After 36 years of marriage, my husband, an avid fisherman, who had lived on the water all of his life, drowned. When
he died, I was in such shock, I was afraid to go out, afraid I would get lost, afraid I wouldn’t know how
to return home. It was then, my Sister
told me, not to worry. She said, “Write
it down, make a list.” She was
right. I began to write, and I haven’t
stopped. I found I could write all kinds
of things down, not just where I was going and how I could return. But when I became overwhelmed with grief, I
could write it down, think about it later.
I had always known myself to be a visual artist, and the
concept of me as a poet, always seems a little strange, but after about 20
years of “writing it down.” I decided I
would have to embrace that part of me, too.
I don’t think I wrote as a child, but I was always drawing and
coloring. Just as I could not be happy,
nor could I live, if I could not paint. I would not be happy if I couldn’t write.
I think I write to find out what I think, and I am almost
always amazed. I write about everything
that touches me, usually something of the moment, something small in everyday
language. I like to paint with words.
For a while, I felt I needed to fill the page visually with
my poetry, and did so. Lately, I think I
am writing more traditionally, down the left hand side of the page, short
phrases.
My bookshelves are full of poetry. So many poets to love. I definitely have found women tell a
different story than men. And I am
probably partial to the poetry written by women. Something inside me, told me, all the years
in school, it was, “he said it, he did
it, and nothing about her.” I think I
have so much to catch up on, when it comes to women's poetry.
I am really fond of Kathleen Fraser and Gertrude Stein. I find a poet, I love and I lose them, others take their place and then I find them again…different works touch me at
different times.
Filling a Hole That Cannot be Filled
You told me I could write
It was the autumn of the year
I am writing still
March 19, 2018
10 comments:
Though the start and the trigger is a sad one, I love how you have used your writing to overcome grief... poetry can be balm, or you can rage against the night... to me the most important is to keep writing (and reading)
Oh my goodness, Annell, I am so sorry to read about your husband's tragic death. I can't imagine how you must have felt but can understand that you were afraid to go out. Writing is such a good way of getting the grief out. I can also understand writing to find out what you think and painting with words.
Life and death... are so closely entwined with our emotions - The older I get the more I realize how each day is a gift - tried to tell my children this morning something of the sort - not to worry about college applications, tests, to the point it makes the day horrible - to live now and appreciate the warm breeze, the fact we are all here together. I think they thought I'd lost my mind. ;) Poets are artists - artists are often poets and they just don't know it :)
That's what I do as well: "I think I write to find out what I think". And I am amazed, surprised even.
I enjoyed your story Annell, it amazes me to think of the variety of reasons people find to write. I'm glad it has been so beneficial to you, I hope you are able to continue on as its such good fun, well most of the time.
We don't always know what will bring us to write poetry. Mine was a car accident. Keep filling your days with poetry. We are blessed to read your art.
Interesting to read how you became a writer.Nice.
I'm sure that finding a creative outlet for your grief helped. Not only gave you something to hang onto, but something worthwhile. Thank you for hanging on.
My condolences on the loss of your husband. I enjoyed reading how writing helped you heal from such a huge loss. It was lovely to read about your process of finding the poet within you.
This is an awesome write. And, thanks for visiting my blog.
Post a Comment