{"id":1722,"date":"2009-07-03T00:01:21","date_gmt":"2009-07-03T06:01:21","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/blaine.org\/sevenimpossiblethings\/?p=1722"},"modified":"2009-07-03T00:02:07","modified_gmt":"2009-07-03T06:02:07","slug":"notes-from-the-other-side","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"http:\/\/blaine.org\/sevenimpossiblethings\/?p=1722","title":{"rendered":"Notes from the Other Side"},"content":{"rendered":"

\"image<\/a>This week, I’m re-reading Thomas Lynch’s<\/strong><\/a> The Undertaking: Life Studies from the Dismal Trade<\/strong><\/a><\/em>, a National Book Award finalist, published back in 1997. Lynch is an essayist and poet, but he also—as the first chapter’s opening line tells us—buries a couple hundred of his townspeople every year. Yes, he’s the funeral director for the small Michigan town in which he lives — or at least he was back in ’97.<\/p>\n

It’s a moving, life-affirming collection of essays, despite how it all might sound. As I started re-reading the book the other day, my eye was drawn to an excerpt from Jane Kenyon’s<\/strong><\/a> stunning poem, “Notes from the Other Side,” which Lynch uses to open the book. Then, I looked up the poem in its entirety, and I was blown away. Beautiful. <\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

I’ve said this before<\/a><\/strong> here at 7-Imp, so I won’t belabor the point, but I think about life after death a lot. Not morbidly. And not in a way that indicates I want to discover its mysteries any time soon. I think—well, I know<\/em>—it’s because I’ve lost one too many of the very-deeply-loved ones in my life to not be curious and wonder where are they, if anywhere? What are they doing? Will I see them again?<\/em> I don’t give it too terribly much thought beyond that, as I very much subscribe, for better or worse and with apologies to my philosophy-loving friends, to the Edie-Brickell-what-I-am-is-what-I-am mode of philosophy. Really. Choke me in the shallow water before I get too deep. <\/p>\n

But I do wonder about it. A lot. Enough to make me think I’m probably weird. <\/p>\n

This is the best poem I’ve ever, ever<\/em> read on the topic. The final two lines made me do dramatic things like gasp, clutch my heart, and nearly swoon. <\/p>\n

And isn’t it nice to read that about books in the afterlife? <\/p>\n

“Notes from the Other Side” by Jane Kenyon<\/p>\n

I divested myself of despair
\nand fear when I came here.<\/p>\n

Now there is no more catching
\none’s own eye in the mirror,<\/p>\n

there are no bad books, no plastic,
\nno insurance premiums, and of course<\/p>\n

no illness. Contrition
\ndoes not exist, nor gnashing<\/p>\n

of teeth. No one howls as the first
\nclod of earth hits the casket.<\/p>\n

The poor we no longer have with us.
\nOur calm hearts strike only the hour,<\/p>\n

and God, as promised, proves
\nto be mercy clothed in light.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

Today’s Poetry Friday round-up is being hosted by Tabatha A. Yeatts at the wonderfully-titled Opposite of Indifference<\/strong><\/a><\/em>.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

This week, I’m re-reading Thomas Lynch’s The Undertaking: Life Studies from the Dismal Trade, a National Book Award finalist, published back in 1997. Lynch is an essayist and poet, but he also—as the first chapter’s opening line tells us—buries a couple hundred of his townspeople every year. Yes, he’s the funeral director for the small […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":4,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[11],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-1722","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-poetry-friday"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"http:\/\/blaine.org\/sevenimpossiblethings\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1722","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"http:\/\/blaine.org\/sevenimpossiblethings\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"http:\/\/blaine.org\/sevenimpossiblethings\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/blaine.org\/sevenimpossiblethings\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/4"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/blaine.org\/sevenimpossiblethings\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=1722"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"http:\/\/blaine.org\/sevenimpossiblethings\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1722\/revisions"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"http:\/\/blaine.org\/sevenimpossiblethings\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=1722"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/blaine.org\/sevenimpossiblethings\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=1722"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/blaine.org\/sevenimpossiblethings\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=1722"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}