I know of not one single relative's grave other than the east coast cliff where I threw my mother and father's ashes into the wind. My circumstances have me yearning to be part of a culture that lives sustainably, is satisfied to be where it has been for generation upon generation. Instead, I feel genetically bred for dissatisfaction and gluttonous consumption of landscapes, experiences, things. Art, literature, your work, THIS POEM, go a LONG WAY to ward off that force.
I read awhile back that Vincent Van Gogh walked by a gravestone marked Vincent Van Gogh every day on his way to school. It wasn't a father, grandfather or great grandfather, but a brother who died at birth. There's a chance the two Vincents even shared the same month and day of birth.
I know of not one single relative's grave other than the east coast cliff where I threw my mother and father's ashes into the wind. My circumstances have me yearning to be part of a culture that lives sustainably, is satisfied to be where it has been for generation upon generation. Instead, I feel genetically bred for dissatisfaction and gluttonous consumption of landscapes, experiences, things. Art, literature, your work, THIS POEM, go a LONG WAY to ward off that force.
I read awhile back that Vincent Van Gogh walked by a gravestone marked Vincent Van Gogh every day on his way to school. It wasn't a father, grandfather or great grandfather, but a brother who died at birth. There's a chance the two Vincents even shared the same month and day of birth.
Very relatable feelings . Love your artistry Sherman . Still today , I wear my concert shirt with you and Bonnie Raitt’s names on it …. Proud to wear it ! 😎🙏☮️
Grave yards need to go. I understand having a ceremony for loved ones after they die, but using up precious land to fill with toxic synthetic boxes and an ego slab of identity marble on top - just not sustainable in a world of 8 billion going on 12 by mid century. You think about how nature works and its an amazing system of recycle and renewal. In ancient times we were buried with a cloth or our clothes wrapped around us and put under the dirt to biodegrade and become one with the earth once again. Grass and Wild flowers etc. pop would out of our grave site area and nature is left the way it was meant to be - no toxic waste, no ego marker. I wish to cremated and ashes tossed into the ocean or maybe the tree planting idea? Also, I have some thoughts on your heavy Evolve poem but another time.
Ahh. The graves. So silent even when we are willing to listen. I visit my mother's grave, every time hoping to hear a whisper. The Fort Jackson National Cemetery is not far from here. Row after row after row of hushed white stones. Thank you for this reminder to see and try again to hear whatever they might say.
I feel that loneliness and understand it. We are all so different from each other. My parents were cremated then scattered in Puget Sound. My grandparents were cremated then put into a niche at a cemetery in Seattle. That's as far back as I know. Most of my ancestors emigrated from Norway in the 1880s. Growing up, my family moved every 2 or 3 years to a different part of the US--following my father's job transfers. I've moved 32 times, since graduating from high school. Frequently, when I'm driving, I will have a conversation with a loved one, who has already been promoted. I guess my tribe is mostly strangers I have yet to meet. Thanks for you poem. I love the graveyard shift putting you out in the night, walking past a graveyard.
Thank you, Francie. Yes, I'm lucky to have an unbroken connection to my ancestors. Also, I'd somehow never connected leaving my graveyard shift job to walk by a graveyard.
I love your phrasing: "not quite absent, not quite there". I do not visit any family in cemeteries but I often still feel the presence of those who are gone in a "not quite absent, not quite there" way.
I know of not one single relative's grave other than the east coast cliff where I threw my mother and father's ashes into the wind. My circumstances have me yearning to be part of a culture that lives sustainably, is satisfied to be where it has been for generation upon generation. Instead, I feel genetically bred for dissatisfaction and gluttonous consumption of landscapes, experiences, things. Art, literature, your work, THIS POEM, go a LONG WAY to ward off that force.
I read awhile back that Vincent Van Gogh walked by a gravestone marked Vincent Van Gogh every day on his way to school. It wasn't a father, grandfather or great grandfather, but a brother who died at birth. There's a chance the two Vincents even shared the same month and day of birth.
