Life left me alone with longing
Pretending I need nothing more
Knowing why I am unloved
At heart an unmet need like hunger
Eats at me and I grow fat on pain
Leaking tears like famished babies
Old, alone, no longer wanting joy
Cracking jokes that no one hears
Waiting for the end of one more
Days of empty longing deaths
Freedom from this rending sorrow
Nothing mends nor ever will
This heart keeps beating without
Meaning why awaken to do nothing
Lasting or redeeming transformation
All the work with time undone
And in the end left to crumble
Alone at last with longing
Peggy Pendleton
5/1/19
Friday, May 1, 2009
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20 comments:
I am wordless but there are lots of feelings that this heart wrenching poem evokes. "At heart an unmet need like hunger
Eats at me and I grow fat on pain
Leaking tears like famished babies" ugh. I feel that. Beautiful, sad and beyond words.
I know you do. I wrote this for both of us. Somehow I think we share the same wound. Only you are making something of yourself. You have a life. I have an old crazy dog, a wild untended garden, a crumbling house, and sorrow.
well honey child, you also got us! don't forget that!
Wow!
The thing I've understood for a long time is that without pain there'd be no creativity. You use yours well.
Oh, you are utterly amazing. I was about to go home, when your poem caught my eye.
You weave words
Like a master artisan
Gifted with life's color
Glittering in the sacred stanzas.
Utah: I am deeply touched that I came to mind when these words were birthed.
I do think we have similar mothers and longings. But,to your later points, I happen to know that you have written a novel and are committed to publishing this year and you have created a community of people who really care about you. You rescue dogs who would otherwise never know love.Yes, we have sorrow but we dare to do something with it. Many don't. Oh,yeah, and you have something else, you have talent.
xoxo
Well, ladies we end the night in a circle, mothering ourselves and each other. We have created a community of caring friends, sisters, brothers. I feel embraced in your loving arms.
Dear Utah - first SMOOCH! Next, art:
Gustav Mahler, Symphony #8, the Last Chorus of the Symphony of a Thousand. Watch here, http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Rxkh8D-i_UU
and here are the words and translation:
Alles Vergängliche
Ist nur ein Gleichnis; All that is transitory
Is but an image.
Das Unzulängliche,
Hier wird's Ereignis The inadequacy of earth
Here finds fulfillment;
Das Unbeschreibliche.
Hier ist's getan The ineffable
Here is accomplished.
Das Ewig Weibliche Zieht uns hinan! The eternal feminine leads us upwards!
Written about 100 years ago. By a crazy old man. Simply gorgeous, no?!
So don't mind me if I rip your words off for some music gluttony, ok?
xxoo-
k
And Dear Ms. UT, I'm not being glib.
There is a certain and fantastic component, Emily Dickenson-ish, so to say, in what you wrote, that is echoed in the Mahler.
"hope is the thing with feathers" is what came to me the instant I read this, but you wrote it's opposite form.
My constitution is such that I can only riposte with opposites, such that I must and only can say things like "zieht uns hinan"; point us ever upward!
You have such a verbal gift; your pain is a giant part of it. But ultimately, YOUR GIFT!
It's truly fantastic!
At heart an unmet need like hunger
Eats at me and I grow fat on pain
Leaking tears like famished babiesThis is an aria no songbird has ever sung, but would greedily gobble were it available, singable.
I know it's your feelings, but listen here:
You Got Game.
you got us...you are not alone...you feel alone....but we are here...and that ol'dog loves you ....and even that crumbling place loves you back in an odd way....pain is something that swallows us....I am so so sorry that you going through this.....
come over to watergate...I have all your favorite tunes on...that might help...
if you were here I would make mint juleps ( its derby day) and shitty ugly toilet paper hats- cuz that's what we used to do to watch the Kentucky Derby to mock the hideous hats in Louisville....but yeah...if you were here I would let you sit in my crumbling dilapitated house and tell me everything....we could even sit in my messy garden and burn something on my 4 dollar grill....and piss off my redneck bigoted neighbor...by doing Michelle Bachman and Palin imitations .....
Many Hugs Our Fierce Queen of the Savage....
I stopped by to read. I am moved. Thank You for sharing your heart with us.
Now that's a happy piece. In a selfish moment, I fear happiness and contentment may murder your darlings.
I want to sit with you and talk and just be.
I am closing up shop with one therapist after a year and moving to another, and in our second to last session, I told him that he listens all the time, and I am interested in hearing what he had to say (not about himself, but me) and the sum total of a year's worth of therapy is that no duh, I'm ambivalent as shit, but that I see it as such a bad thing and he sees it as a positive thing. I'm certainly no glass half-fuller, but maybe maybe I am getting down on myself more than is warranted. I'm sure you know what I'm implying. I love you.
I feel like you planted a chip in my brain and read my thoughts.
Unconventional Conventionist, I love you. You know that because we have talked for hours on the phone. But your praise for my poem thrills me. And do with me what you will with or without feathers, under your wing or mine, singing or silent. I love you. It's such a thrill to have you back on the blogs again. SMOOCH!
Enigma, in your honor today I will wear a toilet paper hat as I watch the Derby, and I'll drink a virgin Julep (sad isn't it? but I'm such a good girl, I never drink when I'm taking drugs). And I'll clink glasses with you.
Spodaman, thank you for stopping and reading and staying to comment. Come by often and stay for lunch.
Randal, I'm known for my happy pieces, no? Happiness will never kill my gloom. Fear not.
Freida Bee, I love you to pieces and I wish we could sit and talk. I'd give you feedback and whatever else you want or need. And I wasn't even leering as I wrote that. But I am now. I think of you as the queen of the universe. In your Dr. Bee incarnation I'm sure you could cure me. Then I could put on the outfit and cure you. Deal?
NJNRR, How can you feel like this there? You are in France! I am in Utah! Fuck women. I live with the illusion that your life is perfect in a work your ass off everyday sort of way. And you know that once you get all the work done, Randal, La Belette Rouge, Freida, UC, and I are going to drop by for a month or so. And stop scratching that spot on your head, you're messing with the transmission.
you're right - in a work my ass off kind of way, all is right with the world.
Lovely and sad.
I'm afraid susan is right. This is a very powerful poem, Utah.
oh I cry. You make me cry with your words written, but crying is good. I always thing something is well written, if it provokes an emotion from the reader. Whatever that emotion may be. I cry.
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