Elizabeth What

How lucky I was born
               to tell you the way it all turned out.  


By Meghan O'Rourke from the poem "Elegy" in Halflife


I am a poet; this does not make me any stronger than the anyone else at reading poetry. In fact, I write these posts to practice my skills at analyzing poetry more so than anything else. 


There is nevertheless a freedom in realizing that these words tell a story of myself, of my vision of the world. 



That said, the above mentioned quotation is an eerie rendition of a death that is concluded with a play on the idea of living. Being born to tell some story, which is in essence a result of someone else's death, is both tragic and magical. Whenever you tell your own story, you are feeding off of the dead. That is fascinating to me. Because not only does it keep the dead alive, but it also kills you in a way. 


To elaborate, here is a poem by Emily Dickinson, (one of my favorite poets of all time who I happen to call Elizabeth Dickson, instead of Emily Dickinson)

I felt a Funeral, in my Brain,

1. I felt a Funeral, in my Brain,
2. And Mourners to and fro
3. Kept treading – treading – till it seemed
4. That Sense was breaking through –  

1. And when they all were seated,
2. A Service, like a Drum –  
3. Kept beating – beating – till I thought
4. My Mind was going numb –  

1. And then I heard them lift a Box
2. And creak across my Soul
3. With those same Boots of Lead, again,
4. Then Space – began to toll,

1. As all the Heavens were a Bell,
2. And Being, but an Ear,
3. And I, and Silence, some strange Race
4. Wrecked, solitary, here – 

1. And then a Plank in Reason, broke,
2. And I dropped down, and down –  
3. And hit a World, at every plunge,
4. And Finished knowing – then – 

The conventional interpretations of this poem is that the persona of the poem is addressing "Insanity" or rather using Death as a Metaphor for going crazy.


I love the play on the images of death, to "feel a funeral in my brain" and then continue with that metaphor as if one were falling into hell is a magnificent portrayal of the emotions revolved around insanity. 


This concept that death and presence are all very difficult to manage is a reflection of my idea that being alive and telling your own story will also result in you bringing back the dead, but at the cost of your own living.

For instance "As all the Heavens were a Bell,/ And Being, but an Ear,/And I, and Silence, some strange Race" represents the idea that BEING (capitalized in her poem) is about listening (in my opinion we listen to the past, but here Dickinson might be referring to God or both God and the past). Furthermore, the SILENCE (again capitalized) is "some strange Race" in my opinion, a portrayal of the idea of continuity and humanity collapsing at the weight of its own history. 


Her poem could very well be apocalyptic. In the sense that what is actually going insane is HUMANITY, the world collapsing at the weight of its own sins. BEAUTIFUL!  


But again this is my humble opinion and my reflection on poetry and storytelling! 



On a side note: I am a poet so my focal interests are poetry, but I will have more on other genre's in coming posts.