"The Thrill of Mortality"
on grief and gratitude along with some writing advice from poet Billy Collins
Issue #69
Dear Reader,
As I start to write this newsletter, the words of poet Billy Collins echo back to me. My daughter and I went to hear him speak last week and I wrote down as many quotes about writing as I could. Begin in a familiar place and then go someplace new, he said. He also put it another way: begin in Kansas and end in Oz. His point was to make sure the reader comes along on the journey as opposed to losing them in the first few lines.
So here I am at the beginning of what is essentially a blog post and not a poem, inviting you to join me in Kansas and see where we end up. For my part I’m starting out with a cup of peppermint tea and this lovely little chocolate that my son bought for me today. Perhaps you, too, are also sitting with a cup of tea (or coffee) and enjoying a bite of something sweet.
During his conversation with author Ann Patchett, Collins not only talked about the beginning of a poem, he also talked about the end of one. He said he writes because he’s extremely curious to find out the ending of a poem.
Right now I’m curious to find out exactly where I’m taking you (and me) today.
///
This week as my daughter and I drove together on the winding lane that connects our neighborhood to the main road she interrupted our conversation and exclaimed:
I love that tree!
She was referring to the towering tree on our left that stole our attention with its vibrant pumpkin-colored leaves.
What she didn’t know was that I had been fawning over this tree for the past week, my heart beating a little faster each time I approached the curve that would bring the tree into view. Just the day before I had tried to take some photos of it, not an easy or very safe task since my dominant hand is in a brace from a recent car accident. This meant I was holding the wheel with the injured hand and taking the photo with my free hand.
The other bit my daughter didn’t know when she spontaneously praised the tree was that my gratitude toward all the fall trees had been growing steadily over the past several weeks. It might be more accurate to say that my gratitude was less toward the trees themselves but toward my ability to delight in the trees.
After my Dad’s death in October just over a decade ago, my hunger to feast on the Autumn colors disappeared entirely, stolen away by grief. Each year the trees put on their party clothes but their beauty served as a painful reminder of my Dad’s absence. It’s only been in the last few years that my joy has begun to thaw out and this year in particular, I’ve realized seeing the golden trees no longer leaves me tinged with grief. Even more than that my heart inflates with joy like a balloon.
After my Dad passed away the prose writer inside of me started dripping out oddly shaped stanzas that I called “poem-ish things”. I wouldn’t dare call it poetry but I couldn’t get anything to come out in the normal sentence structure that I was used to. When I showed these poem-ish things to a writer friend of mine she asked me what poets I was currently reading. This was her gentle way of saying: If you want to write poetry, you better start reading poetry because it’s obvious to me you aren’t right now.
Billy Collins was one of the first poets I started reading after that prompt from my friend. One of the reasons he was (and is) a great doorway into poetry is because he takes his own advice. He tries to start a poem in a familiar place for the reader before he begins taking any twists or turns. During his talk this past week he gave the same advice to the audience that my friend had given to me: if you want to write poetry then you need to read it.
I doubt it would surprise him much to know that it was because I came in contact with death that I found myself writing and eventually reading poetry.
“Death is really what gets you out of bed in the morning if you’re a poet… Real flowers in a vase are beautiful because they are dying… We don’t say the same thing about silk flowers… this is the thrill of mortality.”
-paraphrase of Billy Collins from the talk we attended
Collins is 83 years old and I can only imagine that the limitation of time is even more difficult to avoid as the years stack up under you and the number of friends and family who have left this earth increases every year. I don’t know what Collins believes about the afterlife but I assume from some of his poetry that he and I don’t share the same views about God and heaven and the new earth. But I think we do agree that there is something to be said for recognizing the beauty in things that will not last, whether it’s the people that we love or the trees or the flowers that ignite such inner joy.
Here’s an excerpt from his poem, Ten, which addresses how we change over time.
It seems only yesterday I used to believe there was nothing under my skin but light. If you cut me I would shine. But now if I fall upon the sidewalks of life, I skin my knees. I bleed.
///
Alongside the vibrant fall colors, November has been a conveyor belt of new and ongoing worries.
There is the hand injury that is leading me to surgery and a cast next month.
There are worries about my adult kids and my not-yet-adult kid.
There are the friends whose shoulders are bent from their own grief.
There are the echoes of division and anger that sliced through communities during the pandemic and previous election, which have risen up loud and threatening with this month’s election (no matter who you or I voted for).
Which means I’m even more thankful for coming around the corner to see a Pumpkin-Orange tree and being able to feel my heart respond with unexpected joy.
Or eating an Acai bowl with a friend I’ve known for over twenty years.
Or watching my daughter make a little book with pockets (much better than my own attempt).
Or when a family member gets good results on her health test and lunch afterward includes my own little bottle of maple syrup.
Or when I get photos of my daughters’ cats being unbearably cute.
I’m thankful for a quick drive to the store with the top down when the temperature is perfect and the sky is showing off.
Or the moment that my youngest daughter and I lean our heads against each other and watch a sunset just a few minutes later.
Or when my husband hangs the lights I ordered (to fight the winter darkness) even though he’s tired.
Or when my daughter and I go to hear a famous poet read his poetry.
What about you, reader? What’s been inflating your heart this season? Has grief ever changed your connection with something beautiful? Do you have a favorite poet to recommend?
Epilogue
We sat in the crowd waiting for Billy Collins to walk onstage. I looked around and noticed that my daughter was one of the younger people in attendance and pointed it out to her.
It’s because you raised me right, she said.
Can you write that down please, in blood? I asked her. So I can pull it out later and remind you that you said it?
She was silent for a moment and then amended her statement: At least you raised me right in poetry.
I sighed. She’s a slippery one. But I’ll take what I can get.
Blessings from the Guest Nest,
-Aimee
Continue the Journey
On Poetry
If you don’t know the work of Billy Collins, I suggest you listen to him read his poems.
The Lanyard by Billy Collins
Animated versions of three poems.
His latest book is Water, Water.
On Gratitude
I’m hoping to get my family to fill out these Gratitude ‘zines from Austin Kleon.
Past Newsletters with Similar Themes
Thanks so much for reading, sharing, and contributing to the conversation. You can support my art and writing by donating to my art supply fund and by sharing this newsletter with friends who might enjoy it.
You had me at the tea and truffle, Aimee ...
I’ve been dreadfully behind on my Substack reading, but thankful for a chance to finally sit in the quiet with this one!
Strange how my own beautifully colored trees feel so far away (though leaves remain littered on the ground), and yet I am treasuring the contrast, right now, of stark, silver limbs, empty against the often gray sky.
I’m sad to admit I’ve not read much of Billy’s work but I’ve put him on my reading list for next year!