My third and final poetry review for this last week of Poetry Month: John Roedel's collection titled upon departure.
Back on April 15 I posted a John Roedel poem, “The Anatomy of Peace.” I'm a new fan of his, so I don't know if it's actually his most popular/viral, but it is brilliant and has been shared widely. If you missed it, please read it or listen to him recite it.
After reading more of his work, I bought upon departure, his latest collection.
In the foreword he tells the story of his dad's death. Grief for the loss of his father is the foundation for these poems. This sentence rang true to me: "I was afraid that if I started crying I would never be able to stop."
After the foreword (not labeled as such; that's just what I'm calling it) — which is prose — is a prologue, in verse. The poems that follow are all numbered rather than titled. Number 4 is the one I read that convinced me to buy the book.
I’ve now read all of them, and #4 is still my favorite. The concept is that your loved one has not gone, they've simply changed forms: "it's just that they were the lake that eventually became the rolling thunderhead / it's just that they were the seed that eventually became the lush apple tree / it's just that they were the fistful of wet clay that eventually became the cup of eternity". It's a sentimental poem and I am all in on it, even though the concept of Rader NOT being gone is something I have never been able to embrace. I don't see signs of him or feel his presence. Part of me thinks that if I just believed in that stuff it might happen for me. Regardless, even though I don't believe it, this poem had me in tears. That seems pretty powerful.
Other points of appreciation:
💭 In #20, "you are not your heartbreaks / you are not your failures / you are not your tears / you are not your scars" reminds me of a song from Sonic Yogi (Jonathan Adams)'s new album, Breath into Being. The song is "I Am: Letting Go," and it's a must-listen. (Log in to Spotify to hear it in full.)
💭 An observation in #21: "everything in my life / has been a vehicle /carrying me from one moment to the next" after several stanzas following the structure "I'm still (__ years old) / and I'm riding (my bike)"
💭 In #39, Roedel compares death to being 'born' into the afterlife. "… on my last day / here on Earth // let me be as I / was on my very first // let me be // ready to see the smiling faces /of all those who have been /eagerly waiting to meet me"
💭 And #40 does actually have a title after the number: The SuperBloom. "… ecologists say that sometimes / when forests burn down / they can explode into thousands of wildflowers // they call it a 'superbloom' // - that's what grief is".
I was 10 and my family was living in Washington state when Mount St. Helens erupted; we heard the explosions from more than 100 miles away. Even though we moved to the east coast later that year, I was always interested in the aftermath. I’ve seen some impressive photographs of how nature reclaimed the desolate landscape, so this is what I imagine when I read Roedel’s metaphor for grief.
The three books of poetry I bought this month were all born from death (although that’s not something I was specifically going for). Jenny Qi and Stephen Sexton both wrote about their moms dying. John Roedel lost his dad. If you’re a writer — maybe even moreso if you’re a poet — when you have feelings, you write things down. Take a look through the “writing my grief” section to see how I’ve used writing to try to make sense of my own journey. There you’ll find the other book reviews I wrote this month, too.