Literary Criticism

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Literary Criticism

I have read and re-read the story of your life

A thousand times since you left us without warning.

This was a story I was intimately familiar with.

I had collaborated on every chapter.

And the early chapters, when you did not have a vision for the story,

While those were still characterized by your unique voice,

They were written in my hand,

And the hand of your other collaborators, major and minor.

But the ending of the story did not have my input

And it so shocked and transformed me,

 That I now mark time and understanding by its revelation.

And now the familiar story that I thought I knew,

Challenges my former interpretations and insights.

So I go back to the text again and again,

Searching for meaning and truth.

As we worked on it together

I was convinced that it was a happy story.

It’s true, it began with heartbreak.

For us the start of the story ended a painful chapter

But for another, written out of the rest of the book,

A heart wrenching choice allowed our story lines to cross.

And for you, a loss, a rejection, was the prologue for your tale.

Redemption, reunion, rejoicing followed so quickly after,

That I lost sight of that theme as the work progressed.

Other rejections and losses occur as the story continues,

But they seem so ordinary.

Not significant enough to highlight or comment about in marginalia.

But I missed the connection of these superficial wounds

To that primal wound, didn’t I?

A rejection like that can’t be healed or covered up with a bandage.

And once wounded, you are forever vulnerable to future injury.

I get that now.

There is also an undertone of fearfulness that runs throughout the story.

I caught that, had underlined it, had noted it in the margins.

I knew it was important to the story.

It built barriers for you to overcome

And created conflict that, ironically, fanned the flames of fear.

But I never understood where it came from or its control over you.

I couldn’t get inside that part of your character.

Until now. I get that now.

Now it seems linked to a sense of isolation I am newly getting from the story.

But I’m not sure of this interpretation.

Neither fear, nor isolation seem to fit with the intrepid performer

Whose talent and confidence and gifts of song and gab

Pulled people in and moved them,

Creating the feeling that you were in the presence of someone special.

How could someone like that feel isolated?

Am I projecting myself onto the text?

You see, I’ve recently learned that there are two kinds of isolation.

External isolation can be battled.

New friends, new surroundings, new technology,

Can tear down walls.

But the isolation that comes from within,

The kind that shouts at you that you are different,

That your pain is unparalleled,

That isolation is a tougher foe.

It hides in the crevices of your mind and heart.

Fighting it is like jousting in the dark.

I’m fighting that fight. I get that now.

Toward the end a new theme emerges -

The search for identity.

Before I was forever changed by the story’s end,

This theme was hard for me to follow or relate to.

You seemed to try on personas

Like you were a little girl playing dress-up again.

But what was the motivation, the meaning, the metaphor?

Was it symbolic of searching or discovery?

As I look over the highlights and notes and dog-eared pages

A new thread emerges.

Perhaps this theme of identity is connected to the theme of rejection

And amplified by the underlying fear and isolation.

These things inhabit the same space, as I now know all too well.

Traumatic loss creates fear, fuels isolation, and ignites identity,

Until you are burned beyond recognition,

 Even to yourself.

I get that now.

10/24/09
Inspired by Workshop by Billy Collins