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The Dying Song
Julie Buffaloe-Yoder
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We brought him home in a Hospice van,
unplugged the wires and made a bed
of mossy pine by the salt sweet shore.
Downwind of his huge and fertile garden,
he slowly bloomed inward, while we
held his hand beneath a live oak tree,
wiped his lips with watermelon hearts
and watched while he tilled
that last black row.
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The doctor had rolled his eyes:
I don’t have time for crazy hicks.
Let them take their bag of bones.
He won’t make it through the night.
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He died for six more months–
while summer thunder cooled his face
and fall lapped small waves around his bed.
We knew he couldn’t go, he wouldn’t go
until first frost sweetened the greens
and he was good and damned ready
to sing his dying hymn beside the shore.
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He smelled like collards cooking
in an old black pot,
fat back and vinegar and salt.
How gentle those large, scarred hands
thick with sweat, the breath of notes
and the pulse of Sunday voices.
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Amazing the clay, he sang, so sweet
the birds hush their singing,
the salt still clings to the roses.
Those blue eyes breathe beside the tide.
Those blue eyes keep breathing.
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That saved a wretch a cough like me.
How sweet the sound rolling down
a flight of stairs in hard darkness.
And the voice I hear falling on my ear
once was dead but now it grows.
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Was blind, a man in a garden,
faceless under a hat, bends to scoop
a handful of black. A cough, a plough,
children run like scattered marbles.
But now I see the deep, dark green.
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A broken hoe; unbroken smoke.
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The Dying Song was first published in Muscadine Lines: A Southern Journal.
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tender and moving, and well told
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Hello & thank you very much. -Julie
This is so tender, such a tender sweet handling of death. And if I would go so sweetly, with the Carolina summer wrapping me up slowly in its sheets. I loved the weaving in of Amazing Grace. Perfect…I wondered if this was someone you really knew? It felt like family to me as I was reading it.
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There’s also another song in there called “In The Garden,” but I twist both of them around. Yes, it’s based on my grandfather. I’m glad you saw him in the read. As always, thanks so much, Cat. -Julie
Sweet, sad, poignant. And I felt like I just said goodbye to someone.
Catherine asked the question that was on the tip of my typing fingers–was he a member of your heart?
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Dear grandpa:) I wish my daughter could have known him. He was an older man when I was born and lived into his 90’s. A great person. Thanks so much. -Julie
Oh, lovely! And this goes so well with Miss Fish. You could write an anthology of real people. Brilliant, Julie!
Hi, Rachel. As always, thanks so much for your support🙂
Damn, you made me cry!
Love you, Julie
Right back at ya, Christopher! Thanks for dropping in.
How beautiful. I love the weaving in of songs, although I didn’t catch the first one. Also the garden works for both life and death. The poem provides dignity and respect to a dying man, which is all we can really hope for.
Hi, Brigindo. I like the words you use: “dignity and respect.” I’ve known some people who have had beautiful deaths, and I think it’s because of the way their loved ones respected them. The dying person fought it until the end, but when the end came, it seemed peaceful.
Thanks, Brigindo. You always make me think.
Julie, what a beautiful tribute to his life!! I feel as if I know him – can see him, feel his big scarred hands, hear his dying voice singing those hymns. I love the mixture of the old songs, especially the weaving of “I Come to the Garden” (my father’s favorite) with “Amazing Grace.” It is with an amazing grace that he is “blooming inward”. The children may scatter, but he remains in this poem.
Your poetry is so beautiful. You capture your subject and give them life, no matter their circumstance.
Beautiful work, Julie! I love it.
Thank you, Karen! It makes me happy that you feel his spirit through these words. I love talking about my grandfather, because he truly was a great man. He died years ago, but I still miss him every day.
After Bob died, I’ve been thinking a lot lately about all the dear people I miss. Including Bob. Including my grandparents. But I’ve been very blessed to know them, so I can’t complain.
Thank you very much, Karen. You always brighten my day.
You honor your grandfather with this well written verse of his life – and death. He left this earth the very way we all should be allowed to leave – with dignity and grace, and in nature’s arms. I am happy for him.
The imagery here is luminous, giving us detailed insight. I know you must miss him.
