Bereft
by: Billy Collins
I liked listening to you today at lunch
as you talked about the dead,
the lucky dead you called them,
citing their freedom from rent and furniture,
no need for doorknobs, snow shovels,
or windows and a field beyond,
no more railway ticket in an inside picket,
no more railway, no more tickets, no more pockets.
No more bee chasing you around the garden,
no more you chasing your hat around a corner,
no bright moon on the glimmering water,
no cool breast felt beneath an open robe.
More like an empty zone that souls traverse,
a vaporous place
at the end of a dark tunnel,
a region of silence except for
the occasional beating of wings--
and, I wanted to add
as the sun dazzled your lifted wineglass,
the sound of the newcomers weeping.
There are two definitions of the word "bereft" that Collins is playing with in this poem. The first is "deprived or robbed of the possession or use of something," and the second is "suffering the death of a loved one."
We are all beholden to things. Everyone has one or two things that they would feel lost without--bereft--whether it's a cell phone or mother's ring or lucky penny. I think of items like this as talismans. They define who we were/are/will be as a person.
My talismans are my journal (whichever one I'm currently using) and fountain pens. If I leave these things at home, I've been known to turn the car around to get them, even if doing so will make me incredibly late. I literally feel lost without them.
And everyone of a certain age has lost a loved one. If you are alive on this planet, you have had, or will eventually have, this experience. I've been bereft in my life. A lot. And death wasn't always the reason. When my wife and I were separated, I was bereft. When my daughter moved into her own apartment, I was bereft. Of course, when my parents and brother and sisters died, I was bereft.
Yesterday was my dad's birthday. In two days, it will be my sister Sally's birthday. Bereft and bereft. But tonight, there was nothing to be bereft over. I hosted a bluegrass concert at the library. The music was incredibly joyful, even when the songs were about death and sobriety and heartbreak. My son and niece attended the concert and had a blast.
I enjoy seeing them so happy by just being together. Joy is contagious, and, over the last day or so, I've found myself smiling and laughing quite a bit, even when I was mowing the lawn this morning. It's difficult feeling bereft and your heart is full.
Don't worry. Saint Marty will be back to his normal, bereft self eventually. It is an election year.
