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On Learning of a Lover’s Death
Your parting words were not exactly nice,
But when I read the news that you had died,
At least for old times’ sake, I should have cried.
I haven’t—yet. Is that a crime? Suffice
To say upon a time we loved, made love,
And you were generous, and mostly kind;
But such was our disparity of mind,
That we could never fit like hand in glove.
Now all that’s left for me are words unsaid,
The memories of what we had, and what
We lost; and still it rocks me in my gut;
And even now I can’t believe you’re dead.
We have to face the fact—our clock runs out.
We’re left to wonder—what’s it all about?
.
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Andrew Wyeth Remembering Christina’s World
Not until I joined her in the field, could I
In some small measure understand Christina’s world,
The way a child perceives the vast expanse of sky.
The sweep of summer grasses, long and soft, was where
She found a brief escape from hardship all too real;
Where flights of fancy built her castles in the air;
And where, through touch, she felt connected with the ground.
For over fifty years, she stubbornly refused
To use a chair, but crawled and dragged herself around.
She could have cursed the world and God for lousy luck;
Lived out a life confined to farmhouse walls; instead,
She bore her burdens stoically, with Mainer pluck.
She had, I must admit, a weathered, homely face,
But corny as it sounds, true beauty lies within;
To be so crippled up, yet have such inner grace.
She cradled barnyard kittens to her chest. Her heart
Was more than kind. She helped her brother run the farm,
Could bake and sew—and did I mention, she was smart?
.
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Cheryl Corey is a poet who lives in Connecticut. “Three Sisters,” her trio of poems about the sisters of Fate which were first published by the Society of Classical Poets, are featured in “Gods and Monsters,” an anthology of mythological poems (MacMillan Children’s Books, 2023).
Cheryl, these are both so powerful, insightful, and thought-provoking! “On Learning of a Lover’s Death” captures emotions and memories shared by many, I’m sure. And Christina is beaming! Great work!
I appreciate your compliments, Russel.
It is true that the actual Christina in Wyeth’s painting was crippled by a muscular disease, and could only crawl and drag herself around. Wyeth knew her and her family, and that reality was the impetus for painting the picture of her.
But thousands of viewers don’t know that, and for them the painting is a fictive artifact that works by means of suggestion, implication, and mystery. There are worlds of unspoken significance and possibility in Wyeth’s painting, and these are the things that make it a masterpiece.
I think he wanted to capture her humanity and perseverance. On a technical note, I read that he used brushes with very few hairs to paint the fine lines of the grasses and her hair.
Thank you for both, Cheryl. I think there is at least one Wyeth portrait of Christina: done in profile (she faces right) it is a brutally honest image in ink of an unattractive face.
“On Learning of a Lover’s Death” I was taken back to thoughts about my university freshman co-social chairman, Jeannie, who died in a summer car accident between our freshman and sophomore years and to another girl I knew at the university, Sylvia, who died after her junior year. I likely would not have married either one, yet I still feel a sense of loss. Your precious poem about the girl in the Andrew Wyeth painting was a revelation and I was also moved by the comments of Dr. Salemi that gave further explanation. Thank you, Cheryl, for another beautiful poem lovingly told.
You’re welcome, Roy. Regarding “Lover’s Death”, eleven years had past since I was in that relationship, but we were together even longer before that. I can’t say that it was the relationship of my dreams, but there were good times, and it was still a shock to read of his death. There’s always a trace of feelings that remain.
Both poems are very enjoyable, each in its own way. I appreciate how you crafted each one and the love stories told. Thank you for sharing.
And thank you for reading, Yael!
Dear Cheryl,
You have captured well the mysterious pain felt when losing a past player in your life, particularly when the parting wasn’t particularly pleasant.
Moving beyond the outward appearance (often by literally coming alongside) to understand the heart and motives within is a key application of love, which always assumes the best. Your Ekphrastic does just that.
Thank you for both of these thoughtful poems.
Gigi
Gigi, I’m not certain that my poem qualifies as truly ekphrastic, but this was an attempt.
Both of these poems are quite beautiful, Cheryl, for different reasons. “On Learning of a Lover’s Death” is poignant both for what is said and what is left unsaid. I imagine many of us have had similar experiences — the older one gets the narrower the road becomes. Your use of the sonnet form is perfect since the sonnet is so often associated with romantic themes.
I also admire the Wyeth poem — a dramatic monologue in the artist’s voice. I love the sensitivity with which you explain details of the creation of the painting from the artist’s point of view. You answer questions I didn’t know I had and give great insight into the artistic process as we compare the artist’s subjective experiencing of the painting’s creation with the end result.
Thank you so much, Brian. Regarding “Lover’s Death”, I like what you said about “the older one gets the narrower the road becomes”. That’s a nice way of putting it. As for the Wyeth poem, I found a library book that someone wrote about his search for the house and anyone who knew the Olsons. He met a nephew who quoted Wyeth as saying that Christina had “more class than all the queens of England”. The painting, I believe, leaves much for viewer interpretation, especially as the woman has her back to us.
Both of these are such moving, sensitively-told stories.
Two emotive poems, well-rendered, that make us aware of what we have and what we can so easily miss.
Thanks for the reads, Cheryl.
“Lover’s Death” is a very difficult kind of non-elegy, where you, Cheryl, deal with death of a person once close, but now both estranged and so distant that news of the death came by chance. As Brian says, a sonnet is a good choice of form as it’s associated with romance, but I would add, this sonnet is a short form pulling together scattered memories not to memorialize them, but simply to acknowledge the end. And for that purpose, your choice of a sonnet of closed quatrains is best. The most appropriate final questioning of life and love, I believe, may echo the Bacharach song for the movie “Alfie,” portraying an undistinguished and disreputable man. Making the question your own suggests, all the more, wonder at love lasting any length of time when there is “disparity of mind.” But as you also imply, feelings always leave a trace.
I’ve felt a connection to “Christina’s World” because as a child I watched ants and played with shriveling berries. Thus I like the line, “through touch, she felt connected with the ground.” Your choice of form is again apropos, with your Wyeth speaking in tercets (axa, bxb, cxc, etc.) that rhyme but enclose an unrhymed term. They give a feeling of close observation that accompanies love and competence, such as that you describe to characterize Christina triumphantly in this final stanza.
Cheryl, I love the matter-of-fact honesty that shines brightly and beautifully in both of these poems.
“On Learning of a Lover’s Death” is a description of inner grief that is rarely touched upon in poetry – grief is romanticized and this feels oh so painfully real and relatable. I am certain the closing questions haunts many a bruised heart.
“Andrew Wyeth Remembering Christina’s World” is a powerful ekphrastic poem that brings the artwork to life with a clear-sighted rationality that makes the words tangible. Thank you!
Your sonnet does a good job of capturing what we feel when someone who is no longer close to us dies. It hits us differently than when a loved one dies. We feel it, but often we’re not sure how we feel. – and your poem runs the gamut of emotions and thoughts, seeking to find an anchor of meaning, only to question meaning at all in the end. Invariably, though, it calls to mind our own mortality, and that’s exactly where you end up.
I confess, I was not familiar with the story of Christina until I read your poem, so thank you for introducing her to me. Your poem tells me everything I need to know as it tells her story.