I haven’t been able to change a channel or scroll through Facebook without reading about the death and probable suicide of Robin Williams. Last month I posted an article I found on suicide, refer to July 14th post to read an interesting perspective. It may be difficult to read or understand but it’s worth the try. But since his death was plastered all over the TV less than 24 hours ago, this poem came to my mind and I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it. This whole tragedy defines this poem for me. It’s sarcasm, the writer’s need for it to be true. Well you can decide for yourself:
The Art of Losing
by Elizabeth Bishop
The art of losing isn’t hard to master;
so many things seem filled with the intent
to be lost that their loss is no disaster,
Lose something every day. Accept the fluster
of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.
The art of losing isn’t hard to master.
Then practice losing farther, losing faster:
places, and names, and where it was you meant
to travel. None of these will bring disaster.
I lost my mother’s watch. And look! my last, or
next-to-last, of three loved houses went.
The art of losing isn’t hard to master.
I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster,
some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.
I miss them, but it wasn’t a disaster.
– Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture
I love) I shan’t have lied. It’s evident
the art of losing’s not too hard to master
though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster
A Dead Language 