Some Sort of Shining

I can still see the bright-crimson glow.
This wasn�t any ordinary fire,
It was some sort of shining.
I�d never seen anything like it in the movies.
That evening everyone spilled out
onto their balconies
and those who didn�t have them
went to friends� houses.
We were on the ninth floor,
we had a great view.
People brought their kids out,
picked them up, said, �Look! Remember!�
They stood in the black dust,
talking, breathing, wondering at it.
People came from all around in their cars
and their bikes to have a look.
We didn�t know that death could be so beautiful.



From Voices from Chernobyl by Svetlana Alexievich, translated by Keith Gess (Dalkey Archive Press, 2005), p. 155. Submitted by Howie Good.

When I die

bury me
only in your eyes.

In Delhi, last winter,

we needed a photograph
for the poster of your talk,
so you suggested -

"Take any from my FB album
in which I am wearing enough clothes
and not making a face,"

which left my choice, from among hundreds,
to about two.

Finally, we chose you in purple,
smiling, and sitting against a wall
in what looks like JNU,

you are wearing a silver hoop in your ear

and after looking at this photograph many times over,
I know why your name meant 'loved,'
I know why this memory is silver, I know
why this memory will now always be silver.

("Kaush, pack your best clothes,
Thanga would have hated if any of us
are badly dressed for the funeral.")

Thanga, I have two winters,
and terrace nights, and songs with you,
I have a midnight dance with you,
and because you thought we 'Indian fuckers'
were 'too dramatic,' I will, for your sake,
keep safe in my hands, all the evenings
that won't let you go.


(for Priya Thangarajah)

When love goes cold

She was going out with him,
she was supposed to love him,
but she left him in the fridge
and let the council deal with the body.



Overheard in the street in a small city in southern England, 7 October 2015. Submitted by Mark Totterdell.

Not given to imagination

Mummy, I�m not afraid to die.
Why do you talk of dying
and you so young
do you want a lollipop?

No, but I shall be with Peter and June.

Mummy, let me tell you about my dream last night.
Darling, I�ve no time now. Tell me again later.

No, Mummy, you must listen.
I dreamt I went to school
and there was no school there.
Something black had come down all over it.
You mustn�t have chips for supper for a bit.

The next day off to school went her daughter
as happy as ever.
In the communal grave she was buried
with Peter on one side
and June on the other.



Dialogue from an account of 10-year-old Eryl Mai's premonition of the 1966 Aberfan avalanche disaster, via Futility Closet. Submitted by Gabriel Smy.

??????? - Dorothy Parker

tr. from Dorothy Parker's 'Cherry White'

?? ?? ????? ??? ?? ????? -- ??? ???? ??? ???????,
?? ???? ?? ??? ?? ??? ???? ??? --
????? ???, "????? ????? ????? ???? ????? ??
????? ?? ??? ??? ?? ???? ?? ???? ???" 

Dorothy Parker

 

?? ???? ??? - Gwendolyn Brooks

tr. from Gwendolyn Brooks' We Real Cool

'? ?????? ???' ?? ??? ??? ?????? 

?? ???? ???? ??
???? ?????? ??

???? ???? ?? ?????
???? ??

????? ???? ?? ??-???
???? ??

??? ????? ??
???? ?????

Gwendolyn Brooks

 

The Lady is a Tramp

It happened incrementally
I needed the dough
I was in a lot of trouble
I went to the library
I needed to come up with 40 bucks
to get my kitty�s, Doris�s, tests back.

I took a couple of Fanny Brice letters
slipped them in my sneakers
sold them to a place called Argosy.
They would pay more for better content.
A big white space at the bottom of a letter
after, 'yours truly, Fanny Brice�
I got an old typewriter
I wrote a couple of hot sentences
improved the letter and elevated the price.

�I have a hangover out of Gounod�s Faust�
�canny old Kraut remains one of my most cherished friends�
�a bright, talented actress,
quite attractive since she dealt
with her monstrous English overbite.��

larky and fun and totally cool

Is it absolution she�s seeking, or admiration?

On and off welfare,
a horror beyond my talent to describe
My most enduring memory
is the odour in the elevators:
eau de desperation!



From Lee Israel, literary forger - obituary, The Telegraph, 24 February 2015. Submitted by Grace Andreacchi.

