I found myself wandering around the internet recently and reading beautiful grief poems. I’m always reminded how writing is a wonderful art form. It, like visual art, can be used to express any emotion or feeling. Some people prefer visual images, others prefer words, and others prefer music or dance. I like it all.
I was reading these grief poems because sometimes, I get a little down in the dumps as the last half of the year approaches. At this time of year, beginning in August, I start to get into too many grief dates. From August until January, I have my late husband’s birthday, our wedding anniversary, and the day that he died. Not to mention all the holidays. I feel a little bombarded with all of these memories and these are just mine. My new spouse, Michael, who is also widowed, also has grief dates that fall within this time period. All of it has the effect of making me grieve for the days where I didn’t have this kind of grief at all. Sometimes, it’s hard to believe that there actually used to be a time in my life where the only dates I thought about were regular birthdays and regular holidays and how all the special people in my life were still alive. Autumn was always my favorite time of the year. I looked forward to it. But now, there is an everlasting shadow over it. Now that I think about it, I suppose it’s no coincidence that I started this grief website during this time period. It’s just another way of dealing with the trauma.
So, join me in a little bit of poetry that reaches into the heart of those feelings and hopefully, validates them. Let me know if any in particular resonate with you or if you have a recommendation of your own.
The Raven (Edgar Allan Poe)
Being in this space once again this year, I happened to be reminded of my favorite grief poem, which is Edgar Allan Poe’s, The Raven. It’s a bit long, so I will post a link to the entire version here, if you would like to read it. This one holds a particularly special memory for me already because before my husband died, we used to read it together and we loved the words and the rhythm. We watched documentaries and looked up information about Edgar Allan Poe and in general, just enjoyed learning about him and his poetry.
Sometimes, memories like this cause me to run the opposite direction of that particular thing. But I didn’t with this poem. Instead, I now find myself reading it with a deeper understanding since it’s covering the loss of a significant other, the struggles with the grief and how that shadow will never leave. It’s comforting to me. In particular, the very last stanza:
And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon’s that is dreaming,
And the lamp-light o’er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted—nevermore!
I was inspired to pull out my art journal and dedicate a page to Edgar Allan Poe’s, The Raven (pictured above). You can click on it to see it up close. It was an answer to my continued grief, especially during this fall season. As it moves into the holidays, I am always reminded of so many losses and issues that came with the loss of my spouse, which are reflected within the writing I made on this page. My children and I have had to deal with many moments that remind us of how losing such an important family member has affected our lives permenantly. This is the curse of grief. We may go on as life forces us to…but there will always be some form of that shadow within us. As those last two lines indicate:
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted—nevermore!
Annabel Lee (Edgar Allan Poe)
It was many and many a year ago,
In a kingdom by the sea,
That a maiden there lived whom you may know
By the name of Annabel Lee;
And this maiden she lived with no other thought
Than to love and be loved by me.
I was a child and she was a child,
In this kingdom by the sea,
But we loved with a love that was more than love—
I and my Annabel Lee—
With a love that the wingèd seraphs of Heaven
Coveted her and me.
And this was the reason that, long ago,
In this kingdom by the sea,
A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling
My beautiful Annabel Lee;
So that her highborn kinsmen came
And bore her away from me,
To shut her up in a sepulchre
In this kingdom by the sea.
The angels, not half so happy in Heaven,
Went envying her and me—
Yes!—that was the reason (as all men know,
In this kingdom by the sea)
That the wind came out of the cloud by night,
Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee.
But our love it was stronger by far than the love
Of those who were older than we—
Of many far wiser than we—
And neither the angels in Heaven above
Nor the demons down under the sea
Can ever dissever my soul from the soul
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
For the moon never beams, without bringing me dreams
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And the stars never rise, but I feel the bright eyes
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side
Of my darling—my darling—my life and my bride,
In her sepulchre there by the sea—
In her tomb by the sounding sea.
Nothing Gold Can Stay (Robert Frost)
Nature’s first green is gold,
Her hardest hue to hold.
Her early leaf’s a flower;
But only so an hour.
Then leaf subsides to leaf.
So Eden sank to grief,
So dawn goes down to day.
Nothing gold can stay
Walking With Grief (A Celtic Prayer)
Do not hurry
As you walk with grief;
It does not help the journey
Walk slowly,
Pausing often:
Do not hurry
As you walk with grief
Be not disturbed
By memories that come unbidden.
Swiftly forgive;
And let Christ speak for you
Unspoken words.
Unfinished conversation
Will be resolved in Him.
Be not disturbed.
Be gentle with the one
Who walks with grief.
If it is you, be gentle with yourself.
Swiftly forgive;
Walk slowly,
Pausing often.
Take time, be gentle
As you walk with grief.
Inarticulate Grief (Richard Aldington)
Let the sea beat its thin torn hands
In anguish against the shore,
Let it moan
Between headland and cliff;
Let the sea shriek out its agony
Across waste sands and marshes,
And clutch great ships,
Tearing them plate from steel plate
In reckless anger;
Let it break the white bulwarks
Of harbour and city;
Let it sob and scream and laugh
In a sharp fury,
With white salt tears
Wet on its writhen face;
Ah! let the sea still be mad
And crash in madness among the shaking rocks—
For the sea is the cry of our sorrow.
The Star (Unknown)
A light went out on Earth for me
The day we said goodbye
And on that day a star was born,
The brightest in the sky
Reaching through the darkness
With its rays of purest white
Lighting up the Heavens
As it once lit up my life
With beams of love to heal
The broken heart you left behind
Where always in my memory
Your lovely star will shine
When Great Trees Fall (Maya Angelou)
When great trees fall,
rocks on distant hills shudder,
lions hunker down
in tall grasses,
and even elephants
lumber after safety.
When great trees fall
in forests,
small things recoil into silence,
their senses
eroded beyond fear.
When great souls die,
the air around us becomes
light, rare, sterile.
We breathe, briefly.
Our eyes, briefly,
see with
a hurtful clarity.
Our memory, suddenly sharpened,
examines,
gnaws on kind words
unsaid,
promised walks
never taken.
Great souls die and
our reality, bound to
them, takes leave of us.
Our souls,
dependent upon their
nurture,
now shrink, wizened.
Our minds, formed
and informed by their
radiance, fall away.
We are not so much maddened
as reduced to the unutterable ignorance of
dark, cold
caves.
And when great souls die,
after a period peace blooms,
slowly and always
irregularly. Spaces fill
with a kind of
soothing electric vibration.
Our senses, restored, never
to be the same, whisper to us.
They existed. They existed.
We can be. Be and be
better. For they existed.
Conclusion
It’s kind of interesting that I can even read these, to be honest. Despite being a bookworm and worshiping reading in every way, I absolutely did not want books or any kind of writing about grief and loss for a very long time. Some people gave me grief related books within the first year of losing my spouse and while I thanked them, I secretly resented the books. I usually stuck them somewhere in the back of my closet and never looked at them again. They weren’t bad gifts, by any means. In fact, if I knew someone who was a big reader and had had a loss, I would probably think of recommending a book for them also. It’s a sensible and logical thing to think. But grief can be weird. You don’t know how it’s going to make you react until something just presents itself. Books on grief are very comforting to many people in the early stages of loss. But for others, they won’t be. I was one of those people who found no comfort in them.
But things can also change. It only just occurred to me that I was finding some comfort in these poems when I certainly wouldn’t have several years ago. I can now recommend certain books and writings on grief that may be comforting for those who DO find comfort in reading about it in the present moment.
Did you like one of the poems above? Or do you have a recommendation of your own? Let us know in the comments.