Category Archives: grieving

Inspired by David Bowie: Poems Part 1

Piccadilly Circus at Night, London MDMikus Copyright 2005

Piccadilly Circus at Night, London MDMikus Copyright 2005

Many of us discovered how woven into our past was the music, the wide-ranging influence of David Bowie. How bereft we felt and shocked even upon hearing of his death on Jan. 10. I was not the kind of fan growing up who bought his records or attended his concerts, but the songs were such an integral part of me, I recognized more than I was aware I knew. Of course, there are also all those artists he influenced or encouraged. By nature he expanded boundaries. He was just 5 years older than I am, so there is that, a look at shared mortality.

After the news went out, as did many others, I went to the internet and listened to songs, watched videos and interviews, and began to read. The more I learned, the more I felt I had lost, but also the more I appreciated being able to “know” such a charismatic, gracious artist. And as usual, the poems started coming to me, each day writing prompted by what I had just learned or heard. And yes, the dream poem is a true story.

So here is the beginning of my tribute: To someone who somehow, by being himself, snuck into the fabric of my life and so many others. Let me know if perhaps these poems with speak for you or to you.

1/12/16

Early Tribute and Promise
David Bowie

Some ideas are only
accessible in the dark void.
They slink, they slide
they slither in
around the admonition
despite the admiration
to become again…pure
imagination.
And the part of us
that has always been
David Bowie welcomes them
into expression
however flawed or flamboyant
in their perfection
unique in all creation.

Margaret Dubay Mikus
© 2016

 

1/12/16

David Jones
nee Bowie

Now you look
and Death seems obvious
in that iconic face
and the last words he wrote
at first glance
inexplicable, now explained.
To leave life privately
restore the loss of privacy.
To make what could be
of this final transformation
this inevitable reinvention
whatever he believed
about reincarnation.
To have inspired and influenced
and championed
those in need of a hand up.
That smile, those cheekbones
that versatility of hair and makeup
the otherworldly uniqueness of eyes
not losing track
of the overall arc
the forward momentum
until the very end
the last breath
the amazing grace.
He knew and made the most of it
what else is there
of earth and heaven?
To be who he was
after giving the last gifts.
To look back and see what you left
to stay and go ahead
a spirit released from
all constrictions, all small boxes,
all constraint, all confines.

Margaret Dubay Mikus
© 2016

 

1/13/16

D. B.

To live and to leave
as desired by heart’s longing
the door opening
on the way through
spilling creative juice
back and onto.
And those behind
for a brief time
awakened and aware
some purpose clear
the urge to accomplish
something…good.

Margaret Dubay Mikus
© 2016

 

1/13/16

Stardust

To be born innocent
knowing nothing in that moment
containing everything from before
stardust coalesced into firmament shaped
into specific form by an unknowable hand
and shaped by choices again and
what seems like chance from this
sliver-skewed perspective.
In fact the universe playing out
and I being here, playing the hand I am dealt.
Potential shifting into real.

Margaret Dubay Mikus
© 2016

Entrance to Chinatown, London MDMikus Copyright 2005

Entrance to Chinatown, London MDMikus Copyright 2005

1/14/16

David Bowie Comes in a Dream
After a “video” of his final poetry reading

I am not the only one I’m certain
who received a dream-visitation
talking of things that matter
life and death and in between
just as it might have been
and most gracious and welcoming.

There are advantages in spirit form
like teleportation and omnipresence
that are harder to pull off as human.
He heard us talking after and walked over
smiling as he was and thoughtful
bent toward and leaned in to the conversation
ever the interested generous gentleman
showing how it’s done:
this end of lifetime celebration
and relevant immortality.

Margaret Dubay Mikus
© 2016

 

1/14/16

More and No More

There will be no more sightings
of him holding hands with Iman
on the streets of New York
London, Berlin, or Hoboken
David Bowie has flown

But the ripples have not stilled
that were set in motion
Even now
momentum builds with more listening
new waves overreaching someone

stimulating discussion
reflection
reinvention
reanimation
re-creation
In a context inevitably altered
he was a willing conduit

We received what became
a foundation, a template
expanding what could be healed
expanding what was possible
and expanding still

Margaret Dubay Mikus
© 2016

 

1/15/16

What I see Now, From this Distance
David Bowie, still Jones

Truly he was not one
born of immaculate conception
but a man born of a woman
in a particular house in Brixton, London
after the war was won
in the midst of that devastation.

And what happened then to shape and form
the one he would become
driven to create and perform
what turned into what it was:
re-shaping the world around him.
What was inside coming to fruition

what had to be tamed or all was lost
what allowed or pushed him to pursue
what kept him who he was
and led to finding happiness and solace?
How was or wasn’t he his mother’s son
generous and kind to everyone.