Death in the afternoon

My body is falling apart, he said
He shaved meticulously
He forgot about his eyes and ears
He smelled good

Bloody certificates
another barrier to impetuous action
in case of lovelorn despair, for example
ten minutes before noon

A sparkling, sunny day in late spring
We ate more cherries
Even he tasted one or two
and the angels looked quite grateful

No one talked about the next act
No one talked very much at all
The angels went for a walk around the garden
We stayed where we were, savouring the lovely day

Do you know what this is?
Do you know what will happen if you drink it?
Do you want me to give it to you?
Yes, I do. I will die.

His eyes shut, quietly
It�s over now
Goodbye then
I returned to the garden.



From 'I held his hand as he drank the fatal dose': the day my husband chose to die by Liesl Graz, The Guardian 7 February 2015. Submitted by Grace Andreacchi.

What They Don't Tell You

My mum doesn�t know who I am.
Sometimes I�m her sister.
Sometimes I�m her dead mother.
Once I was Shirley Bassey,
which made for an interesting evening.

I�d assumed we�d have lots of time
to get to know each other properly.
I was wrong. Instead of visiting coffee shops,
we ended up visiting the memory clinic.
It�s like going home with a newborn baby,
but with less support and no balloons.

They don�t tell you that she�ll hit you
as you coax her into the bath.
Neither do they tell you what nappies to buy
when she becomes incontinent,
how to persuade her to wear one
or stop her taking it off
and stashing it in a pillow case.

They don�t tell you what to do
when she thinks that the small boy
you pass on your walk is her grandson,
and tries to talk to him. Nobody tells you
how to placate the angry parents.

They don�t tell you that she�s never
going to phone you again, see you get married,
be a grandmother to your kids.
Nobody tells you how to channel the anger
you feel that your fellow thirtysomethings� lives
now involve marriage, mortgages and children,
and yours revolves around a confused old lady
who doesn�t know who you are.
They�ve chosen their responsibilities;
you�d give anything not to have yours.

They don�t tell you that you�ll spend hours
trying to feed her a spoonful of hospital jelly
even though she�s pretty much given up on eating,
because you can�t just watch her starve.

It doesn�t matter how distraught you are
that she�s wasting away before your eyes,
or how much it upsets you to agree
to the doctor�s request for a DNR order;
this disease is relentless .

I�m still not sure how to feel about it
when there�s nothing tangible to mourn.
�Waking grief� someone called it.
When the person you knew is gone, but not gone.
But it�s not. It�s a waking, sleeping,
cloud of despair. But then nobody tells you
how to grieve either, do they?

Especially when there�s no funeral to go to.



From What they don't tell you about dementia by Dawn Vance, The Guardian 28 January 2015. Submitted by Angi Holden.

Trinity Tanka

I am become Death
We made a terrible thing
Destroyer of Worlds
What are you moping about?
We�re all sons of bitches now.



A collection of quotations from Manhattan Project physicists on the occasion of the first ever atomic explosion, the Trinity Test in Los Alamos in 1945. Lines attributed to Richard Feynman, Bob Wilson and J. Robert Oppenheimer. Submitted by Daniel Galef.

The Shores of Tripoli

1
Never sell the bones
of your father and mother.
Every damn fool thing you do
in this life you pay for.
The bastards tried to come
over me last night.
I guess they didn't know
I was a Marine.

2
Is it not meningitis?
All right then, I'll say it:
Dante makes me sick.
Damn it! How will I ever
get out of this labyrinth?
Useless � useless �
My vocabulary did this to me.

3
Don't ask me how I am!
I've got the bows up � I'm going!
I understand nothing more.
The bastards got me,
but they won't get everybody.
This is the fish of my dreams.




Last words from Wikiquotes. Submitted by Howie Good.

Floral Tributes

The alternative is to
Pick tributes from your garden.
Seasonal wreathes, using ivy,
Berries and autumn colours
Look beautiful.
Foliage is always available
Even if there are no blooms.
Some families
Simply supply all the mourners
With a single seasonal bloom
To place upon the coffin.
Others choose a sprig of rosemary
That can be dropped into the grave.
The possibilities are endless.




From The Natural Death Handbook, 5th edition. Submitted by Karen JK Hart.

Murder

tr. from Uday Prakash's Hindi poem '?????'

After he dies,
he thinks
nothing.

After he dies,
he speaks
nothing.

When he does not
think or speak,
he dies.

Uday Prakash