It isn’t often that I write directly about myself, but I am a kind of historian. I’ve noticed that. I write to record lives, insights, events – and always in poetic forms. The other day I received a mail from the wife of my onetime manager, (my profession being music) who had died on the 5th of December.
In this year 2010 two of my former husbands have passed away – and now my manager. I hadn’t seen him in years – but still, an absence is precisely that – something that was there that is no longer. and an absence of those who have been in one’s life is an absence felt in that mysterious compartment in the brain that records personal existences.
So I wrote. Partly to examine, partly to honor and partly to make sure that I remember. Poetry is my mnemonic aid par excellence.
The poem: still a little raw, parhaps.
Three deaths this year.
The probability when getting old;
I thought that eighty was statistically
The modern seventy.
Karmic preparation detaching me
From those held dear;
Does Time do me a favor,
Taking savories away
To dull the taste buds of existence?
Preparation? Possibly.
Traveling different roads
That lead to Rome,
Correction: I mean Home.
Birth, Death & In Between; Pure Nakedness;
Arlene Corwin
Arlene Corwin Poetry 