to use all the words, for a change.

Submitted as well to One Shot Wednesday: http://onestoppoetry.com/

 

About the Dead Man and Books

Image via Wikipedia

Submitted to One Shot Wednesday: http://oneshotpoetry.blogspot.com/

About the Dead Man and Books

“What haunts me,” said the dead man
to his wife whose ashes mingled with
his own, “are books I’ve never read—
the ones that puzzle. Think of War and
Peace. Names unfamiliar, trouble-
some to pronounce. And then those books
I never finished. Did you ever notice,
my dear? Generations of the same (or almost
so) names in One Hundred Years of
Solitude. And don’t forget the year
we pledged to read a book-a-week.
Recall how our resolve dissolved
before January expired? Do you suppose, my
sweet, we’ll have another chance when
we come back? Or might we be illiterate.”

More about the Dead Man and Books

“What haunts me more,” the dead man said
for no one else to hear, “are books I never
wrote—ideas fanned to life by life,
allowed to fade ere pen I put to page.
The words of wisdom and of praise
or prayer, sheets of blank paper yellowing
untouched, waiting to fulfill a mission
left undone. And then as rigor silenced
my old hands, as flames engulfed
my thoughts, I lie in waiting for whatever
lies beyond. Do you suppose, my Self,
I’ll have another chance when I come back?
Or might I be illiterate?

About the Dead Woman Who Listens

Image via Wikipedia

Submitted to Big Tent Poetry. This weeks prompt is to write a Dead Man Poem in the style of Marvin Bell. I encourage you to check out Big Tent Poetry for more information on this form: http://bigtentpoetry.org  I confess that I had to wait to read the other fine submissions before venturing into the point of view of the dead. Once I got there, I enjoyed the process and want to thank the other participants for their fine poetry.

About the Dead Woman Who Listens

The woman, dead, listens,
hears the sounds of falling
snow on marble or is it
alabaster? She cannot
recall the stone she chose,
cold, pure, unforgiving to
assaults of elements, to
words accusatory or de-
riding. Impervious is she
to all of these as she lies
wondering why they bother
to pretend to care. She thinks
it true, has heard that it
was fact, that once she settles in
this state of inconvenient
silence she might return a
time or two, conclude unfinished
business in a random dream.

More About the Dead Woman Who Listens

The dead woman listens to
the sounds of sighing wind,
stirs within her tomb (or
soul?) aware of changing forces
without knowing sources of
relentless stirrings, questions
left unanswered in the wandering
of her lifetime’s progress through
uncertainty. She washes in the
river she once knew, loosens the
detritus of the wasted years and
wonders if the others understand
futility. Her journey takes her
onward to another lifetime.
Left behind—the useless
messages. New regrets and fears
will challenge her return.