I started copying fav lines…but, Julie every word is a gem, every line a treasure. You have penned another poem for the ages.
***Amazing Grace was my mother’s favorite and was played at her funeral. He Walks with Me (In the Garden), was my dad’s and was played at his funeral.
Hey, K! Thank you so very much. The connections we have always astound me, and make me smile.
I actually worry when I use cultural references. I don’t want to alienate the rest of the world. I try to make the theme one that is universal, so even if a phrase or reference doesn’t quite translate, maybe the overall idea will.
Sorry for the soliloquy! LOL! If I didn’t have you all here, I’d be telling all this stuff to the usual voices in my head. Y’all are much better than voices😀
What I SHOULD be taking up space saying here is how much I appreciate you, K. Thank you!
Beautiful Julie, it is a piece that definitely deserves publication. It is a reminder of our mortality and the Amazing Grace in living and loving each day we are given. Loving life and the earth and those around us. May we all go when we are good and ready – and may be all be blessed with good and joyous days.
blessings
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Hi, Barbara. What awesome points you make!! I want to quote every one of them! “Loving life and the earth and those around us” really touched my heart. My grandfather loved life. And he surely loved people and the earth. He was a man who truly lived. Bob was another example of a man who truly lived. All the other people I’ve known who have lived a full life have those things in common.
Maybe much of the sadness that’s out there in the world today wouldn’t exist if people loved one another. People sometimes laugh when I use phrases like “love everyone,” as if it’s an elementary concept. But is it really elementary? If it were really elementary, then everyone could (or would) easily do it. I think it is the greatest lesson we can ever learn. Thank you so much! -Julie
Julie, my father died at the beginning of this year and this really struck a chord. I “watched while he tilled / that last black row”. He had blue eyes too. This is beautifully written.
I’ll be back to read it again.
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I’m so sorry, Michelle! How difficult it must be to start the new year with the loss of your father. “I’m so sorry for your loss” always seems like…not enough. I guess there are times when words aren’t enough. But then there are times when words become instruments for healing, as in your beautiful poetry.
I dread all of the additional loss that will eventually come in life. I hope I can be an example of love like you are. -Julie
simply beautiful..the weaving was wonderful. Brought tears to my eyes and my heart. thanks Julie
Thank you, Jorc. I enjoyed your poems so much. I just peeked at your site again and see you have a story up! Yay! I’ll go back to read it now. Thanks so much:)
Hi Julie,
Your poem is beautifully, lovingly written, and expertly constructed, a fitting tribute to a special man. I admire your ability to let the reader experience the essence of the people you love, and how you feel about them.
Hi, Annie. I was just over yapping at your place. Did you see me float past in cyberspace?:)
But seriously, thank you so much. I appreciate that you can see how special he is to me. (It’s hard to describe him as a was…because he still is with me, if that makes sense).
Lovely, poignant, full of the soulful hymn woven throughout. Thanks for sharing it here!
Hi, Christine. Thanks so much.
P.S. – I enjoyed the video poems so much. Thank you!
This is incredible as your work always is. I love the way you work other voices, other kinds of voices into the story.
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Hi, Nathan. It’s always great to see you. I hope things are going well for you. Thanks much for the good words. -Julie
Well, you’ll always convey a fine point of redemption by using the song Amazing Grace, a song by the way that is on my top 5 songs ever heard list…
I once heard that this song was written by an angel, and that seemed fitting, that such soulful sounds might come from the heart of something ethereal. But then I learned that it was written by a former slave ship crewman. And as powerful as an angel might be in the imagination of some, in my mind the song is made even more powerful because it came from a human who once erred, turned and looked at their life, and found the courage to change…
Life has so many experiences, and each is like a place marker, some might call these historical points of interest, but that’s not what I would call them, especially when it is your grandfather’s experiences which are being thought about.
For me, I call it listening to the resonance of streaming water…
We swirl in the mist of our families, if we wish it or not, we are part of that water…Well done Julie, and thanks for singing a bit of your families song for all of us…
Poet Man
Hi, Poet Man. I know what you mean by the song. I get chills when I hear it played, especially with bagpipes. It also never fails to make me think of all the wretched things I have done. I find it a bit ironic that my grandfather would think of this song, because he was one of the sweetest, gentlest people I have ever known. But he was human.
