“What can I say about … this person? Well,
they’re dead, obviously, otherwise they’re in for a nasty shock when they wake
up.”
Miranda S2 E2, ‘Before I Die’ (2010)
 |
| A clock shaped like a coffin - how awfully clever. Oddly, I do find myself seeking out a quite excessive number of death-related images for this blog. |
On account of having spent the past few
days in Lyme Regis,1 sans laptop (but with one of my favourite
people in the world, so absolutely no complaints), I found myself unable to get
round to composing a proper blog post for the weekend just gone – and you know
what that means, O Suitably Apprehensive Reader: poetry! The below is conceived
of as essentially an address to the world from the coffin. I hope you derive
some slight enjoyment from it, but if not, rest assured next week I’ll be back
in prose as usual. And also rest assured that I didn’t write this poem because
I think it particularly likely that I’ll be in a coffin any time very
soon – although I stress heavily that one can never, ever be sure, and it’s
perfectly possible that I might have keeled over on some account or other before
you even finish reading this sentence2 – but because that’s the sort
of notion my brain has a habit of throwing at me attached to a demand that I
versify it, on pain of being intolerably distracted from other thought processes
until I do. Make of that state of affairs what you will.
Mourn me not
as the
world mourns. I lie still, and still
The world lies, says, “She’s not really
gone, if you will
But remember her well.” But, well,
isn't the need
To remember me born of my absence? Indeed,
It makes bad sense to claim that the ‘me’
in your head
Is the real one, the
really-gone
one. World, I’m dead.
You’d confine me to memory, life as a shade
Of the past, to present me as present? You’ve
played
Quite a con. Fine. But know this: the kid
in the casket’s
Not buying it. No, it’s goodbye, innit?
Ask; it’s
A reasonable question: so why so blasé?
For this reason: I’m able, no question, to
say
I know whither
I’m gone – not the
vague ‘better place’
Of your platitudes, world. You’re just
guessing, no bas-
Is in anything. Anything goes! Place your
bets
Where I’m gone: I guess guessing’s as good
as it gets
For the spiritually
dead. That’s you, world.
And I died
To you years ago – not my idea, though. I’d
Have held you dear – dead you –
thought existence this dim
And dismaying the best
that exists, but for him
Who has life in himself, signed death’s
death-warrant, and,
With no warrant save love, saved
me. I understand
This may come as a shock, world, but plot
twist: I’m more
Alive where I am now, having died, than
before.
Life immaculate – I’ll be forever
removed
From your wrongs and the death they entail.
It’s been proved
By kept promises – none of your fairytales.
Praise
To the Lamb who was slain and the Ancient
of Days!3
Three days lain, endless raised, and, by
grace, I’m raised too.
Mourn me not
as the world
mourns. It hasn’t a clue.
Footnotes
1 Though technically we were staying in Uplyme, just upriver
from where Lyme Regis sits on the coast, right at the Devon/Dorset border. The accommodation
we sourced was absolutely lovely and so I feel quite able to recommend it here:
http://www.lymeregis.org/accommodation-browse.aspx?dms=3&pid=8118462&at=SC&townid=369.
2 Adam4d is as poignant on this subject as on many others: http://adam4d.com/soon-be-dead/.
3 So there are a few allusions to Biblical material bouncing
about in my little poem, but this felt like the one most in need of a
reference. You’ll need Revelation 5 (especially verse 13), https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=rev+5&version=ESVUK,
as well as the middle chunk of Daniel 7, https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=dan+7&version=ESVUK.
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