Poetry Deserves a Revival

 It is likely you know of my affection for poetry if you have been following this blog or my books for any particular amount of time. I love poetry, I believe it is one of the best ways to get people troubled with anxiety, depression or anger to vent their feelings in a healthy creative manner. It certainly helped me when I was going through therapy a decade ago. 

But what has become of poetry, it is certainly still alive. It manifests in the social feeds of the creatives and the un-creatives who share it from the authors. It is alive in song, music has never been more popular or profitable and what is a song if not a long form poem. 

Here today I wanted to run through and assess a poem I wrote years back for the book I published, Digging Graves. It is a book that mixes short stories, experiences and poetry from my years working in a woodland cemetery and the haunting realities I witnessed there. Its currently my best seller, by some margin, and I can see why. In the world of short form content that we currently exist, short stories and bite-sized media of any form are being craved like the addict craves the hit. 

What I am hoping for is that you might read this poem, its breakdown and its origins and decide that poetry is right for you. You might want to pick up a pen, or pencil, or notepad in your phone and tap away a little feeling of what you are experiencing today. Maybe you want to write about your work day, a little non-rhyming or rhyming paragraph about your shitty boss or your journey home. Maybe you had a great sandwich for lunch and think it deserves a sonnet. Just give it a go, write about your kids, your wife or what you are thinking about for the weekend. It will open your eyes if you are meaningful enough with the intent. 

So here is the poem "At The End of All Things" from Digging Graves (available on Amazon currently). Below the poem I will go into detail on the story behind the poem. Enjoy, or don't, its a free country at the moment.

At The End of All Things

 

I stood on the summit looking out onto all realities.

I watched on with a smile as the continents sank into the sea.

Mountains crumbled before me causing iron and stone casualties.

How I adored this breaking point, the death of the cult of me-me-me.

 

These oceans turned to grey, then brown, then blackness collective.

Species withered and vanished into depletion non-selective.

Brothers across the plain could be judged on their last choices.

Those holding their heads down happily forget their voices.

 

With the chains now rusting, the animals finally freed.

Could the clouds descend much lower, could the planet once again breath.

These images of vengeance, of calamity raging on below.

Bring melodies, these screaming echoes, for seeds undone that we sowed.

 

Now the water rises, my ankles cold with brine.

My choices stand before it, this universe divine.

Judgement feels redundant, all things done have come to pass.

I will look out onto this ruin, child’s final day in class.

 

Our loves all taken with it; the planets end this brings.

I smile.

I cry.

At the end of all things.

Did you enjoy that? I hope so. It was one of my favourites from the book and resonates with me still today. Every time I pick up my first copy of Digging Graves that sits on my shelf, I flick to that page and read it over. Letting it sink into my  marrow just one more time to recapture the feelings it births. 

So, this poem came from witnessing countless funerals as an attending grave digger. It was seldom a week went past that I wasn't speaking with loved ones of the departed, offering whatever condolences I felt I could give without triggering a breakdown. Even handling the bodies of these deceased souls to ease the burden upon the families. Children and adult alike, I saw them all enter the earth for the final time. It was the end of all things. All the memories they had, the life they led. It would only carry on in ever-changing and untrustworthy memory. 

I stood on the summit looking out onto all realities.

I watched on with a smile as the continents sank into the sea.

Mountains crumbled before me causing iron and stone casualties.

How I adored this breaking point, the death of the cult of me-me-me.

This line highlighted above, it spoke to me after I toyed with the wording for a while. Typically I write my poetry quickly on my phone as it comes to me and I will edit or reshape it later when I remember it exists. Hidden away in the notebook app. The breaking point being talked about here was my fixation on the final moment of silence after the families had come and gone. When it was just me and the deceased alone with the forest. The death of the cult symbolised my desire to rid myself of ego and vanity before it becomes my turn to enter the soil as an empty symbol of what I had been. 

