I’m thinking about poetry. Our topic this week is to write a poem for Slam-o-rama.
Poetry came easy to me last year. It poured out of me. I’m not saying it was good. Just that it poured. Like Morton salt. It seems tougher to write now. I have to slow down to write poetry.
I am going to hear Mary Oliver read her poetry in May. Her partner of over 40 years, Molly Malone Cook, died in 2005. Thirst is dedicated to Cook. The pages are full of sorrow, quiet longing, and a search for faith.
I wanted to know more about Molly Malone Cook, so I looked up her obituary. What is it about obituaries?
There is a certain fascination with death. It’s the 2nd thing we all have in common, regardless of race, religion, or creed. (Why did those words come out of my mouth? And what in the world is creed?)
The first is that we are born. And we shall die. When our time will come, we do not know.
The Independent’s obituary was illuminating. I found Malone Cook’s life to be even more fascinating than Mary Oliver’s. She’s the Oliver fire to Stein’s Toklas. I’m ashamed to admit, I had no idea Molly Malone Cook was a photographer with Southern roots who once photographed Eleanor Roosevelt:
Cook continued to work as a professional photographer, making portraits of such luminaries as Eleanor Roosevelt, Walker Evans, Robert Motherwell and Adlai Stevenson, but her career was cut short by the breathing problems which were later to curtail her life: her lungs were unable to cope with the chemicals of the darkroom.
Meanwhile, her relationship with the playwright Lorraine Hansberry – author of To Be Young, Gifted and Black and A Raisin in the Sun, the first drama by a black woman to be produced on Broadway (in 1959) – ended with Hansberry’s early death from cancer, aged 34, in 1965.
Cook had met Mary Oliver in 1958, at the former home of the poet Edna St Vincent Millay in upstate New York – the two women having come to visit Millay’s sister Norma. Six years later Cook and Oliver moved into a Provincetown boathouse owned by one of the port’s Portuguese families, the Seguras.
They travelled together on Oliver’s trips to give readings or classes, and spent several years visiting Virginia in search of Cook’s Southern roots – she was delighted to discover that her ancestry stretched back to Judith Jefferson, aunt of President Thomas Jefferson.
– from the Independent Obituary, Molly Malone Cook, by Philip Hoare, September 7th, 2005
That’s why we read obituaries. I wonder what mine will say? And who the writer will be.
The Uses of Sorrow
(In my sleep, I dreamed this poem)
Someone I loved once gave me
a box full of darkness.It took me years to understand
that this, too, was a gift.
–Mary Oliver from Thirst, Poems by Mary Oliver
Beacon Press, 2006, copyright Mary Oliver
-posted on red Ravine, Monday, April 9th, 2007
My Mom reads the obits all the time, every day, and I think I’m starting to be like her. We don’t subscribe to the daily newspaper, but when we do get it I always read the obits. One day I was reading and noticed a guy my age had died. He went to my same high school. I took out my yearbook and looked him up. I knew him from sight but had forgotten his name. I wondered how he died. I wish the obits would tell how people die. I want more of the story of death, not just life. Is that morbid?
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No, not morbid. I think it’s natural to crave knowledge of something we are all going to experience one day.
There is no way any of us is going to escape death.
I wish the obits would tell how people die, too. Remember when we chanted the Heart Sutra twice during Taos when the group had members who were touched by death. It was sorrowful, but we addressed it head on. Held each other in the silent space. And then, let go.
Yet here it is, a time that still lingers with me. What lingers is that we were all there, holding the space together. If people talked more about death, we could all be more present with it. And not feel so alone.
The Last Time I Was in Taos (LINK)
RE: The Last Time I Was in Taos – The Great Mantra (Heart Sutra) (LINK)
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3:01 pm, EST, Monday, April 9
When I learned that Molly Malone Cook died (and Gwen told me a year ago at Taos), I too looked up the obituary. I had seen her a couple of times when I heard Oliver read. She seemed formidable –she was dressed in a black leather jacket and ready to pounce on anyone who came between her and her beloved. My favorite poem about her (though most are undoubtedly about her and/or inspired by her) is “Oxygen” in New and Selected Poems, Volume 2. It’s exquisite. I’ll include it at the end of my comment.
