Transformations - Poetry

Anna Chern: ‘Circle’ and ‘I Never Did’

Mon, 03/17/2014 - 11:30am

    On this cold St. Patrick’s Day, find warmth in a pair of poems by Anna Chern.

    Circle

    A long sweeping stroll around the outside wall of the cemetery

    Through metal gates and into the silence within

    My son, tall and surefooted leads the way to a place he has never seen

    To the resting place of a man he never knew.

    How to find the oblong of marble baked by the sun, that July morning?

    The tilt of heads and somber dress mask the memory of ever having been there

    The place is strangely detached from the event and yet it was here

    That we were twenty years ago without you, my son.

    Transformations

    We tell stories.

    We tell stories to make sense of our lives.

    We tell stories to communicate our experience of being alive.

    We tell stories in our own distinct voice. Our own unique rhythm and tonality.

    Transformations is a weekly story-telling column. The stories are written by community members who are my students. Our stories are about family, love, loss and good times. We hope to make you laugh and cry. Maybe we will convince you to tell your stories.

    — Kathrin Seitz, editor, and Cheryl Durbas, co-editor

    “Everyone, when they get quiet, when they become desperately honest with themselves, is capable of uttering profound truths. We all derive from the same source. There is no mystery about the origin of things. We are all part of creation, all kings, all poets, all musicians; we have only to open up, only to discover what is already there.” — Henry Miller

    Kathrin Seitz teaches Method Writing in Rockport, New York City and Florida. She can be reached at kathrin@kathrinseitz.com. Cheryl Durbas is a freelance personal assistant in the Midcoast area. She can be reached at cheryldurbas@tidewater.net.

    Still he strides on looking sure and sweet, weaving through the ancient pathways

    He motions to me from afar, his curly hair catching in the wind

    I see the oblong now as clearly as I had then, though the gilding has worn off

    We stand above the frayed ivy slowly smothering the stone, wiping his name away.

    We are but wisps of smoke across the landscape.


    I never did

    I never did learn to tango

    To shimmy or to pole dance

    To pole-vault or to high-dive

    Although I had a chance

    (At the latter)

    I never did learn to cream the butter and the sugar

    Leaven and unleaven-I just left

    To knit more than a patch of the patchwork

    Or to learn which was the warp and which the weft

    (At the loom)

    I never did learn to rise late and turn in early

    Tuck the sheets in and colour match the bedding

    To pluck my eyebrows stoically

    Not even for my wedding

    (At the eleventh hour)

    I never did learn to say thank you gracefully

    When faced with a gorgeous gift

    Nor to say goodbye willingly

    Without causing my heart to shift

    (At the same time)

    I did learn to love you perfectly

    To remember how your smile would light

    And recall the exact feel of your beard on my fingers

    When I woke up early after a long, late night

    (At your side)


    Anna Chern has lived and worked on three continents and speaks in many tongues. Born in New Delhi, transplanted to London, Paris and Canada in turns, she has grown to love the vagaries of the seasons in Maine and the slivers of sunshine. Her favorite place in Maine is any and every lake. She also loves South Carolina...and writing.