These poems can seem dark and miserable, but I believe that they are the opposite. They are windows to the weaknesses and inner fears we carry. Those feelings that become anxiety or stress. Addressing them via open dialogue with yourself is a fantastic way to clear your head, visualise what you mean to say. Perhaps even banish some demons.

These oceans turned to grey, then brown, then blackness collective.

Species withered and vanished into depletion non-selective.

Brothers across the plain could be judged on their last choices.

Those holding their heads down happily forget their voices.

Here I highlighted three lines that stick out to me still. With meanings that are vivid in my head now as when I put them into form. The first that starts with "These oceans..." was actually some dark humour on my part that I feel ever so slightly sad about re-reading. This line was a nod to the times that I would dig ash internment plots, basically mini-graves dug by hand that are used for ashes or baby burials. Often these would flood and fill in with rain or ground water in bad months. The sadness I feel re-reading it comes from missing digging those holes, it might sound crazy but there is great peace and inner-calm from digging alone in the woods a precise hole for a person to be hidden within.

The other two highlighted lines are likely going to upset some people. I wrote these in an angry moment and I remember that well. I wont go into details as its not meant as disrespect to the individuals or families that inspired my feelings that day. Essentially I had a funeral for a family who's loved one died doing something idiotic and dangerous to himself and others. Violent crime. These words "judged on their last choices." and "happily forget their voices." are direct references to my thoughts on how dismissive families and friends become of loved ones doing truly terrible things if they die in the process. It angered me and its juvenile feelings that I still don't truly understand.

With the chains now rusting, the animals finally freed.

Could the clouds descend much lower, could the planet once again breath.

These images of vengeance, of calamity raging on below.

Bring melodies, these screaming echoes, for seeds undone that we sowed.

While violent imagery, these lines are actually inspired by the sights of the unexplainable that I witnessed personally and through third parties at the cemetery. In particular the line "calamity raging on below." was written after a colleague of mine experienced a ghostly encounter with an invisible force inside the gathering hall of the cemetery. He was using the toilet, the door suddenly rattled violently and he came running out with a face as white as the deceased below our feet. This feeling of angry individuals rising up and lashing our was prevalent in the forest. At times the forest we buried the dead in felt heavy with anger, frustration and grief. The following lines "screaming echoes.." tags onto this but references voices and sounds heard in the woods as we went about our job. Clapping, yelling or calling out that I still cant explain to a certainty.

Now the water rises, my ankles cold with brine.

My choices stand before it, this universe divine.

Judgement feels redundant, all things done have come to pass.

I will look out onto this ruin, child’s final day in class.

Our loves all taken with it; the planets end this brings.

I smile.

I cry.

At the end of all things.

A lot to unpack here in the final few lines of the poem. Firstly the lines "Judgement feels redundant" and "child's final day in class" are directly inspired from the deaths of infants that I buried. The reliance on faith to make peace with the death the family have experienced and the anger I felt when religious iconography appeared at the funerals I held for babies or non-viable foetus. My anger at the idea of god having a plan to kill a child and then the redundancy I felt at this anger when I was shovelling in the dirt.

The other four highlighted lines are where I suddenly felt that sadness again, even now as I write I can feel my chest tighten. This was the month, that I completed this poem, that I decided I could no longer work in the funeral industry. It was the end of all things for me in this world of burying the passengers to the other side. When I found myself cracking jokes and smiling with the other grave diggers while people cried at the funerals was the moment I knew it was time to go, I had become too cold. 

There you have it! That was about as detailed as I think I could be while recapping this poem that means a lot to me still. I wont lie, it was emotional going back through it and digging up the memories again of these burials, tears and experiences. If you liked it, if you hated it, I hope you felt something strong enough to want to write a poem yourself. Even if its about how much you hated mine. 

Thank you for reading along with me as I unravelled this one. Maybe I will do it again. 

I don't have a funny line to end it on this time, hug your loved ones today.

https://www.amazon.co.uk/Digging-Graves-Poems-Experiences-Digger/dp/B0DNXS5TTR