I started reading the obits on a regular basis six years ago following the death of my sister from complications of MS. I was stunned to read an obituary in the New York Times (two days after my sister died) of a handicap-access activist who had died the same day as my sister from complications of MS and was the same age as my sister. What are the chances of that? Her name was Wendy Carol Roth. Google her and read her obit. It did my heart good to know that Karen was met in the afterlife by someone like Wendy.
I am completely bowled over by this website and feel blessed to have access to it. I have been rather seriously depressed since the beginning of the year — have not resorted to the anti-depressants yet — but may have to if the weather doesn’t warm up fucking soon. All of these writings/images are like balm. Thank you.
Flannery O’Connor has a short story that starts out with some reference to two women who regularly read the obits. I have a system. It the person died who died was between 20 and 60 years of age, I read every detail. I’m in that age group. Between 60-70 it’s usually cancer. Over 70 it’s heart disease. Not all the time, but usually.
The most unusal obit I ever read was about a young 32-year-old who was survived by a heterosexual couple she had “married”. That was the precise verb. The couple and she got “married.”
I hope it’s okay to comment like this.
Oxygen
Mary Oliver
Everything needs it: bone, muscles, and even,
while it calls the earth its home, the soul.
So the merciful, noisy machine
stands in our house working away in its
lung-like voice. I hear it as I kneel
before the fire, stirring with a
stick of iron, letting the logs
lie more loosely. You, in the upstairs room,
are in your usual position, leaning on your
right shoulder which aches
all day. You are breathing
patiently; it is a
beautiful sound. It is
your life, which is so close
to my own that I would not know
where to drop the knife of
separation. And what does this have to do
with love, except
everything? Now the fire rises
and offers a dozen, singing, deep-red
roses of flame. Then it settles
to quietude, or maybe gratitude, as it feeds
as we all do, as we must, upon the invisible gift:
our purest, sweet necessity: the air.
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[…] Inspired by this post. […]
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Hey Sharonimo–what a great response! I should have known that not only do you read the obits, you actually have a schema for interpreting them.
Too bad we couldn’t have talked more during our month rooming together–else this kind of detail would have emerged. We’re more alike than I ever thought!!
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Sharonimo,
I was hoping you’d take a visit to red Ravine. Thank you for your elegant response. I hadn’t pictured Molly Malone Cook in black leather. This is a new and enticing image.
I have a story to tell you. I didn’t know about your sister until last time we were in Taos. Remember slow walking in the zendo? Every time I passed your zafu and zabuton, I saw a bright red lady bug lit up against the black cloth. I wondered what it meant.
The last day, the last Intensive retreat in February, Wordraw and I walked into Caffe Tazza. We stopped across the street from Tazza at the store on the corner with the gaggles of stuffed animals. What’s the name of that store? I was chatting it up with the owner, a remarkable woman, and noticed there were about 20 Lady Bugs on the window sill. They looked exactly like yours.
I asked the owner where she got them and what they were doing in the window. She pulled out a round, plastic container full of Lady Bugs, placed it on the counter, and started to tell me a story.
It was about a woman, a writer, who stopped into the store sometime last year. Her sister had died. The writer told the store owner that Lady Bugs reminded her of her sister and every time she saw a Lady Bug, she thought of her.
The store owner said some time over the course of last year (long after the writer had gone home) she stumbled on the bin of Lady Bugs and thought of the writer’s story. At that moment, she knew she would see the writer again. The store owner bought the bin of Lady Bugs and carted them back to the store, waiting for the writer to visit again.
And I surmised that was how the Lady Bug might have gotten to your space in the zendo.
Is there more to the story? I’d love to hear it. I was so touched by the kindness of the connection. That day after the Intensive, I felt like I was in a time warp, another dimension. There were so many stories like that.
Everything is connected.
I have Flannery O’Connor’s, The Complete Stories right here beside my desk. Do you know which story that was about the obits? I’d love to read it.
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Sharonimo,
I also wondered if you knew – this post was for you:
Top 7 Wonder Woman Quotes (LINK)
: – )
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6:57 a.m., EST, Tuesday, April 10
Yeah, I remembered your Write of Wonder Woman. I’m amazed, and frankly, a bit alarmed that there are websites that feature Wonder Woman quotes.