I love what you say about swirling in the mist of our families…”if we wish it or not, we are part of that water.” That is beautiful, and it is so true. Maybe we could even think we’re part of the water of everyone in the world.
Thank you, Poet Man!
Whenever I think of “Amazing Grace” I hear Judy Collins singing it. When I bought a guitar a few years ago and learned how to play again (after 20+ years) it’s the first song I learned to play. I love the way you interwove the two songs into the poem, and the two songs together, effective even if you don’t know the songs or their tunes. Again, a beautiful and powerful poem… I keep re-reading it!
Hi, Annie! I would love to hear you play the guitar. I’m impressed when people learn to play any instrument, especially the guitar. It’s probably my favorite instrument to hear. I don’t play, but I wish I could!
Did the things you knew from 20 years ago come back to you while you were learning again? Or did you have to start from scratch?
Thanks so much for your good words. It’s always a pleasure to see you.
i am continually astounded by how you weave the concrete with the etheral in a way that enhances them both – this is a remarkable poem, like a tear that’s been shed but refuses to fall. he is so alive in it, even dying, present, singing – unafraid but unwilling to go unless it is on his own terms.
at first glace it seems like it’s about death, but it seems to me it’s more about the man and the manner in which he lived – i can’t imagine a more beautiful or soulful tribute than this.
Hi, Joaquin. I’m so happy for your words. Yes, it really is about his life much more so than his death. I originally had more stanzas directly about his history, which was amazing. Older people are a wealth of knowledge and history. At the time, I hated to edit the stanzas out. They just didn’t fit with the rhythm or voice here. Now I’m glad that I did, because I’m trying to reshape what I took out and will probably end up with several more poems about him someday.
Thanks so much for your kind words, Joaquin.
The sense of smell, the descriptions of it, is what really impresses me with this piece.
Hi, JR. I’m glad you like the descriptions. It’s funny…I was in the garden today, and the smells are so strong. In a good way. I guess that might sound crazy to some people, but I love the smell of dirt:)
Thanks much, JR. It’s always good to see you.
Hi Julie,
I have to confess: I learned how to play guitar again, gained a certain amount of proficiency, and then I promptly forgot again. Whenever I feel creative, I’d rather write than anything else. Learning chords again was much easier, having known them before as a teenager, and I was familiar enough with the concept of finger picking to pick up some new patterns. I am one of those guitar players who learns by rote, step-by-step. I am not a natural musician, like my son seems to be. I admire musicians greatly. ~ Annie
Hi, Annie. I admire musicians very much. String instruments fascinate me with their sound and also because I’m usually a clutz when it comes to doing anything creative with my hands.
I’m also fascinated by people who can do pottery or blow glass. Or carpentry work. I just don’t have those things in me, but I wish I did. The only pieces I can create are imaginary…LOL!
I admire the fact that you learned to play again. People like me just sigh and say, “I wish I could do it.” You actually did! It’s great that your son has that natural ability (plus, you get to enjoy his playing, too). Thanks so much, Annie. I always enjoy your conversations.
Ah, this is so poignant and (As always… with your stuff) alive… despite the title.
Hello, dear Nan. It’s always so good to see you. Thank you!
Exceptional. You made me cry. The best, you are.
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Thank you, Jo. I’m so happy that you have a new site, and I can’t wait to see all the great things it brings:) -J
The beginning of this poem is heart-breaking, and I like poems that break my heart well.
Hi, Rethabile. I love what you do, so that is a good compliment that I appreciate very much. I tend to write a lot of sad work, even though I’m a happy person. I think writing the sad helps. Thanks so much.
tender, exquisite, and powerful
Hi, Lynne. Thanks so much. It’s great to see you.
This is my first visit, Julie, and this poem hit a deep hole in my heart. I lost a very dear brother recently. I can’t write about it yet, but I will. I’ll come here again. Love your poetry.
Thank you, Glenda. I’m so sorry about your brother. Losing loved ones is, in my opinion, the worst part of life. I still mourn for the ones who have gone, and I dread the next death. But this poem really did help me to find some peace. It took me a long time before I could write it. I would love to read about your brother when you’re ready to write it. Thanks so much for stopping by.