Friday, March 15, 2024

March 15: "Poetry," Aunt Aileen, Joy at My Joy

Billy Collins' writing process . . .

Poetry

by:  Billy Collins

As if it were not hard enough,
whenever my pencil

moves along the page,
the pink eraser end points up,

a little finger wagging,
reminding me of our appointment.



Writing has been my life since I was very young.  Words help me understand life, the world, my place in the world.  My memories are not preserved in snapshots and photos.  They are recorded in poems and short stories and essays and blog posts.  When I read one of my old poems, I experience all the emotions and sensations that inspired me to write it.  Poetry is my time capsule, I guess.

Of course, poems are revised and shaped.  Rarely do they emerge fully formed.  (It happens, but not very often.)  When I sit down to write anything, I'm not really about what is emerging on the page or screen.  I'm about what is beyond the veil of those words, that shining mansion on the hill, if you will.  Whatever that mansion is.  I approach it, eraser in hand, ready to make it as beautiful and true as I can.

Yesterday, I wrote about my Aunt Aileen.  I tried to approach her shining mansion as close as I could with my words.  I'm not sure I truly succeeded in capturing her spirit and importance in my childhood and young adulthood.  As always, truth is elusive, and I often feel like Ahab chasing the white whale.

Aunt Aileen took her last breath around 3:30 this morning.  

Nothing I write in this post will come close to paying due honor and homage to this woman.  She blazed through times of great joy and great heartbreak.  At least in my life. 

I'm going to type a phrase now that is fraught with problems--a phrase dependent on the fallibility of the human brain:  I remember.

I remember when I was struggling during a terrible breakup with my girlfriend (who has now been my wife for close to 30 years).  Aunt Aileen had met my future wife, liked her a lot.  (Truth be told:  Aunt Aileen liked everyone.)  I spent almost a month that breakup summer at Aunt Aileen's house downstate, moping, wallowing, crying.  I was not a fun person to be around.  I don't know how my aunt put up with me, but she did.  And she gave me a lot of ice cream.

My girlfriend and I eventually reconciled.  About a year later, at my sister's wedding reception, I was dancing with Aunt Aileen.  The DJ's music was loud, and I could barely hear what Aunt Aileen was saying to me.  She put her mouth close to my ear and said, "I'm so happy things worked out for you."

That's who Aunt Aileen was.  Wanting everyone to live their best lives.

I'm holding onto that--her joy at my joy.  Even though she struggled the last years of her life, physically and mentally, Aunt Aileen will always be, in my mind's eye, my dance partner that evening, celebrating my happiness.

The world is a little bit darker tonight for Saint Marty, and the heavens are a little bit brighter.




Thursday, March 14, 2024

March 14: "A Memory," Aunt Aileen, Chinook Salmon

Billy Collins recalls something . . . 

A Memory

by:  Billy Collins

It came back to me
not in the way
a thing might be returned 
to its rightful owner

but like dance music
traveling in the dark
from one end 
of a lake to the other.



I know exactly what Collins is talking about--that moment when you hear a song/piece of music and are suddenly transported to another place and time.  When I hear the Simple Minds singing "Don't You (Forget About Me)," I'm sitting in the Butler Theater in the dark with my high school friends.  We're watching The Breakfast Club, sort of, and sneaking sips of a Diet Coke spiked with Malibu.  The topic of conversation is Molly Ringwald versus Ally Sheedy.  (I am firmly in the Molly camp.)  In a week or so, we'll all be graduating, and, a few months after that, we'll all be off to college, and nothing will ever be the same again.

All that from a song, traveling in the dark from one end of a lake to the other.

When I was an undergraduate in college, I would spend about a month every summer living downstate at my Aunt Aileen and Uncle Larry's house.  My sister and I would would drive down with a pop up camper and set up shop in their backyard.  We would swim in their pond, visit relatives and cousins, go shopping, watch movies.  We rarely made huge plans.  Some years, we would visit the Detroit Zoo.  Others, we would take a ferry to Boblo Island Amusement Park for the day.

My memories of those vacations are gilded with nostalgia.  Yes, I was in college.  Yes, I was supposed to be a young adult.  Should I have gotten a summer job instead?  Maybe.  I didn't have a whole lot of money, but I did have a full-ride scholarship and was still living in my parents' house.  My expenses mainly consisted of movies, books, and clothes.

My Uncle Larry passed away quite a few years ago from cancer.  I just found out that Aunt Aileen has been placed on hospice care.  She's been suffering from dementia for a while and recently fell and broke her hip.  According to my sister, Aunt Aileen's oxygen saturation is down to 88%, and her breathing is labored.

Aunt Aileen is my dad's sister, and our two families have always been very close.  There were nine kids in our family.  Aunt Aileen and Uncle Larry had ten kids.  When our clans got together for Thanksgivings, the table would extend from the dining room out into the hall.  During my middle and high school years, we would all go camping together at a local state park.  (Some of my cousins still travel to the U. P. every year to camp.)  Like I said, we were really close.