I love the drawing of the Madonna with the sharp blade piercing her heart. Does the wound make an opening for the ugly shit to get out or to come in?
And I love the story about the Store Owner and the Lady Bugs. Yeah, I was that writer. I ended up giving that Lady Bug to Beth at the end of the retreat. Little did I know that the store owner had ALSO given a lady bug to Beth because Beth also saw the lady bugs in the window and randomly asked about them. Beth told the store owner that she knew the writer. About six weeks ago when my dark stupor was particularly crippling, Beth sent me HER lady bug in the mail and told me the story. I hadn’t known. The Lady Bug is sitting next to this computer.
Karen always used to say, “Hello, Lady Bug!” when she saw one, or “Hello, Robin” when she saw one. Reminds me of a a passage in a Mary Oliver essay and/or poem where she quotes overhearing Molly Malone Cook in an adjoining room say, “Hello, darling Moon!” as she put down the window shade one night.
Everything IS connected.
I thought that Mrs. Freeman and Mrs. Hopewell looked through the obits at the beginning of “Good Country People” by Flannery O’Connor, but I couldn’t find the reference right off. Then I remembered Mrs. Greenleaf and her morning newspaper habit of cutting out “all the morbid stories . . . the accounts of women who had been raped and criminals who had escaped and children who had been burned and or train wrecks and plane crashes and divorces of movie stars. She took these to the woods and dug a hole and buried them and then she felll on the ground over them and mumbled and groaned for an hour or so moving her huge thick arms back and forth under head and out again and finally just lying down flat . . . .”
Perhaps an obit ritual.
A long time ago, I read Bone Black.
I recently heard Anne Lamott read/lecture. If it wasn’t for her, I probably wouldn’t be a Christian. She said that Jesus came to say, “Me, too.” We’re here to say it, too. This website is one huge “Me, too” for me.
Hello, darling writers!
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Sharonimo,
What a pleasure to have you at red Ravine. Your responses are enriching my travels a hundred fold.
About the ageless and timeless Wonder Woman – I’m afraid there are websites about everything, and I mean everything. I can’t believe what I bump into out there in the world. Both the sane and the insane. I pause to place Wonder Woman in the particularly sane category. I don’t know if everyone who reads her is though. : – )
ybonesy explained more about her Madonna on the Reading the Obits post this morning. Maybe she’ll do a separate post on it, too. I love the archetype. I am in love with most archetypes. Because I see them as connectors – they speak to all of us *because* they are archetypes. She is an amazing artist. I have a feeling the knife wounds are to release the ugly stuff inside us. The Saint feels our pain. So we can let it go.
The Store Owner and the Lady Bugs story. It seems to have a living, breathing life all its own. I bought one of the Lady Bugs in Taos and gave it to Liz when I got home, explaining the story about the writer. She told me this morning she has it next to her computer at work. I bet there are other Lady Bug people. Maybe it’s another archetype. One of joy and healing.
Okay, “Good Country People” by Flannery O’Connor, this is the next one I shall read. I am slow to catch up on the great writers of literature past. I read literature when I was younger. But in the last 10 years, I have tended to read more current writers. So I was thrilled last year in the Intensive when we had to go back and read literature I had not been exposed to before. I’m just starting to dig into Flannery. I don’t mind being slow.
I love this reference “a passage in a Mary Oliver essay and/or poem where she quotes overhearing Molly Malone Cook in an adjoining room say, ‘Hello, darling Moon!’ as she put down the window shade one night.” I can picture it. And it seems loaded with joy at the simple things about living every day.
I hope you will keep sharing with us as you are moved. red Ravine wouldn’t be here without the support of tons of people in our lives. I get down and kiss the ground every day that I am surrounded by the family, friends, teachers, communities that I have found.
Or maybe they found me.
Yes, me, too.
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Sharonimo said: “I love the drawing of the Madonna with the sharp blade piercing her heart. Does the wound make an opening for the ugly shit to get out or to come in?”
In and out both, I think. She is the ultimate mother, someone who feels the pain of others. In that respect she relieves you of the pain by taking it on herself. But she, too, must let it go.
