A Little about Grief Poetry

The great Russian writer Anton Chekov once wrote:

“There ought to be a man with a hammer behind the door of every happy man, to remind him by his constant knocks that there are unhappy people, and that happy as he himself may be, life will sooner or later show him its claws, catastrophe will overtake him–sickness, poverty, loss–and nobody will see it, just as he now neither sees nor hears the misfortunes of others.“

I think what Chekov meant by that was that suffering is inevitable in life.  No matter how happy and smoothly life seems to be, sooner or later and misfortune happens, often without warning.  We loose a job, get a divorce, have financial struggles, and experience the loss of a loved one.  I think Chekov was trying to convey that pain and struggle are a part of life.  There is no man with a hammer, the pleasure and pain, joy and grief, abundance and loss, and happiness and suffering are all a part of life.  One does not occur without the other, the mutually exclusive occurring together at the same time, the yin and yang dancing together in loving embrace for eternity.

This image of the dance of the yin yang is best captured in poetry, and grief poetry is no exception.  Poetry takes that yin-yang of life and both validates, comforts, and equalizes the inevitable suffering and pain of life.  And of the many poems of grief and loss, the most captivating for me are the evocative images brought up by the poetry style of haiku. 

In times of grief:

“Night; and once again,
the while I wait for you, cold wind
turns into rain.” — Masaoka Shiki

A thousand words of ordinary literal prose cannot express the dark night of grief where the cold wind of missing a loved one suddenly turns into the tears of sadness.

Or:

“A weathered skeleton
in windy fields of memory,
piercing like a knife.” — Matsuo Basho

In grief, the memory of a loved one can pierce onesYet emotions, thoughts, and beliefs.  We find that the structure of our live we built now weathers away and becomes as brittle as a skeleton.

And as a reminder:

“Watch birth and death:
the lotus has already
opened its flower.” — Natsume Sseke

Yet, through the grief, with that which dies and composes, causes a new flower, a new life, a new perspective, a new optimism to be reborn and grow.

Yet:

“One flower
on the cliffside
nodding at the canyon” — Jack Kerouac

Reminds us that in the deepest part of the canyon, there is still life, a little flower saying hello to whatever sun my reach it.  There is light in the canyon, allow your single blossom to say hello once again.

In conclusion:

“Temple bells die out.
The fragrant blossoms remain.
A perfect evening!” — Matsuo Basho

All flowers, trees, rocks, and life comes and goes, yet life goes on.  The bells of the shock and trauma dies out, the sting of the grief gets easier.  The fragrant blossoms of other jobs, friends and loved ones remain.  In spite of the grief, sadness, anger, and despair, life is good and life goes on.  Even with the grief, sadness, anger, and despair, there is still happiness, joy, and grace.  Daytime and evening, life is perfect as it is!