Of course in those days he was very young
And the context, the times he lived in
the cultural milieu, the shifting sands
what he rejected, what he embraced
for connection and separation

to not be swept away as others had
by contempt or adulation.
To see the path or if not a path
a next step and take it:
what if I mix these things that do not
seem to go together

sprinkle with stardust and stubborn sweat
and voila! A charismatic life well-spent.

Margaret Dubay Mikus
© 2016

 

1/15/16

Bowie

Now the stories are told
no one to correct faulty recollection
the rosy ones first to emerge
then later the thorns?

But now the adulation
sweeping the lands
of those who were inspired then
to be more than seemed possible for them.

Worlds expanded, minds blown
by this father’s boy, this mother’s son
who was real underneath all the glam
who searched and found

and became again
the next reinvention.
Charisma they say, and talent
timing, risk-taking, intelligence and

eventually
the courage to be seen…
the true gift given.

Margaret Dubay Mikus
© 2016

 

1/16/16

Still Bowie

He had a gift
and he gave it
he was almost lost
and somehow saved
the mistakes he made
the chances and choices
creating, re-creating
weaving threads
that didn’t belong together
until they did
and on to the next thing
always the next
Do you think this
is any different?

Margaret Dubay Mikus
© 2016

Coming Home from London, MDMikus Copyright 2005

Coming Home from London, MDMikus Copyright 2005

Unexpected Obituary

Spring Garden, Copyright 2007 MDMikus

Spring Garden, Copyright 2007 MDMikus

My husband and I belong to Folkstage on WFMT radio in Chicago. With other donor/ folk music enthusiasts we see up to 26 folk concerts a year, in an intimate setting. This group has become our main social connection. Recently a long-time Folkstage member passed away unexpectedly. For several days afterward I woke with this image in my head—a poem insisting on being written. I resisted. I did not really want to write more about loss, but in the end I trusted that impulse. This poem is about how those in our lives affect us in very real ways, even if we are unaware of it until they are gone. “This is the moment we have…”

6/7/15

Unexpected Obituary

Folkstage Family

Peter Clark
seems to be still standing
steadfast at the back
doing anything that was asked.

Or sitting in the front row
listening and taking photos,
next to him, Nancy, his wife,
partners in all their wide life.

I should tell you one small thing
that is, to me, revealing.
He was selling CDs as usual,
I was buying CDs to be signed.

I had not known him long,
we were not particular friends,
but he saw me struggling to open them
and immediately offered a solution—

a CD opener—he had more than one
from a Folk Alliance he’d just come from.
Not just to use once, but to keep,
a useful gift easily given.

We did not become close friends,
just many brief talks over the years
when I bought CDs or had a new book out
and he might tell me of his books, his travels,

not bragging, but justly proud of a job well done
that might be of use to someone.
And maybe now I’ve told you this
I can lay his ghost to rest.

I did not know so many things, like
how we shared the same birthday;
I learned more afterward on his Facebook page
than ever he said to me.

Now the stories are coming out
of generosity and thoughtful kindness,
a full life well-lived, a good man,
he will be missed.

And maybe now I’ve told you this
I can lay his ghost to rest.

Peter Clark at 73
as old as he will ever be
10 years ahead of me
as day by day inevitably
we all face our eternity.

Margaret Dubay Mikus
© 2015

Weaving Reality with Fiction: Contemplating Healing

For almost as long as I can remember, reading has been my escape, distraction, teacher, amusement, consolation, friend, and a welcome alternate reality. When my Mom passed away in 2012, it was natural for me to seek comfort in reading. One of the books that drew me in was by Laurie R. King. This poem (from Thrown Again into the Frazzle Machine) came to me, weaving my real life with her fictional world, making some kind of sense from the (temporarily) numb place I was in. How about you? Any books that moved you or gave solace or understanding?

9/6/12

Reading Garment of Shadows
by Laurie R. King

I couldn’t see myself
on the other side of darkness
you lose a mother only once

what is broken cannot be fixed
what reassurance
could be offered
what meaning or strength

found in contemplating healing?
It is as if I woke with amnesia
unaware of who I am

clues all around of someone
who lived where I lived
and worked and was a friend

but who she is now
or who might know
or what road to follow…?

In the meantime…
sun rises…sun sets
the day is sunny or gray

put one foot in front of the other
the nights blending together
I dream in language I do not understand.

Margaret Dubay Mikus
© 2012

From Thrown Again into the Frazzle Machine: Poems of Grace, Hope, and Healing. Print edition now on amazon.com. (Also widely available as an ebook.) Thank you for sharing!

THROWN AGAIN into the FRAZZLE MACHINE: Poems of Grace, Hope, and Healing

Loss of Robin Williams

Gift Gerbera Daisy by Margaret Dubay Mikus Copyright 2014

Gift Gerbera Daisies by Margaret Dubay Mikus Copyright 2014

First blog post in a while (more is on Facebook). Wow the summer is going by fast!

