MYTH
I was asleep while you were dying.
It’s as if you slipped through some rift, a hollow
I make between my slumber and my waking,
the Erebus I keep you in, still trying
not to let go. You’ll be dead again tomorrow,
but in dreams you live. So I try taking
you back into morning. Sleep-heavy, turning,
my eyes open, I find you do not follow.
Again and again, this constant forsaking.
Again and again, this constant forsaking:
my eyes open, I find you do not follow.
You back into morning, sleep-heavy, turning.
But in dreams you live. So I try taking,
not to let go. You’ll be dead again tomorrow.
The Erebus I keep you in — still, trying —
I make between my slumber and my waking.
It’s as if you slipped through some rift, a hollow.
I was asleep while you were dying.
Hello Friends,
Much like Elizabeth Bishop’s villanelle “One Art,” Natasha Trethewey’s “Myth” conveys the impossible enormity of loss through the tightness of the form employed to contain it — as strict or stricter than any villanelle or pantoum. The structure of “Myth” evokes ancient myths of reflection — Narcissus, Echo — and also gestures toward the perfect symmetry and circularity of 11th-14th century courtly love epics (wherein moral outcomes are determined by simple formulas, codes… the good guy always wins, and nobody dies in his sleep).
I had a hard time choosing which poem from Natasha Trethewey‘s 2006 collection Native Guard to send to you; if you like this one, you won’t be disappointed by checking out the whole book.
To learn more about National Poetry Month, or to subscribe to a more official-like Poem-a-Day list, visit www.poets.org.
Best,
Ellen
Poet Natasha Trethewey was also featured for Poem-a-Day April 18, 2010.