Shine on

[Mark]

.

Japie the lighthouse-keeper died this morning,
in an ambulance, a daughter beside him.
Inoperable liver tumour, barely afloat on billows
of morphine, he was hanging on for December
and full retirement benefits for his family.

We liked ol’ Japie. K knew him for sixteen years.
When we went into the Cape Columbine reserve,
Sundays, we’d sometimes stop and say our hellos.
One year, a birthday, Japie let us sneak a picnic
up in the cupola. The ladder-stairs, dark timber
and polished brass, thick government-green paint,
an experience to remember, frolics atop a lighthouse.    

This day is sad, man. These fucking cancers.
   

Revision


Japie the lighthouse-keeper died this morning,
in an ambulance, a distraught daughter beside him.
Inoperable liver tumour, barely afloat on billows
of morphine, he was holding out for Christmas.

We liked ol’ Japie. Keri knew him for sixteen years.
When we went into the Cape Columbine reserve,
Sundays, we’d sometimes stop and say our hellos.
One year, a birthday, Japie let us sneak a picnic
up in the cupola. The ladder-stairs, dark timber
and polished brass, thick government-green paint -
an experience to remember, frolics atop a lighthouse.

     
 

[Tracy Mitchell]

Mark,

What a strong and direct narrative. You give us readers the sense that we would have liked Japie as well. I applaud that you disclose in the opening line that Japie died rather than trying to play more drama with the fact.

A few small thoughts:

The last line -- this is a hard, critical line, and follows in contradistinction to the immediately preceding lines to good effect. Still, my wonder is whether the tone would be changed for the better to open the poem with this line, and let the poem end with the frolic. Sort of counter-intuitive, I know.

Consider deleting the retirement benefits line. Leave the narrative with the hanging on to December without narrowing the reason -- perhaps the holidays, the family gatherings at the holidays, or something else. Just a thought.

Love this Mark.

T

[Colm Roe]

Like this a lot Mark.
And agree with Tracy on the finish.
I'd prefer something more subtle and less generic. Chances are he was a bit of a character (being a lighthouse man) and possibly a bit quirky. So maybe a little more information, or a hint about the man in the last line e.g.
'He wasn't everyone's friend, but I will miss him'
I can see what T means about the 'retirement' thing, it doesn't look pretty on the page...but it does say something about his selflessness and willingness to suffer for his family. I'd leave it, or find a 'prettier' way to say it.
Anywho, I enjoyed the read.

Typo on L6.

[Mark]

Thanks guys - nice of you to comment when I show up without paying any dues. Sorry, things are just crazy-busy around here, work-wise - making hay-sunshine.
The poem was done quite quickly too. Thanks for the suggestions, good ones, the fixes are in. I dropped the loose line as redundant.
Japie - pronounced Yarpy - loved making Airfix-type models, lots of fighter jets and battleships etc in the lighthouse foyer. Open air funeral service this Saturday, many expected.  
Hope you are all doing well.
   

[Colm Roe]

Still feels like it's missing something specific...like his Airfix models.
It's a good way of showing he was someone special to you, and that knowledge
reveals your affection in a very subtle way.
Good to see you back here Mark. And all your previous/generous critiques have generated
enough credits for a hall pass or two; so consider all dues paid for this one

[Dave]

Hi Mark, Great to have you back.
I have no great insights to add but agree although the poem flows beautifully and paints a clear and poignant picture it still lacks detail about the lighthouse keeper himself, who rather fades behind the details about the others. His realtionship to the lighthouse for one is missing and that seems somehow special. The addition of distraight does not work for me as it seems a sudden piece of drama in an otherwise gentle piece.
Dave
 

[Mark]

Thanks Dave. You are right, of course, the piece is flawed in that it is lacking the human element we sort of expect. All I can say is that's how it came out - I only met Japie a few times, he was K's friend more than anything, so.... And yes, distraught is overcooking it, I discarded it first time around and then put it back, trying to be clever. 

[Tracy Mitchell]

Don't underestimate this Mark, its a good poem. We think of Japie, and the Japies in our own lives, etc.

T

[Mark]

Thanks Ty.
Bit of a follow-up here - the Friday of the week that Japie died, with the funeral set for the following day, I showed the poem here to K while we were talking about Japie. She asked me to rework it into something more suitable for the occasion as a public offering. I declined that notion as being unnatural and likely to be rubbish.
However, I woke up real early, about 4.30am with stuff bouncing around in my head and after a while, went and sat at her desk and tapped out the below without much editing - can't say what it is exactly - printed it and sent it off to the funeral in a plain white envelope. (I avoid funerals, the ministers piss me off - these wankers seem to regard the occasion as a captive marketing opportunity for their religion but whatever.)
I post it here to share for what it's worth.



Words

We know that we are going to die one day.
Ultimately, life is a death sentence. This is the most fundamental part of the human condition that we quietly acknowledge to ourselves.

In contemplation of this, the question arises, as it has for millennia; what then is the purpose of life?
It can be said that the purpose of life is more life, and this is true but is also an incomplete answer.
Life itself blinds us to this unknown truth until all is revealed upon the dissolution of our mortality.
Until then, the time of our passing, we speculate and draw upon the wisdom of our sages, philosophers, prophets and messiahs.

In life, we are bound by the dictates of self and the illusions of materialism. The ego-body’s drive to survive and to achieve immortality through procreation, the creation of art in all its forms and the simple testament of a life well-lived, carries us forward on these tides of existence, weathering the onslaught of catastrophe.

It is said we are spiritual beings that have occasional human experiences and that this world of material physicality is but a classroom and playground for Spirit.
Jesus Christ reportedly said: Save that ye be born again, ye cannot enter The Kingdom of Heaven.” Perhaps this was literal, not evangelical.

Veritably, the veil between this world and the next is closer than we think and around us all the time. Know that all your thoughts and feelings are painted clearly across the sky of the godhead realm.

In our search for meaning in life, it seems the best answer is in the assumption of responsibility.
In the symbolism of the lighthouse and lighthouse-keeping, it is to be tall and strong in the face of storms, grounded on bedrock, alert and functional, casting light to warn strangers of boundary conditions.
Within this noble metaphor we also find circles of trees in the warmth of humanity, the raising of family, the sinews of friendship, the regard of colleagues and the bonds of comradeship.

We grieve upon loss, in differing degrees of distance.
We cannot all grieve for all the sorrow in the world, yet we overflow with empathy as we focus on a tragedy.
But for those closely struck and sliced by the leaden heartache, the numbness and unreality of a world suddenly upside down and rendered insane by indifferent cruelty, the path to recovery is long and hard.

Time moves in different ways and nothing is the same again.


* * *


This is a poem written on the fifth anniversary of the loss of a spouse.
The title is:

Pages

I miss you in yesterdays
that slipped by in the rain.

Your absence is a vacuum
I breathe, in this consuming
return of stars, sun and moon.

My questions have crumbled
in lessons learned. Yet I yearn
for any trace of wood smoke
from the ashes of our years.

So much to say, so little said,
the undone escapes undoing.
Sometimes I think it’s only me,
on this Earth, that still listens
for your voice inside the wind.
 

 

[Colm Roe]

The new poem you wrote for Japie, briefly mentioning a lighthouse keeper, is even more generic than the original one.
'Pages' is really touching, but I can say no more...until you start 'paying for your keep'