I am very moved by the loss of Robin Williams, remembering all the varied, pitch-perfect roles over the years and the tears-running-down-the-face laughing at his comic genius. But there is a cost to fame. Much is being said about mental illness and addiction, but what pushes someone over the edge? I know very dark places and I am grateful I made it through. Thank you to all who helped me at the perfect times, so I could weather life-storms.

This poem from my upcoming book, Thrown Again into the Frazzle Machine: Poems of Grace, Hope and Healing, came to mind to share today. Life in the public eye is especially hard for those who are sensitive souls. Although written with Robert Pattinson in the title I was thinking about all performers in the relentless public eye.

10/20/10

For Robert Pattinson
And the others

To be the perfect mirror
so that others see
what they most desire

is a special kind of hell.
To not be real,
anything your own,

celebrated but
not seen.
Invisible in your own skin,

when you step out
the image you created
precedes and masks you.

Who takes the trouble
to get to know you
in all quirky human complexity?

The more you say
“I am not a fictional character,”
the less you are believed,

an immense price to pay
for unexpected popularity,
ultimately unsought,

no matter the salary.

Margaret Dubay Mikus
© 2010

Flowers Catch April Sun by Margaret Dubay Mikus Copyright 2014

Flowers Catch April Sun by Margaret Dubay Mikus Copyright 2014

My Tribute to Pete Seeger

Lone Seagull MDMikus Copyright 2013

Lone Seagull MDMikus Copyright 2013

My family lived in a working-class suburb of Detroit. Mom took care of us (eventually seven kids) and also worked sometimes as a registered nurse. Dad worked in the same factory all his life, mostly midnight shift. He was a card-carrying union man. Our house was originally a two-bedroom bungalow and my Dad partially finished the attic into two more bedrooms (but still only one bathroom). We all had chores and were expected to pitch in. We always had food, shelter, and clothes and did not consider ourselves poor, but hard-working, not many frills, as were most of the people we knew.

I grew up in the 1950’s and 60’s, a singer in church choir and Catholic school chorus. I never met Pete Seeger, nor saw him perform in person, but I was deeply shaped by the Folk Revival he helped spearhead and by his songs. We moved across town in 1965 for us to attend the new Bishop Gallagher High School. Around that time were the Detroit riots and the protest movements were catching fire: against the Vietnam war, against segregation, for peace and equality of race and sex. I sang in the Folk Mass group at church and at some point I learned If I Had a Hammer, Where Have All the Flowers Gone, Turn, Turn, Turn, etc. The music just soaked right into me, in part shaping the clay of who I was becoming.

Shore Rocks in Calm Water MDMikus Copyright 2013

Shore Rocks in Calm Water MDMikus Copyright 2013

Since his death this week I’ve read so many stories posted online of those who knew Pete Seeger and are saddened by his loss. I too wanted to say something about his effect on my life and this poem/song came to me. A unique process from my other writing, and the music still has to be worked out (easy to sing along). But here is the poem/lyrics, my attempt to “catch something of the man.”

1/28/14

My Own Tribute
Pete Seeger, 1919-2014

Although Pete Seeger
traveled here and there,
now he is everywhere.

Though there are those
who would make him saint (or sinner)
he doesn’t care, if he ever did,

for he knows best what we all know
how the days are numbered rare,
now Pete Seeger is everywhere.

Not up on a pedestal I’m sure he’d say,
he was an honest man with a mission,
not down in the gutter either, nor scared,
now Pete Seeger is everywhere.

Singing in his confident voice
inviting us to sing along,
songs that we all know and share,
now Pete Seeger is everywhere.

Not in charge of anything big,
working day to day for the voiceless ones,
a determined “ordinary” man who cared,
now Pete Seeger is everywhere.

All the stories of something kind he said,
from everyone who met him or wished they did,
but when Toshi died last year, he died a bit I swear,
now Pete Seeger is everywhere.

His energy released from form now joins us,
not buried in the ground nor ashes spread,
not in some fancy world “up there,”
now Pete Seeger is everywhere…

singing, playing, chopping wood,
encouraging, traveling, doing good,
planting seeds, making a better place,
playing banjo, eye to eye, face to face,
exhorting us to care, I swear

now Pete Seeger is everywhere.

Margaret Dubay Mikus
© 2014

Update: A few days later I emailed the poem to Rich Warren, who is the host of Folkstage (and The Midnight Special) on WFMT, where Stephen and I are members. I knew Rich would be working on his radio tribute to Pete Seeger and thought he might like it. He said I could read my poem to the audience before Folkstage went on the air. It took me only minutes to agree. In the “spirit of Pete,” the group said the repeating line with me. It was awesome! Thanks, Rich, for the opportunity!

Me at WFMT-- Photo by Stephen Mikus, Copyright 2014

Me at WFMT– Photo by Stephen Mikus, Copyright 2014

Update: Finally, a video of my reading this poem.