I’m delighted to share my poem “Lullaby as Lament,” which Yellow Arrow Journal published earlier this year in their “Elevate” issue.
Here is the commentary that I shared in the issue about my poem:
“Lullaby as Lament” elevates common losses, including the loss of language. As a self-erasure, “Lullaby as Lament” throws the first cry of a lament into the air; some of the the words then float away. The portion that responds to the tug of gravity, now reduced, nonetheless reveals new possibilities, new links. “Lullaby as Lament” explores the risk and potential of a vertical connection, even as it seeks to lace horizontally with other singers.
I wrote the above poem and commentary several months before the recent US election. And even as this lament does not feel strong enough for me in this moment, the idea of self-erasure as a source of power feels even more acute.
In the compression of poetry, what will it look like to say more with fewer words?
I lived in China for five years, which taught me much about the potential for poetry and circumlocution under authoritarian governments. I quote Emily Dickinson on my “Why Poetry?” page, who declares,
Tell all the truth but tell it slant – –
Success in Circuit lies.
I attended seminary, and graduated with a Master of Divinity degree (the professional degree many churches require for pastors), before I moved to China. Yet it was only after living under an authoritarian government that I truly understood why Jesus often spoke in parables.
In the circle of poetry, what will it look like to speak hard truths indirectly?
And what, exactly, is fluff?
Dandelion fluff has spoken mysteries to me lately; dandelion fluff bears more than I initially may notice.
What about you: what words, images, and/or words hold necessary gravitas for you this season? How can those words simultaneously lament and sing hope?
Photo credit: Kelley Mari on VisualHunt.com