monday poem #99: Dorianne Laux, "Trying to Raise the Dead"
I'd never heard of Dorianne Laux until a couple of weeks ago, when a friend read "The Shipfitter's Wife" at a brunch we were both attending. I was so struck by it I asked to borrow the book.
I'm very glad I did. I think the last time I was so bowled over by a new-to-me poet was when I read Cate Marvin's World's Tallest Disaster (from which I've posted two poems). Before I was even halfway done with Smoke I knew I wanted to track down her other books as soon as possible. The simplicity and precision and insight just... hit me exactly right.
Much of this book tackles love and death and, particularly, their intersections; several of the poems address the death of a partner, and I found those poems intensely moving, especially "The Word," and "How It Will Happen, When," and this one.
Trying to Raise the Dead
Look at me. I'm standing on a deck
in the middle of Oregon. There are
people inside the house. It's not my
house, you don't know them.
They're drinking and singing
and playing guitars. You love
this song. Remember? "Ophelia."
Boards on the windows, mail
by the door. I'm whispering
so they won't think I'm crazy.
They don't know me that well.
Where are you now? I feel stupid.
I'm talking to trees, to leaves
swarming on the black air, stars
blinking in and out of heart-
shaped shadows, to the moon, half-
lit and barren, stuck like an axe
between the branches. What are you
now? Air? Mist? Dust? Light?
What? Give me something. I have
to know where to send my voice.
A direction. An object. My love, it needs
a place to rest. Say anything. I'm listening.
I'm ready to believe. Even lies, I don't care.
Say, burning bush. Say, stone. They've
stopped singing now and I really should go.
So tell me, quickly. It's April. I'm
on Spring Street. That's my gray car
in the driveway. They're laughing
and dancing. Someone's bound
to show up soon. I'm waving.
Give me a sign if you can see me.
I'm the only one here on my knees.
- Dorianne Laux
from Smoke
I'm very glad I did. I think the last time I was so bowled over by a new-to-me poet was when I read Cate Marvin's World's Tallest Disaster (from which I've posted two poems). Before I was even halfway done with Smoke I knew I wanted to track down her other books as soon as possible. The simplicity and precision and insight just... hit me exactly right.
Much of this book tackles love and death and, particularly, their intersections; several of the poems address the death of a partner, and I found those poems intensely moving, especially "The Word," and "How It Will Happen, When," and this one.
Trying to Raise the Dead
Look at me. I'm standing on a deck
in the middle of Oregon. There are
people inside the house. It's not my
house, you don't know them.
They're drinking and singing
and playing guitars. You love
this song. Remember? "Ophelia."
Boards on the windows, mail
by the door. I'm whispering
so they won't think I'm crazy.
They don't know me that well.
Where are you now? I feel stupid.
I'm talking to trees, to leaves
swarming on the black air, stars
blinking in and out of heart-
shaped shadows, to the moon, half-
lit and barren, stuck like an axe
between the branches. What are you
now? Air? Mist? Dust? Light?
What? Give me something. I have
to know where to send my voice.
A direction. An object. My love, it needs
a place to rest. Say anything. I'm listening.
I'm ready to believe. Even lies, I don't care.
Say, burning bush. Say, stone. They've
stopped singing now and I really should go.
So tell me, quickly. It's April. I'm
on Spring Street. That's my gray car
in the driveway. They're laughing
and dancing. Someone's bound
to show up soon. I'm waving.
Give me a sign if you can see me.
I'm the only one here on my knees.
- Dorianne Laux
from Smoke