Wednesday, October 16, 2013

Lament

he is dead, she is dead, they are gone

the time for eulogy and reflection has begun

and i ask if you remember

if you remember how they could satirise with such wit and precision that the subject of their barbs would have no choice but to concede and laugh along

and i ask if you remember

if you remember how with a sweeping stroke of the same pen they could capture a mountain range with such clarity that you could hear eagles cry soaring far above in the clouds

and i ask if you remember

if you remember how they could transcribe their feelings and senses to the page with such accuracy and attention to detail that you could feel their lover’s caress, smell their hair

and now they are gone

and i ask if you remember

if you remember where you were when you heard

if you remember what you were doing when you were told

if you remember the pain deep inside

the sudden emptiness within

as the realisation took hold

if you remember whose hand you held for comfort

as the tears began to fall

i ask if you remember



and i know that you do not



for this is the lament for the unknown artist

the lament for the ones for whom there are no accolades for the writers of their eulogies

for the ones for whom recognition was not central to the creative urge

for the ones whose creativity did not extend to the creation of a name for themselves

this is the lament for the ones who painted, and sculpted, and wrote, and drew, and sang, and played, and danced, and created beauty with their very lives because to do otherwise would be to deny the burning in the centre of their souls

this is the lament for the loss of those for whom the full realisation of what has passed will never be known

this is the selfish lament

the lament that in our ignorance of their existence we have been spared the pain of knowing what has gone from this world

the lament for that pain

the pain that would have marked just how enriched our lives could have been