Give Sorrow Words
Give sorrow words; the grief that does not speak,
Whispers the o’er-fraught heart and bids it break.
(Shakespeare, Macbeth, 5.1.50-1)
Similar Posts
“Our Heritage,” a landmark poem by Erwin A. Thompson
Persimmon, sasafrass, and ash Reclaim the land that once was theirs. “Submarginal”, the experts say. Once, hillside plows were used to turn The fertile ground. It nurtured, and produced the crops, Sustained, with money crops, and food The pioneers. They didn’t have a guarantee of annual wage. Their maps, drawn out with pointed sticks In…
Moving Between Two Waters: Clear Lake in California and the Mississippi River in the Midwest
What carries me over the water, this vast water between two vast waters? Clear Lake like an inland sea, contained and container. The Mississippi a winding snake of river connecting northern and southern territories before spilling into the Gulf of Mexico and on to the ocean? What carries me? A swan, polka-dotted or striped, perhaps,…
Thus sayeth the Buddha
“We are what we think. All that we are arises with our thoughts. With our thoughts, we make the world.” —The Buddha (historically, Hindu Prince Gautama Siddharta, the founder of Buddhism, 563-483 B.C.)
Prayer: A History
Philip and Carol Zaleski have done a marvelous thing in Prayer: A History…they have brought prayer to our doorstep and into our bedroom, back to the kneeling rug of childhood. From the book jacket: “This landmark book presents prayer in all its richness and variety throughout history, across traditions, and around the globe. Focusing on…
Land Nurtures Generations of Dreamers, Doers, and Writers
When I was growing up we still put up hay by hand, rode horses, milked cows, butchered, gardened and put up our own food, and sewed up ruptured hogs. But, most of all, when I was growing up the land nurtured me as a dreamer. The land raised me as a poet and writer. I…
Triptych: Jeweled Bones, Left Panel: Tree with No Soil Under It
I fingered the treasures in my pocket as I strolled to the tree that hovered over the creek. It had no soil under it. Roots dangled through the air, then plunged straight and deep into rushing water. Fish swam between roots. With soil between roots the tree had sheltered a rabbit burrow, not swimming fish….
I loved the quote you use for this thought. My current book is about unwitnessed grief. I said that grief has many siblings — guilt, anger, separation among others but of course, Shakespeare says it best.
Your course sounds wonderful. I’ve suggested the “I remember” exercise and also the “I don’t remember” exercise that Natalie Goldberg uses in her Writing the Bones workshop. But your expansion of it to include differing points of view and to make it a way for people to express ranges of sorrow is truly inspired. Thank you for telling us about it on the Women writing the West website and for having this site and blog. You are appreciated! Warmly, Jane
I have articls about grief and a journal called A Year and a Day which I kept after losing my wife. Idaho State Unvieristy is the publisher.
Michael Corrigan