Image by Schäferle via Pixabax
Does discussing meaning ruin the art of poetry?
I used to think so. I even have a poem about it! My sister loved to ask what my poems were about and I never understood that, so I rhymed some words about it and made her name the title of a short poem. I think now I have a different point of view.
For me, poetry is about feelings. So in my mind, you read it and however those words make you feel, that is the goal of the poem. It’s never the same for everybody. But recently, I came across a perspective that changed my opinion: How would understanding something better “ruin” it?
The creative process behind “The Train” actually started with the sentence “I bought the ticket, but I missed the train”. It was said to me by my father in the ICU after he had a stroke, the first big health scare of his life. He went on to have a lot of those, until he passed away in 2007 from Alcoholic cirrhosis at age 62.
This piece is me trying to cope and process the fact that my father had drank himself to death. He never stopped, he never had any intention to, and I struggled with this fact. To deal with an absent father’s death, I had to let go of whatever were his reasons for doing what he did. I know it is sad, but also a valuable lesson: that no matter how much you want and work for it, you can never save people.
My father’s journey was his own, and it took me years to find some peace in that, so I made him ride a train forever, and I try to picture him arriving wherever he finds comfort. While I’m still here, I try to focus on my own ride and hope our tracks collide someday, because he owes me one last warm hug.
I come back to this poem once in a while when I miss my dad, and when I read it again it somehow gives me hope that everything will be alright. How does creative writing help you when you are dealing with something as real and heart breaking as death?
Let me know in the comments!
The train
For Eli
The first time it came, you told me: “I bought the ticket, but I missed the train”. This time, I got scared. Didn’t see that one coming. The second time, I got mad. What was the deal with you and that train? This time you were scared and I thought it was hypocritical of you. Weren’t you the one that bought that goddamn ticket? The third time, I was resigned. Maybe all you thought about was that trip. Maybe I shouldn't judge this fact. But how could I, if it hurts this bad? The fourth time, it took you. I tried to be ready. I thought I was. But there are no words for this feeling, How would someone be prepared to feel it? I thought I hated that train But maybe you were supposed to be on it. Just maybe, I had to accept that I wasn't the one operating it. Maybe you needed to ride on those tracks... Maybe nobody had to understand why Maybe you lived just to get on that train. Maybe it hurt me that much Because in my heart, I began to realize That maybe, just maybe You were the train itself. When that train comes for me, I really hope you are.