foolishness

my doctor 

takes pride

in pointing out all my

depressive personality traits 

we go back and forth

with this argument

and have done so

for years

 

he may be correct

case in point:

 

being a natural historian

i can’t help

but judge the

passing of seasons

by following the progression

of Nature’s bloom and

where I live

winters are dark

and cold

so when Spring’s suggestion

first awakens

i watch

hunt for

the first Bloodroot flowers

the Trout Lillies

and Spring Beauties

 

but by the

summer solstice

i begin to bemoan 

the arrival of the

first blue chickory

a summer blossum

or the milkweed

and even more horrific

the goldenrods

that i know will soon

fill autumn’s fields

 

life’s a broken record

as is each waking

gut ache and

i spend entire days

waiting for the

train to clear

the level crossing

so that I can pass by

 

if I wait long enough

perhaps it will finally

be over

Reviews

[Eilis]

There’s a sort of irony here but it’s difficult to discern if the speaker is aware of their own confirmation of the doctor’s point. The ability to “know thyself” is perhaps one of the most difficult things. Especially for those suffering under the yoke of an oppressive state of mind.

Michael Longley has a poem about an ice cream man who was killed during The Troubles and in naming the flavors of ice cream he served he goes through some kind of sacred act like naming the parts of the soul. Here I was reminded of this but the cataloging is like a mind unraveling as it watches time pass and makes these markers and becomes so wrapped up in these physical signals it becomes a sort of mania in itself. Like there is the ability to recognize things as having a particular meaning but struggling to connect to them in a way that brings joy or comfort. Instead they become almost like inevitabilities. Something second to pain.

I recognize this state of mind and could sympathize with the voice in the poem. Sometimes I just want to see the flower and be in the moment with the flower or bird. But I can’t. There is always this greater significance. Something like seeking salvation but not really believing it exists.

The tone of the poem lightens the mood a bit but underneath there’s that bare voice wishing for some sort of resolution. But the public voice seems to want the audience to laugh. I really liked this poem. The different shifts and ways the voice wove through the different trains of thought.

[SkinlessFrank]

Thanks for your thoughts on this Ellis. I read the Longley poem you mentioned; rather I went online and heard him read it. It’s devastating in its approach to the topic.

You help me understand what was going through my head at the time I wrote that. I was probably not in a good place. I’m sorry to hear that you have experienced the mindset of the observer. Sometimes all I would like to do is lie down in a meadow and watch the clouds against a blue sky and forget about needing to search for a meaning in it. This is a kind of human curse, and I often wonder, does everyone experience this? Is it just part of being gifted with a big brain by evolution?

[Pete]

foolishness indeed. the way to defeat anyone or anything is to outlive it. keep looking on the bright side.
very well written ...

[ARLorenz]

Finally, a poet denying he is depressed instead of reveling in it. I like how this poem starts off very personal and then shifts into a description of the natural world while still relating to the beginning phrases.

[roarke]

I think either you need a new doctor or at least a second opinion.... that being said, this is such an intimate detailing of seasons and how deeply they penetrate our beings, emotions, perspectives. the second to last stanza here is telling. Yet.... there's nothing foolish about this write. thank you Frank.

[SkinlessFrank]

Thank Roarke. I haven't ditched the doctor. My plan is to outlive him instead.

[. serah .]

-- i found the best therapist in delhi... (based on my issues) and began consulting him... thrice a week for a few weeks and then once a week... the duration of each session was one hour... -- during the second weekly session, he seemed a bit depressed to me... -- he had just returned from the UK where he was doing important work for UK Courts... and seemed rather gloomy in his basement office of a prominent hospital... which had plenty of space but not for him...

-- i started observing him carefully... -- soon, i discovered the topics that made him sit up and those that made him sink... -- during my last session, and i decided it was my last one, after going off my medication on my own, i gifted him a beautiful fountain pen and a fantastic notebook... and told him he must write... and express himself... -- he managed a half-hearted smile and told me that his wife and his brothers had been telling him to do the same...

-- when i came out of the hospital that day, i felt so free that my mind had wings... -- i remember thinking he should have paid me... for helping him... -- some time after that, a very dark depression found me... -- every day i used to feel scared that my parents would die... and i would have no one to talk to... -- i didn't return to my therapist... -- at that time, i had the feeling that i was just waiting for everything to end...

-- i forgot how i enjoyed winter because ice cream didn't melt... i forgot how i enjoyed summer because chocolate would always melt... -- i forgot the taste of darjeeling tea on summer evenings and how thirst-quenching it was even though it's a hot beverage... i forgot the taste of strong coffee on winter mornings... i forgot how my parents were always looking for a reason to smile... and suffering from a million health issues... seasons came and went... days began and ended... years passed and i barely uttered 10-20 words in a day...

-- then, suddenly, one day... beth recommended a movie to me... it's called 'the lovely bones'... -- i watched it and then i wanted to talk about it... so i asked my mother to watch it... and then we saw many movies that were nominated for the oscar awards that year... -- i started cooking for my nephew and my dad... -- when i went to the kitchen to cook, i went to the living room too and had brief conversations with my dad about national politics... but even that wasn't enough...

-- i had to immerse myself in the task of injecting life into life... it's tough to do that... it's like pulling rabbits out of a hat every day... -- i don't know if all therapists are like that but mine didn't know how to pull rabbits out of a hat... he sometimes gave me fish when he actually needed to teach me how to fish... -- i had to learn on my own... and then learn every day...

-- i love your poem, Maestro D. ... it reminds me of a very important phase of my life... and i love flowers... bumping into them is like bumping into natural poetry... -- they don't always bring good news... but they are so expressive... and that's why they're so enthralling... just as your presence is... even when you write about unsettling themes...