Can a Poem Save a Life?
Can a Poem Save a Life?
I don't know. But maybe you can.
It was beginning winter,
An in-between time,
The landscape still partly brown:
The bones of weeds kept swinging in the wind,
Above the blue snow.
It was beginning winter,
The light moved slowly over the frozen field,
Over the dry seed-crowns,
The beautiful surviving bones
Swinging in the wind.
Light traveled over the wide field;
Stayed.
The weeds stopped swinging.
The mind moved, not alone,
Through the clear air, in the silence.
Was it light?
Was it light within?
Was it light within light?
Stillness becoming alive,
Yet still?
A lively understandable spirit
Once entertained you.
It will come again.
Be still.
Wait.
~ “It was beginning winter,” from The Collected Poems of Theodore Roethke. (Anchor Press/Doubleday, 1975).
I bought this book at a B. Dalton Bookseller in 1975.
I remember standing in the poetry section, hesitant. I’d heard of Roethke, but had read only a few of his poems. You can see from the book’s condition that I made the wise choice to carry it to the cash register. Since then, it has traveled with me everywhere, and is always within reach on my nightstand.
It has helped me through some dark times. But not alone.
Memories from my mid- to late-teens blur, as if I’d crossed multiple time zones with no clear demarcations. For two years I stayed mostly in my bedroom, while my peers went to high school. In late 1974, still living with my parents, I took the bus to and from the department store where I sold housewares. A year later, I moved into an apartment I was afraid to leave after dark. There was someone I called a boyfriend who told me I wasn’t the girlfriend type, who went away and should have stayed away.
And then the right man came. A son. A daughter. Laughter. Love.
So much love.
Light within light.
The spirit moves, but not always upward . . . And the sun brings joy to some./ But the rind, often, hates the life within.
T.H. Roethke, from “Meditations of an Old Woman.”
I was working on a different post last night, planning to send it out today. It may be in your inbox tomorrow or Saturday. It’s lighter and more cheerful. Writing it brought me tremendous joy.
But someone I love called me today. She’s been struggling for many years in a number of areas: with relationships, finances, employment, physical and mental health. Exhausted and in pain, she asked for help in filling out a 14-page questionnaire, one of several assessments she needs to complete before she can be treated for treatment-resistant depression. After two lengthy intake appointments, she’s required to see a pharmacologist, a psychiatrist, and a psychotherapist. If she succeeds in meeting their opaque criteria, the insurance gods may approve coverage.
I hope that she can find relief. I hope she knows she is not alone.
And I thought about the many people I know who suffer as she does, and of the millions who also suffer. It doesn’t have to be that way. We are not alone.
Thank you for reading. Please feel free to share this post.
A lively, understandable spirit lives in every one of us.
And the light will come again.
*If you or someone you know is struggling with suicidal thoughts or mental health matters, please call the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 988 (or 800-273-8255) to connect with a trained counselor. Or visit the NSPL site.*
Disclaimer: I am not a trained or licensed mental health provider, and am not qualified or certified to give mental health advice. Please contact a mental health professional if you, a friend, or a loved one is experiencing difficulties.
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A friend is assistant dean of liberal arts at the University of Minnesota. As on every campus, the students are suffering the anguish of the world. She decided they could use a steadying dose of poetry, so she asked her Facebook friends for suggestions to share in her next letter to the students. I’ve seen the list, a good one, with Wendell Berry’s “The Peace of Wild Things,” Jack Gilbert’s “A Brief for the Defense, Adam Zagajewski’s “Try to Praise the Mutilated World” and many others I forget, possibly including your Roethke talisman. It certainly deserves to be there. You are a true friend, Mary. There’s no more important role in life. I wish your friend comfort and peace. Having suffered from depression myself, I know--as you know--the light is out there.
I loved the Roethke poem. This was a tender and moving post, thank you. I don't know if poetry can save a life. It hasn't saved mine. But it's made it a better one.