I know of not one single relative's grave other than the east coast cliff where I threw my mother and father's ashes into the wind. My circumstances have me yearning to be part of a culture that lives sustainably, is satisfied to be where it has been for generation upon generation. Instead, I feel genetically bred for dissatisfaction and gluttonous consumption of landscapes, experiences, things. Art, literature, your work, THIS POEM, go a LONG WAY to ward off that force.
I read awhile back that Vincent Van Gogh walked by a gravestone marked Vincent Van Gogh every day on his way to school. It wasn't a father, grandfather or great grandfather, but a brother who died at birth. There's a chance the two Vincents even shared the same month and day of birth.
Very relatable feelings . Love your artistry Sherman . Still today , I wear my concert shirt with you and Bonnie Raitt’s names on it …. Proud to wear it ! 😎🙏☮️
Grave yards need to go. I understand having a ceremony for loved ones after they die, but using up precious land to fill with toxic synthetic boxes and an ego slab of identity marble on top - just not sustainable in a world of 8 billion going on 12 by mid century. You think about how nature works and its an amazing system of recycle and renewal. In ancient times we were buried with a cloth or our clothes wrapped around us and put under the dirt to biodegrade and become one with the earth once again. Grass and Wild flowers etc. pop would out of our grave site area and nature is left the way it was meant to be - no toxic waste, no ego marker. I wish to cremated and ashes tossed into the ocean or maybe the tree planting idea? Also, I have some thoughts on your heavy Evolve poem but another time.
.. love the ‘reflection .. mournful .. melancholy ?
but in my impertinence feel it may truly ‘deserve more ?
better said - mebbe an alternative variation ? (with respect !)
- deliver ‘you’ in 3rd person & less pronouns - we know it’s ‘you’
- bring the haunting ambient sounds of the two graveyards ‘to life..
& then find the ‘voice talent of your choice as voice of those buried there
You’re the commuter .. & those who lie there ? reveal your inner thoughts & feelings
.. consider the lament in a visual sense.. it’s the way I ‘see it.. yet don’t quite ’hear it 🦎🏴☠️🎬
Ahh. The graves. So silent even when we are willing to listen. I visit my mother's grave, every time hoping to hear a whisper. The Fort Jackson National Cemetery is not far from here. Row after row after row of hushed white stones. Thank you for this reminder to see and try again to hear whatever they might say.
.. exactly ..
in the graveyard
just from a name and dates,
you can imagine the story
Thanks, Blake.
so powerful!
Thank you, Amy.
My grandparents and several other relatives are buried at Calvary Cemetery, which is only a mile or so from where I was born at UW hospital.
A very small circle of love in a big city.
I feel that loneliness and understand it. We are all so different from each other. My parents were cremated then scattered in Puget Sound. My grandparents were cremated then put into a niche at a cemetery in Seattle. That's as far back as I know. Most of my ancestors emigrated from Norway in the 1880s. Growing up, my family moved every 2 or 3 years to a different part of the US--following my father's job transfers. I've moved 32 times, since graduating from high school. Frequently, when I'm driving, I will have a conversation with a loved one, who has already been promoted. I guess my tribe is mostly strangers I have yet to meet. Thanks for you poem. I love the graveyard shift putting you out in the night, walking past a graveyard.
Thank you, Francie. Yes, I'm lucky to have an unbroken connection to my ancestors. Also, I'd somehow never connected leaving my graveyard shift job to walk by a graveyard.
A stunner
Thanks, David.
A stunner
Once again, your poetry grabs me by the throat and heart.
Thank you, Lea.
Hope you are never even close to that lonely again
Thanks! I was very lonely both times I was in mental health rehab. I hope not to be that lonely again, either.
I love your phrasing: "not quite absent, not quite there". I do not visit any family in cemeteries but I often still feel the presence of those who are gone in a "not quite absent, not quite there" way.
Thanks, Rebecca.
You’re magnificent. As Tiffany S recognized….❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️
Thanks, Janice.