It’s great having you on the blog. Keep showing up!
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[…] some odd twist of synchronicity, I wrote a post last Monday on The Uses of Sorrow – What Is It About Obituaries? Curious about the death of Molly Malone Cook, I found a long, engaging obituary in the Independent. […]
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[…] -related to post, The Uses Of Sorrow – What Is It About Obituaries […]
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Came back to this post tonight to say that the latest film of A Raisin in the Sun, based on the play by playwright Lorraine Hansberry (also author of To Be Young, Gifted and Black), is on ABC tonight.
A Raisin in the Sun was the first drama by a black woman to be produced on Broadway (in 1959). Lorraine Hansberry died in 1965 (an early death from cancer) at aged 34.
I am watching A Raisin in the Sun as I type this. Hope others see it, too.
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QM, well I have read this post for the first time today. Strange, but I have already selected the music that I want played & at my service as there will be no viewing. I had long ago decided on cremation & so has J. The music is a compostition by a local pianist, recorded in Harriburg & I purchased his tape years ago at the Art Festival held in Harrisburg during the Kipona week-end. His music brings to mind to me of all of the seasons. The Spring of our life, then Summer, Autumn & finally Winter. It is one of my favorites & while this may sound gruesome to some, our best friends dropped in on us today & we were talking about this very subject.
I shared with them a video that I have kept for a long time & hope you will appreciate it for what it is.It is not the work of the pianist, but has a great mesage for all… D
http://www.the-dash-movie-poem.com/
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QM,
I don’t read the paper regularly enough to catch the obituaries but my boyfriend does.
He stumbled on one particular obituary which really captured our hearts. It contains a photo of a laughing man with his full name and birth through death years.
Then below that it says:
He told us he was sick.
Something about this just felt so affirming of his life, so funny amid all the lengthy lists of relatives and vigil service details, that we saved it and keep it on the fridge. It still cracks me up.
That is how I would like to live.
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diddy, I don’t think it’s morbid at all. I think talking about death (one thing we all have in common) and planning ahead is something that appeals to me. And our culture does not make much room for that.
I like the seasonal theme, BTW. (I have not had a chance to check out your movie link yet, but plan to do so). I already know that I want to be cremated as well, and what I want done with my ashes. But I need to get it down on paper so that it happens. Mom and I have talked about it a few times, too.
Thanks for sharing this. It’s good to open the conversation and not wait until people have passed on. Honestly, we never know when our time will come.
It’s also important for people who live together (or who cannot legally get married) to plan ahead and create a will and power of attorney. We all have to consider the legal parts of death as well, just as when we are born we gain a SS#, name, all things that become part of our identity.
Elizabeth, I think I want my obit to be something like that. Maybe even a caricature or a sketch and something more lighthearted. And to think of that as a way to live, YES. Affirming!
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QM, I’m glad you pointed out the need for a will & power of attorney. My parents had done just that early on in my life. We sat & discussed & though hard to swallow as it was to have that conversation, I understand the importance of planning for the inevitable.
I hope you enjoy the clip I included. It is not as long as the title might make it seem. I have kept it for a long while now.
As far as obituaries go, I hope mine contains some bits of humor! D
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Yes, maybe that’s something we should be talking to those close to us about as well – what we want our own Obits to look and feel like – visuals and words. It’s kind of a package deal discussion. 8) They aren’t the easiest conversations, that’s for sure. But what a relief to not have to guess anymore, and to really know what someone’s wishes are after they’ve moved on.
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Back to this post again. Wanted to say that I watched A Raisin in the Sun the other night and really enjoyed this particular film adaptation (with Sean Combs & Phylicia Rashād) of Lorraine Hansberry’s original play.
BTW, the title comes from the opening lines of Harlem, a poem by Langston Hughes:
What happens to a dream deferred?
Does it dry up
like a raisin in the sun?
Or does it explode?
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diddy, I watched your movie link (Comment 14) and it has a great message. (It’s all about the Dash!) I love the photography in it, too. And music. It makes you really think about the things we are talking about in this post and Comment thread – how we live, how we die, how we want to be remembered.
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Jim watched A Raisin in the Sun. He liked it, too.
