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Wally Swist: Three Poems for Tevis
Lion’s Roars
All day staying
one step ahead of the loss
and sorrow, only to find
myself overcome by it all
when I am caught by
the sheer exhaustion
that finally pulls me down.
You are everywhere
in my rearranging your room
after the movers brought
what you were allowed to
fit into your suite in
the Alzheimer’s community,
neither one of us ready for
your departure from the house
you loved, books and antiques
pervaded with your presence.
I discover what remains
is the light that shines through
the drapes I push aside
but that you never opened,
but not even the light mitigates
the sorrow that tinges everything,
making the French blue plates
not quite as blue, the rose-colored
decanters a paler rose, the wooden
elephants you collected
raising their trunks in dismay,
the elegantly-carved Thai
dooryard guardians emitting
their lion’s roars, expressing
the house is a barren place.
~~
The Peacocks
The leaves of the trees
provided deep shade above
the peacocks that displayed
their colorful tail feathers
both on the way to a matrix
of roads we would continue
to walk further and upon
our return back down
the graded slope, rustling
with leaves, where we
stopped to view the two
peacocks, appreciating
their finery, their brilliant
designs delineated in
their regal plumage,
when we would then turn
around at which first one,
then the other, would cry
out, not so much disturbed
by our presence as by
our impending absence,
one echoing the other,
the issuing of their cries
stopping us in our steps,
the haunting nature
hanging in the air,
the color of the violet blue
of the feathers along their
long necks, the sound
of the darkness of night,
of the darkness that knows
no dawn, held there
quavering loudly, as our
mutual pain of your inability
to remember, and my
impatience in seeing
you disappear as their cries
eventually did into the darker
reaches of oblivion.
~~
Aperture
We learn to live with less when we grow old,
the missing teeth, our mind,
once so taken for granted,
now less sound, our bones ready
to splinter, eyes becoming weaker.
We learn to live with less when we grow old,
the passions smoking instead of flaming,
patience receding as does a hairline,
the need to repeat a word or phrase
for someone dear now an effort.
We learn to live with less when we grow old,
when we hear, “Can you still find me?”
and the person speaking is right before you,
what does one say, but “Yes, I see you,
you’ve been there all day.”
We learn to live with less when we grow old,
knowing our time is finite, days
passing with the speed of our youth,
what’s left is our legacy, whatever it is we will
leave behind: a speck, a smear, a rustle.
We learn to live with less when we grow old,
leaning into however much our light
grows, stacking books or antiques or frames,
trying to make things right before
the opening of this life widens to release all.
Copyright 2024 Wally Swist
Wally Swist’s many collections of poetry include Taking Residence (Shanti Arts 2021). He lives in Connecticut.
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Ah, Wally takes us along this sad road to living with a loved one succumbing to Alzheimer’s. He does it with such grace and kindness that we are deeply moved, not only in the sorrow but the transcendent beauty of love that infuses all of Swist’s work.
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What a lovely thing to say. Thank you! I agree Wally Swist’s poems have a transcendent beauty.
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Whoever said grief is a landscape was right. We have to cross it. These are piercing and beautiful poems💔
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I agree. Thank you, Lisa! We all have to cross the land of grief.
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Sad, wise, and wonderful poems.
“…and my
impatience in seeing
you disappear as their cries
eventually did into the darker
reaches of oblivion.’
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Thank you, Rosemary, for your thoughtful response to the poems, especially those final lines in “The Peacocks.” I’m grateful that the work evoked “sad, wise, and wonderful.” All fine words that are not necessarily seen very often together.
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These are devastating…and devastatingly beautiful. We do learn to live with less when we get old– but with a lot MORE too; somehow (I’m 81) the sheer volume of memories aggrandizes itself with every day. My sympathies.
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Wally replies:”Aggrandizes” is such an apt verb, especially in conjunction with memories. I’m also appreciative of your sympathies.
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I met Fred on St Patrick’s day in 1978. I lost him to Parkinson’s in 2010, but that was his body. His mind was gone before that. But when he asked if I could see him, I knew he meant how that part that was Fred was becoming smaller as his signature was smaller and his shade was part of the gang of children who were somehow always present. Thank you for poems that touched me in my bittersweet memories.
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I think “can you still find me?” Is where I fell into the memories.
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Thanks for sharing this, Barbara!
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Wally replies:I’m so glad the poems, especially “Lions Roars,” touched you as they did. I wasn’t sure if the reference to not being seen would be quite as evident as you discovered it, and am assuaged that it was evident. Your comment regarding “Can you still find me?” will always remain with me, especially by your relating that is “where you fell into your memories.” Thank you.
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3/17 (St. Patrick’s Day, a gentle breath of times past~~)Hi Wally– I am so glad you are putting heart to page after times of joy &, eventually, deep sadness with Tevis. Each of these pieces has its own powerful reflections. “Lion’s Roars” really stays w/me. I hope you are adjusting to the dramatic changes in your life. I know it’s not what you want, but you are doing so much for Tevis, caring for her in the darkness of these days. Not easy for sure. Thanks for sharing these poems w/me.Susan
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Wally replies: Susan, you are one of my oldest friends, and I continue experience gratitude for that. You are one of the closest readers I know, and I am always appreciative of your insight and candor regarding my poems, especially these. You have known both Tevis and myself, know our story, and your response is a blessing to us both.
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