On my way home from work tonight, I heard Bob Seger's "Old Time Rock & Roll."  One of my Aunt Aileen's favorite songs.  For a quiet, soft-spoken lady, she really dug Seger.  (And it had nothing to do with Tom Cruise sliding around in his socks and underwear in Risky Business.)  As I tapped on my steering wheel and sang along, I tried to remember the last time I saw Aunt Aileen.  

It was at least five or six years ago.  I think she drove up with her oldest son and his wife.  (I could be wrong on this fact.  Memory is a slippery thing, like trying to land a Chinook salmon.)  Aunt Aileen looked much older, but she still had the same spark and sense of humor that allowed her to survive raising a family of ten.  

Up until a little while ago, she would send me birthday cards every year, without fail.  And Christmas cards.  All written in her loopy, beautiful script.  She loved going to Dairy Queen with us for ice cream and watching Abbott and Costello movies late at night.  In a world of Donald Trumps, she was a Dorothy Day, making sure everyone was warm and fed and loved.  

That's how Saint Marty will always remember her.



Wednesday, March 13, 2024

March 13: "Falling Asleep," Sense of Wonder, Nobel Prize in Literature

Billy Collins catches 40 winks . . .

Falling Asleep

by:  Billy Collins

Walking backwards
into a dark forest,

I sweep my footprints
out of existence

with a large
weightless branch.



As young kids, we fight sleep.  I think it's because there's just too much to do, too many new things to taste, touch, smell, hear, feel.  In our undeveloped minds, we think that we might miss out on something important if we close our eyes and allow ourselves to check out for a while.

As we become adults, we lose our sense of wonder at the world.  All the little gifts of each and every day become . . . ordinary.  Boring even.  So there is less to stay awake for.  Instead, sleep becomes the unknown frontier, where wonder rules.  Your fingers can turn into elephant trunks.  You can win the Nobel Prize in Literature.  Marry or have sex with your high school crush.  Attend Woodstock.  Fly to the rings of Saturn.  All by walking backwards into that dark forest.

Perhaps that's why sleep becomes so pleasurable was we get older.  It's an escape from the daily pressures of work and family and life.  We venture into the Land of Nod, brush away our footprints, and lose ourselves for a little while.

As I've said in previous posts, sleep and I have never been friends.  We aren't even on a first-name basis.  I don't usually close my eyes until well past midnight.  Most nights, I see 1 a.m.  It's not that I don't enjoy sleep or suffer night terrors.  It's because my monkey brain refuses to stop climbing trees and flinging coconuts and shit at the world.  I go for days on five hours of shut-eye a night, and then my body and mind will close down.  I have no choice but to sleep.

I'm tired tonight.  Really tired.  Perhaps because I've been working on school and work crap since 7:30 this morning.  Or because of Daylight Saving Time this past weekend.  Or the fact that I haven't gotten more than four hours of sleep a night for about two weeks.

Whatever the reason, Saint Marty is ready to close his eyes and accept his Nobel Prize.



Saturday, March 9, 2024

March 9: "Eyes," Pretty Honest, One Truth

Billy Collins opens his . . . 

Eyes

by:  Billy Collins

O little twin spheres
echoing
the shape of the earth

and a perfect match
for the blue
curvature of the sky,

no wonder
the dark, descending birds
always begin with you.



Kind of a bleak little image there--dark, descending birds always beginning with the eyes.  Right out of a Grimm fairy tale.  Or an Alfred Hitchcock movie.  

There's an old saying that eyes are the windows to the soul.  The mouth can lie.  So can the face.  Even the body can lie.  But eyes simply can't lie, unless you happen to be a sociopath with an orange complexion and really bad hair.  

However, I believe that most people are pretty honest.  That doesn't mean that all truths are valid.  That means that every individual owns a piece of the puzzle, and if all of those pieces could be put together, the full truth would be revealed.

Here are the truths of today, as seen through my eyes:

1) Winter returned today, with snow and wind and ice.  
2) My puppy likes to bark.  All.  Day.  Long.  At other dogs.  Passing cars.  The mail carrier.
3) I love my wife.
4) I love my kids.
5) I love my sisters, who live only a block away from me.
6) I love my friends who came over tonight to play board games.
7) I love watching movies late at night.
8) I intensely dislike Daylight Saving Time in the spring.
9) Poetry can save your life.
10) Nobody should act out of anger or resentment.
11) Those that love you the most can hurt you the most.
12) Cheese should be its own food group.
13) The Oscars are more entertaining than the Super Bowl.
14) Naps are one of the greatest pleasure in life.
15) Everyone should watch a sunrise at least once a week.
16) Everyone should watch a sunset at least once a week.
17) The movie Wonka is pretty amazing.

Some disciples reading this post might not agree with a few (or all) of my truths.  That's okay.  Peace on Earth doesn't mean that everyone agrees on what the truth is.  It means that, despite all of our different truths, we can still love each other and help each other in times of need.

Saint Marty hopes we can all agree on that one truth.

And also that Donald Trump is batshit crazy.