One of two writings tied for second place in our fall/winter 2018 writing contest is “Gravesite Visit,” a poem by Writing It Real member Nancy Levinson.

Our guest judge Kelli Agondon described her choice this way:

“Gravesite Visit” is a beautiful meditation on the healing powers of poetry and how poems (and writing) can help us grieve. I was taken by the vulnerableness of this story of a wife returning to her husband’s grave and was able to see how time has passed from the lines “my eyes mist over/but I am not weeping/as last year and the year before.” I appreciate how the poet found beauty and meaning in sorrow, and how sorrow can be made into art. This poignant poem had a lovely close which left me hopeful and quite touched.

I asked poet Nancy Levinson about the inception of her poem:

When visiting the grave of a loved one, there really isn’t much one can do beyond crying and whispering or “talking,” as I’ve heard some say they do.  So, I began bringing poetry, sitting on a little marble bench and reading out loud.  One day last summer it came to me that perhaps there was a poem in the here and now.  I never actually read my own work in the cemetery, but to conclude that poetic thoughts were spinning in my mind, I needed to refer to my having written poetry earlier.  At home, a first draft came rather easily and dramatically, but a fair amount of time, revisions, and tweaking followed. I thank Kelli Agonon for selecting my poem.  As she wrote that she was “quite touched,” in turn, I am touched by her response.

Writing is, in the end, a literary conversation in which we allow ourselves to share perceptions we might not have found and clearly felt if we hadn’t written. To know that others thrive emotionally because of our words is an important gift.

Here is the poem:

GRAVE SITE VISIT
by Nancy Smiler Levinson

Between lush manicured lawns
and dense sheared hedges I walk
slowly           up the curved path
to the wall near the relief sculpture
tall as a juniper tree Moses on the Mount.

I step into the Garden of Canaan,
no Eden in its beginning
My husband here at eternal rest
those words of finality suffocating me
then once again I read beloved,

devoted husband and father
etched on the brass plaque of his tomb,
my fingertips press kisses on the letters
hot from a blistering sun high overhead,
I whisper I love you
                                             I love you

Sitting on a small marble bench, I read softly
Yehuda Amichai’s poem, ‘A Man in His Life’
He doesn’t have seasons enough
to have a season for every purpose.
Ecclesiastes was wrong about that. . .

I murmur poetry I wrote
as my husband lay ill and I gave care
throughout long days and nights
hoping that in my days of grief I can weave
the threads of my tapestry, create my own design,
new landscapes thrive in a parallel universe. . .

my throat catches
my eyes mist over
but I am not weeping
as last year and the year before.

A gentle voice is speaking to me
whispering thoughts, blending words
I listen     I hear
the spinning of sorrow into a form of art
as I am beginning to write this poem.

As I read Nancy’s poem I am caught up in the moment she describes. I understand fully why she disagrees with Ecclesiastes and I feel again the way, in grief, other’s words, once supportive, don’t seem to hold water. And yet, for the living, for Nancy, this poem marks a new season of grieving, the season of opening to life bringing along the love she has for her now deceased husband, bringing along her faith in poetry.

As Kelli is touched by “A Gravesite Visit,” and, in turn, Nancy is touched by Kelli’s response to the poem, I am touched by Nancy’s words because I know first-hand in my own writing history how important encouragement is to writers as they search for the gold inside their words, when they know no one has asked them to scratch their words out, no one has asked them to bare their souls, and no one has asked them to continue trying to do this authentically despite the soul’s tenderness and nature to hide from everyone’s veiw, and against the odds at times, to get their poems and personal essays right. When they do, others (including editors) are touched beyond what the writer can imagine as she is doing the hard work of finding the truth and depth of feeling, portraying it in a way that she can experience what she has lived (and in doing so allows readers to experience this too).

Please leave a comment below for Nancy. Be inspired by her poem to write one of your own. That is how literature works for me, that long literary conversation.