Losing things

The city

You may have noticed that I haven’t blogged here of late. That’s because something very sad happened which I didn’t want to write about, but didn’t want to bypass either. The result was that I didn’t write.

When I feel stressed or tired or upset, I often find that I’m clumsy, more likely to trip, or lose things. True to form, yesterday I lost some prescription spectacles (the purple ones that you can see on the right) when their case fell out of a hole in my bag as I cycled along St. Mark’s toward Franklin Ave. The day was gorgeously hot and I was wearing sunglasses, and though I heard a clatter behind me I just kept going. Later, when I went back peering under cars to look for them, they were gone.

A few months back, an acquaintance told me about a friend of his, an Irish woman called Lydia Prior who was based in LA, but moved home to Belfast when her father died. She’s writing a blog about his death called the Dead Dad Diaries. I’ve glanced at it from time to time, and I’ve found it to be excellent and intriguing, though the title is a bit much for me. Recently Prior posted up a poem by Elizabeth Bishop on the subject of loss. It’s a well-known poem, perhaps almost cliche; still, I’ve found that, more than anything else, poetry articulates these feelings best.

One Art

By Elizabeth Bishop

The art of losing isn’t hard to master;
so many things seem filled with the intent
to be lost that their loss is no disaster.

Lose something every day. Accept the fluster
of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.
The art of losing isn’t hard to master.

Then practice losing farther, losing faster:
places, and names, and where it was you meant
to travel. None of these will bring disaster.

I lost my mother’s watch. And look! my last, or
next-to-last, of three loved houses went.
The art of losing isn’t hard to master.

I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster,
some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.
I miss them, but it wasn’t a disaster.

– Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture
I love) I shan’t have lied.  It’s evident
the art of losing’s not too hard to master
though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster.

2 Responses to “Losing things”
  1. Nisa says:

    “One Art” is probably my favorite poem of all time. Nice choice. And nothing else does capture grief quite like poetry, eh? Except perhaps music.

  2. Frieda says:

    It’s true, music does capture grief, or at least offer solace. I’ve been listening to Handel’s Watermusic — ordered and serene.

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