I couldn’t suspend belief that Sean Combs was anyone other than P Diddy. (I have a real problem with actors that way. Once they become a certain persona, I just can’t see them as anything but. I have the same issues with certain big-name actors and singers — George Clooney, Tom Cruise, J-Lo.) I do like Phylicia Rashād, however.
Which is why books, for me, are always better than the movie version of them 8) .
Thanks for reviving this post. I’m really glad they did the TV adaptation of the movie, in spite of my biases against certain actors. Jim tried to get the girls to watch the TV adaptation, too, but we (the girls and I) ended up reading out loud instead.
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[…] I’m certain my obituary would be different were I to write it anew. I’d give up the death-by-street-riot, living in Rome, and drastically changing the art world. I’m not even sure I’d go for being world-renowned. The five grandchildren sound pretty cool, so I keept those. And I’d definitely add 15 years to my final age, just to make sure I’m around long enough to enjoy them if I ever do have any. -Related post, The Uses Of Sorrow – What Is It About Obituaries? […]
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[…] -related to posts, Reading The Obits and The Uses Of Sorrow – What Is It About Obituaries? […]
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I stumbled on this site while looking up information on Mary Oliver and Molly Malone-Cook. I met Ms. Oliver when she read from her work in St. Louis last year. She was recovering from a bout of pnemonia and was sipping hot herbal tea with honey. She reads her work so well.
Oliver has two books out on writing poetry, which I can already tell will strengthen my ability to write. I am working on a chapbook of my work and knew I needed to take things to a new level as I wrote it.
About obituaries? They are all we know about the end of life. We can’t see over the edge. They are like when you see and accident. You are too horrified to look and too inquisitive not to. I had a professor of mine die at 31 from a heart attack. We were friends, shared poetry and views. We spoke on the phone with one another about 3 hours before his passing. That was 12 years ago and I will always be happy that we had that last conversation.
Ladybugs? What I read here about them is like going full circle…a wonderful example of one person encouraging another.
Thanks for letting me stop by.
Mindy Phillips Lawrence
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Mindy, sounds great to read the two books Mary Oliver has out on writing poetry. I haven’t read them. But I’m glad you mentioned them here.
Also wonderful that you got to see Mary Oliver. I, too, found her reading of her work to be inspiring. She’s funny, too, and kind of impish. She made me laugh. I really enjoyed seeing her. (And did we mention that Liz comes from a long line of Olivers? We think they may be related. 8)
And, yes, about obituaries — there is something fascinating about them. Mom and I are working on the family tree together and the obituaries are such a rich source in family history research. It seems like they used to be much more detailed and rich than the shorter ones that are printed today. But maybe that’s because of the explosion of technology. The newspaper used to be the only source of such information. Everything has changed.
Thank you for your comment and I hope you will stop by again.
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I always love when a fresh comment comes in on an older post. I enjoyed re-reading this post and the conversation that ensued.
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[…] one offers immediate satisfaction. We’ve talked about the obits many times on red Ravine. After reading today’s obits, I’m stunned by the richness and character of the old […]
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[…] to these obituary posts on red Ravine: The Uses of Sorrow – What Is It About Obituaries?, Reading The Obits, Halloween Short List: (#2) Build Your Own […]
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[…] 3 QUESTIONS, Reflection — Through The Looking Glass, Make Positive Effort For The Good, The Uses Of Sorrow — What Is It About Obituaries?, Reading The Obits, and a great interview with Joyce Carol Oates on MPR Midmorning with Kerri […]
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I listened to MPR Midday last week and heard the voice of writer Lorraine Hansberry (former lover of Molly Malone cook) for the first time. She was rarely recorded. Here are a couple of links well worth the listen. These are part of the reason why I am a sustaining member of MPR:
Say It Plain, Say It Loud – American RadioWorks from 2/8/12: “How do you talk about 300 years in four minutes?” The rarely recorded voice of Lorraine Hansberry, NYC, June 15th, 1964 (LINK). Note: scroll to the bottom of the page for the Listen link.
MPR Midday: Black History Month: African American Political Oratory (LINK)
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[…] found out about my father’s death from reading an obit. He died on Halloween. I wrote three poems on a Royal typewriter. I had not seen him in years; he […]
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