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I can't quite put my finger on it. Perhaps it is just what poetry does. But it never fails, when I'm reading poetry, for a poem to hone in on exactly what I've been experiencing in my own life. It's uncanny. The poem is Gasoline. I'll share parts of it, the parts that resonate with my own recent experience, below.
Even after all these years after the divorce, I still sometimes dream we are together. She and I will be rushing hand in hand, late for a movie....In the dream, I actually know what is ahead...but there is something hopeful about the way she touches me, even still. I think there will always be a bond...The children will always be our children...
I am not a idiot. :) I know better than to pine for all that has vanished behind me. In fact, I am faced forward, usually; a striking picture of good health, braced headlong against the wind!...Still, I'm surprised to be here. I thought my life would turn out differently. I expected better from and for myself. And so, though reconciliation isn't something I want to happen in real life, in my dreams, it's ok...In those dreams, it's that fresh and untouched. It is a pleasure to feel that fully again, to have the family under one roof...That's all I wanted, was for life to be easy, right, fluid. It didn't seem like a lot to ask at the time.
Let me just say that I was in tears after reading this poem. I guess it helps to know that I'm not alone in this experience. I think this is why poetry is so special to those who love it. It seems we always find pieces of ourselves in the words.
Case in point...here's another from this collection that hits home for me...straight to my heart. Some parts of this poem, Storm Front, I share below...
...I miss my sons and daughter, but then I have always missed them, even when I held them. I was always reminding myself to be present, to demarcate significance. I was always a little lost within my own home. A form of Narcissism, I suppose, never feeling able to take in enough. Honestly, I fear now, as I become old, both remembering too little and too much. Either pitfall bears challenges.
Yesterday, watching a video of my youngest at two or three, listening to my young, robust voice read his storybook, I found I couldn't breathe. I would never be that father again; those years were lost to me. I understood then how such panic takes one to the edge of living. There is a violence enmeshed in memory I do not fully comprehend, ends are implicit in it....
I know I'm sharing a lot from these poems, but I just can't help it. As a mother of sons, I loved this one...
Mortal Currents
Side against side ~ lain face-up in sleep ~ two lone clouds ~
one a stuffed bear ~ one my young son ~ across the ridge they
are passing ~ shorn apart ~ thinned to wings ~
Little sleeper, dear child ~ so far from me now ~ there are
but these few miles of peace ~ these brief wondrous nights ~
then we wake diminished ~ awash in mortal currents ~
My son, sweet boy ~ this is such a precious time ~ sleep long ~
churn deeper ~ dream ~ while you still own your face ~ while
you are still near to home ~ before the angel of forgetting ~
puts its cool lips to your eyelids ~ and you become a man
Just when I thought I was safe, the final poem, Wonder Bread, hit me and I was down for the count. Here are the final several lines at the end...
...Give me the simple life. If I do get Alzheimer's, let me get stuck reliving those mornings making lunches. the same thing over and over again. Everybody late, rushing around, cramming stuff into bookbags, and scurrying out to the car. Then piling in together. Just being there, buckled in next to each other, sitting in line, waiting to drop off at the front doors. I could wait like that. I could wait like that for as long as it takes.
That's it. I'm wrecked. It's hard to be sad, but it would be even harder not to have these memories. This collection is so wonderful. I can't even put it in the proper words. I will just say that if you love poetry, and you love families and relationships and memories and yes, some poignancy, then this is the collection to read. I know these poems will stay with me.
About the collection:
Praise for Previous Collections:
On Readiness
Thrilling prose poems from a cherished writer . . . . Cox gives lie to the common notion that prose poetry is too formless to count as real verse . . . . [He] is as careful with diction, rhythm, and even rhyme as one might be if they were writing strict alexandrines-and yet, his poems are as fluid and readable as Jack Kerouac’s novels. -Kirkus Reviews
On Sorrow Bread
Tony Hoagland has said Mark Cox is “a veteran of the deep water; there’s no one like him,” and Thomas Lux identified him as “one of the finest poets of his generation.” No one speaks more effectively of the vital and enduring syntaxes of common, even communal, life. -Richard Simpson
On Natural Causes
One of the best books I’ve read in years. In a style that’s brash, offbeat, tough-minded and big-hearted, these poems explore the fundamental mysteries of love between parent and child, self and other, self and world. Beyond the inventive language and formal range, what makes this work so memorable is Cox’s refusal to look away from even the hardest facts of “unadulterated sorrow.” -Alan Shapiro
On Readiness
Thrilling prose poems from a cherished writer . . . . Cox gives lie to the common notion that prose poetry is too formless to count as real verse . . . . [He] is as careful with diction, rhythm, and even rhyme as one might be if they were writing strict alexandrines-and yet, his poems are as fluid and readable as Jack Kerouac’s novels. -Kirkus Reviews
On Sorrow Bread
Tony Hoagland has said Mark Cox is “a veteran of the deep water; there’s no one like him,” and Thomas Lux identified him as “one of the finest poets of his generation.” No one speaks more effectively of the vital and enduring syntaxes of common, even communal, life. -Richard Simpson
On Natural Causes
One of the best books I’ve read in years. In a style that’s brash, offbeat, tough-minded and big-hearted, these poems explore the fundamental mysteries of love between parent and child, self and other, self and world. Beyond the inventive language and formal range, what makes this work so memorable is Cox’s refusal to look away from even the hardest facts of “unadulterated sorrow.” -Alan Shapiro
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About the poet:
Mark Cox has authored six other volumes of poetry, the most recent being Readiness (2018) and Sorrow Bread: Poems 1984-2015 (2017). He has a forty-year history of publication in prominent magazines and his honors include a Whiting Writers Award, a Pushcart Prize, the Oklahoma Book Award, and The Society of Midland Authors Poetry Prize. He chairs the Department of Creative Writing at UNC Wilmington and teaches in the Vermont College of Fine Arts MFA Program.
Available on Amazon and Bookshop.
Available on Amazon and Bookshop.
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