More Music in Cemeteries II. . .
~~ This page dedicated to ~~
~~ James Yee ~~
~~ 1930-2000 ~~
(Do you think?)the
i do,world
is probably made
of roses & hello:
(of solongs and,ashes)
- excerpt from poem33, from e.e. cummings' Collected Poems 1928-1938
And grief is one thing nearly personal,
a hairline fracture in an individual skull;
homemade elegy which sounds its keening
in the scarred heart's well
- excerpt from "What Everyone Should Know about Grief" by Ingrid de Kok from her book of collected poems Transfer
I too am a student
I'm learning dying
- Robin Skelton from the poetry collection To Say the Least edited by P. K. Page
Jan
was a name
for so many people
I cannot remember
you.
- IV from "Journeystones I-XI", by Audre Lorde from her The Black Unicorn
The railing world turn'd poet, made a play,
I came to see it, dislik'd, and went away.
Walk't from the womb, she on the world did peep,
Disliked it, closed her eyes, fell fast asleep.
- unknown, from a grave in Bensington Churchyard, Oxon (from Thomas J. Pettigrew's Chronicles of the Tombs, A Select Collection of Epitaphs)
Reader, pass on, don't waste your time
On bad biography and bitter rhyme:
For what I am, this crumbling clay insures,
And what I was is no affair of yours.
- unknown, from a grave in New Jersey (from Raymond L. Brown's A Book of Epitaphs)
More was intended, but a wind did rise,
And fill'd with Ashes both my mouth and eyes.
- excerpt from the epitaph of Thomas Haward, Kingston upon Thames, 1655 (from Thomas J. Pettigrew's Chronicles of the Tombs, A Select Collection of Epitaphs)
I guess you think you know this story
You don't. The real one's much more gory.
The phoney one, the one you know,
Was cooked up years and years ago,
And made to sound all soft and sappy
Just to keep the children happy.
- from Roald Dahl's Revolting Rhymes
Out of the blue I came to you
content,
Blown like a leaf from some wind-haunted place,
And back into the blue without a trace
I go, filled with love's strange bewilderment.
And though you call to me -- oh, my Dear, my Dear! --
I shall not come to you, I shall not hear.
- the end of "When Next You Come" by Natalie Flohr from her The White Unicorn
My skin is tightening
soon I shall shed it
like a monitor lizard
like remembered comfort
at the new moon's rising
I will eat the last signs of my weakness
remove the scars of old childhood wars
and dare to enter the forest whistling
like a snake that has fed the chameleon
for changes
I shall be forever.
May I never remember reasons
for my spirit's safety
may I never forget
the warnings of my woman's flesh
weeping at the new moon
may I never lose
that terror
that keeps me brave
May I owe nothing
that I cannot repay.
- last stanzas of "Solstice" by Audre Lorde from her The Black Unicorn
Please click on the above photographs to see full-sized images.
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(Photos of the Cemetery of Saint Andrew's Church, Great Billing, Northamptonshire, England, are by Wendy-Sue Wilkinson, a fellow teddy bear artist. All other photos are by Debra or myself, taken in the Mont Royal Cemetery, Montreal, Quebec, the Notre-Dame-des-Neiges Cemetery, Montreal, Quebec and the Burke Center Cemetery, Burke, N.Y. Please don't use them without permission.)
These pages created by Karen Waschinski.
Questions? Comments? Please e-mail me at woosel[at]total.net
~~A Vampyre's Faerytale: Dà Fhaol Mharbh by Karen Waschinski (with Debra Yee)~~