Monday Morning Musings:
“Not only are selves conditional but they die. Each day, we wake slightly altered, and the person we were yesterday is dead.”
–John Updike, quoted here.
“Monsters are real. Ghosts are too. They live inside of us, and sometimes, they win.”
–Stephen King, The Shining
There are ghosts we see—or don’t
invoke, as though if left uncalled for
we’ll not provoke
those of the past,
who vanish–or won’t
go gentle into that good night,
the ghosts of guilt,
may waft or wilt
drift silently,
(seen just from the corner of your eye,
fly by)
but whether unexplainable
or declaimed
they are us
and soon, we’ll be them.
We see two movies,
walk in between,
to see the vibrant glow of spring.
The first film set in Hungary in 1945,
a small town that seems not war-torn,
some have even thrived.
The town clerk owns a well-stocked drugstore,
more–he lives with his family in a large town house.
Others have also gained homes and wealth
obtained by stealth,
though it’s all legal, they explain
(show the papers,
for goods and property
no one left to claim).
But they are haunted by their complicity
no joy at an upcoming wedding,
where there should be felicity
secrets begin to seep—
they’re all around–
Look! Two Jews in town.
What do they want, these nearly silent men?
As they walk behind the cart,
like mourners to a grave site.
Dark, somber,
(the film shot in black and white)
Here, it’s always “God Bless,”
and the brandy seems ever handy.
There’s a Hungarian saying about this brandy–
“Palinka in small amounts is a medicine,
in large amounts a remedy.”
But there’s no remedy for what they’ve done.
What have they lost, and what have they won?
The Germans are out, the Russians are in–
A new dawn
when the Jews are gone?
But these two, why are they here,
and what is it the town folk fear?
Dark smoke billows from the train,
sun-filled day fills with thunder and rain.
The monsters are real. The ghosts are too.
They are us, and we are them.
We walk and chat
about the movie, this and that–
the susurration of sparrows,
the murmurings of spring
though the ghost of winter, touches
with icy fingers clings
as we turn from sun to shadow
whispers–
you can’t flee me forever,
I’ll return in November or December,
when seeds then huddle underground,
sharing the cold comfort of the dead.
But now is for the living instead,
in blooms of green and pink and yellow and white
glowing, vibrant in the light.
We walk, seeing weddings and brides in white
smiling groups, life in color and in light.
We see a second film,
this one with ghosts up front
that an investigator will confront.
He’s a skeptic, he doesn’t believe,
but perhaps there are events he also grieves
There are scenes that makes us jump–
doors that rattle, and things that bump,
demons that are locked away,
but are released,
perhaps, to stay.
Three cases become woven together–
Will there be a happily ever after?
(Cue the nervous laughter).
We walk some more,
The Signer stands tall
through many seasons–
he’s seen them all—
and thus,
though he represents freedom
he’s surrounded by ghosts
who flit over cobblestones,
manning their posts,
due diligence, remember the past—
remember us.
My cat wakes me from a dream—
a ghost tells a character in a play
(stories within stories within my dream, it seems)
“we mourn the dead, but we move on.”
They are us,
and we are them.
Life moves on–
we begin again.
The final NaPoWriMo prompt asks us to “write a poem that engages with a strange and fascinating fact.” Well, I included some facts. They may or may not be strange or fascinating. For more on “odd facts” about Hungary, see here. And here is more on the Holocaust in Hungary The Signer statue is in Philadelphia’s Old City.
We saw the movies 1945 and Ghost Stories.
It is staggering how much you gain from your weekend cultural visits, and how well you write about them. The shadows on the brick path was an inspiration – ghosts with each other still
Thank you very much for your lovely comment, Derrick.
Ghosts are us. I love the poetry of the first section of your musings, then got caught up in the message of the rest of it. It felt as though someone had walked over my grave.
Thank you very much, Jane.
That expression itself gives me a chill. I hope you’ve recovered. 🙂
Partially. They don’t go away, do they?
No, I suppose not.
🙂
All of life is odd, is it not? But those ghosts of guilt…they never leave, passing from generation to generation. Wonderfully haunting. (K)
Thank you, Kerfe. Yes, they do pass from generation–apparently even within our DNA.
Nice enjambment, in the beginning.
Each past day a ghost, perhaps of ourselves – or just a memory of those ghosts?
Thank you, Ken. Yes, perhaps either–or both.
Interesting how you blend so many things together in this post; the two movies that you saw are odd favs. The word play in the opening sequence is marvelous and thank you for sharing the pictures. Congrats on a wonderful April!
Thank you, Jilly. My Monday posts often blend many different things together. I like trying to find a way to connect them. 🙂
We tend to see movies that are not the big blockbuster ones.
I own both of those movies 🙂 Which goes to show how zany poets really are!
Oh–I didn’t realize either one was available for purchase. Both just arrived in the theater here.
Maybe I misread… or maybe it is the Attack of the Remake!
🙂
Ignore the ramblings of very tired poet – I misread BOTH movie titles. I watched the trailers and they look intriguing.
OK. So what movies did you think I meant? They are not the most original titles. 🙂
We saw Ghost Story last year and really liked it. I keep thinking about it–and that forlorn ghost. But there is also the Ghost Story movie from the Peter Straub book.
Thank you for your detailed report of movies and musings in major and minor keys this week. I’m still thinking about John Updike’s quote: “Each day, we wake slightly altered.” With that I can agree.
Thank you, Marian. I’m glad you heard different melodies in my words. Yes, I liked that John Updike quotation, too (actually the whole Brainpickings article).
Well done. I am so brain fried from #NaPoWriMo that I thought you wrote “The Sig-ner.” 🤣
Hahaha, and thank you! Yeah, it was a lot doing these poems, plus trying to work on others–but it was even more difficult trying to keep up with reading everyone. And it was difficult to get any other work done, but I still enjoyed it. 🙂
Those two quotes and your poem merge into one frightening story of past wrongs, present fears, of ghost and monsters who never disappear. But you include spring and light, flowers so bright, which helps us still sleep into dreams with insight. Beautiful.
Thank you very much, Pam!
You have a way of fusing darkness and light that’s beautiful, Merril. 🙂
That’s a beautiful redbud in the last picture and I love the colors of the tulips.
Thank you very much, Robin. That’s a lovely compliment!
I didn’t know the tree is called a redbud–but it is beautiful. 🙂