The pornography of despair

She begins each poem with tears. Like the end
of a conversation where you have learned
someone has died, the words leave you empty.
Because she thinks her spirit has done the cruelest
thing, leaving her hollow and sad, she has accepted
the loneliness the way one accepts all tragedy: stoic
and bitter, both. Memory stretches inside her thoughts
but she pushes those voices away. They are the enemy
and she will not speak to them. She is hungry but instead
of food she eats medication. Refuses to look for peace.
All things are in flux around her because her vision
trembles in this grim atmosphere. The lack of permanence
frightening. She denies herself the small joys and will not
read about how the last bus stopped just in time
on the dark road, missing the fawn fixed at the side
in the light of the high beams. The lack of death
is so disconcerting that her poem bleeds words
into empty space, the lines filled eventually
with strange and unreadable symbols. Sorrow
repeated over and over until the voice of the poem
flickers quietly into silence, the comfort of loss
her only meaningful companion.

Β© 2007 Christine Klocek-Lim

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8 thoughts on “The pornography of despair

  1. Good evocation. I’m guessing you’re not in despair because of the fact that you wrote about it! At least speaking personally, the only really good despair poem I wrote was years later, remembering what it felt like.For me to have written a poem about despair when I was despairing would have been just too life-affirming I guess…

  2. Paul,Thanks for stopping by and your kind words. No, I’m not in despair! Well, not any more despair than usual with two kids. I think that it’s very difficult to write emotional poems well when you’re still in the midst of the emotion. It takes me years before I can use what I’ve experiences, so you’re not alone in that. Creativity requires energy. Despair sucks energy.

  3. Pat, thanks! πŸ™‚ I’m not sure it deserves a ‘wow’ yet, I’m thinking of revisions to the poem already.Sadly, Terry hasn’t had time for songs. Work is sucking the life out of him. 😐

  4. Perhaps because I am new to your blog (I come from an email of your announcement in WILD) I could not at first ascertain whether this was a poem or a review of a collection of poetry. That may say something about the density of your language here. I like the image of the fawn. The word “medication” seems a bit alien to the theme. I am certainly impressed by your photographs, which are lovely. I shall read more.Douglas

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