Étiquette : blog

Coffees and cakes on the house (It’s Ok, you’re just dying #9)

I must be on time for the gig
Which leaves me about an hour
In the palliative care unit
And I took the wrong turn from the subway
Like it wasn’t enough of a tight schedule

This growing haste before I enter the room,
It’s a bit of apprehension, and a bit of missing you
You’ve got me pretty addicted, you charming cancer-boy

We’ve had quite a long and heroic trip together, haven’t we ?
Transferring you from this bunker of yours
Way up to the fifth floor of medic town
In one of the best service you could ever ask for…
Hey, that was neither anticipated, nor even planned for yesterday.
You just decided you had enough,
And told the nurse who was visiting you.
But she could not wait for the ambulancy
And when I called, you didn’t want me around, remember ?
I found you completely dazed on your bed, almost naked,
Talking to yourself
I just wonder how you were gonna let the paramedics in,
By telepathy maybe ?

But don’t worry about this,
We made a pretty great duet together
For the rest of your emergency tour
I saw you restore every color of your being
For just a few hours, that was fantastic
The humour, the comraderie, the style,
As the friendship
And this droning memento mori above our heads
Above yours indeed.
We both understood it was the last step
And what a true relief that I could help.

So now you’re just sleeping ?
I knew you probably would.
That’s fine,
The families’ space nearby
Is such a haven to me,
So quiet, appeasing
No one around, mostly.

And it has a free coffee machine
With a few little cakes available.
I must confess I’ve had probably half of them
With two or three black coffees
Just pouring another hot one over the previous getting tepid
I knew I wouldn’t have time to eat,
So it did for a lunch
Then I sat there, networking for a while,
Dealing with a few urgent points about the gig.

Finally a nurse told me a word about your condition today
And your sleeping,
Which is not really « sleeping ».
« You hear his breath ? It’s typical of a dying person,
It won’t last very long »

So you’re not waking up anymore ?
Not even goodbye,
Not even a half-conscious smile ?

You gave it all yesterday, I guess.
But man, I took a serious blow
Right when I thought I could easily spend a few visits more
And grab coffees and peacefulness on the house

I had just left a funny note on your bedside table
That you’ll never read
Could not assume it would go that fast.

And fast should I go myself.

I have to work, sleeping beauty
So don’t die tonight, please
See you very soon

Never heard you groan like this (It’s Ok, you’re just dying #8)

I’d never heard you groan like this
It used to be an almost peaceful lamento
Only troubled by a sudden brief eructation
Then a sharp spitting
And then back to conversation.

For about two minutes on the phone
The moaning grew intensively
Changing into an always higher peak
Of manifest suffering.
I waited for the distant sound
Of your liberating sputum
But it wouldn’t come.
And I stood there at my window,
Shocked and fascinated
By this raging wave never coming down
As the seconds lasted longer
To the violent noise of your spreading cancer
But it didn’t scare me
I just wasn’t too sure
How serious it might be, not seing your face.

« Dead serious, man »
And still, that boiling bluesy voice
Resonated so powerful
That I wanted to record it
It was regular, almost musical
Were you trying to shake me,
Or repel me ?
It wasn’t like « leave me alone »
More like « remember this groan »
I think you were trying to wake me up
And I needed this
You called me back five minutes later
As if nothing happened,
Rational,
« You can come by later, even with the doctor around »
Death is never too considerate,
But you are, my friend.
See you quite soon.

Your voice on the responder (It’s Ok, you’re just dying #7)

Your voice on the responder
A poignant gesture of civility
I’m busy working
While you’re busy dying
How poorly scripted can it be ?

She was busy dying too, your mother
« I wasn’t there » you said, with a sob
Were you busy working back then
Or just standing in a cold distance ?
Like we all do,
And you’re not worse than any other kid
Raised by a single child-mother

You don’t eat much anymore,
We tried everything
Easily chewable,
Fine meals,
Your favorite pudding,
But you’ve grown tired of it
Creamy pastry, something fresh and melting
Or just a bit of basic rice and soup
Please, would you ? Just a few bites.

It’s meant to get worse
I don’t resist the verdict
And I don’t expect you to
You didn’t want the chemo,
And we’ll never know how long
It would have kept you alive
Nor in what condition

Your legs won’t bear you anymore
On your bycicle they made miracles
It’s ground zero, it’s back to earth
But you’re not buried yet,
And it’s both a long and short way
That leads one to their final breath

I’m only asking you for this courtesy :
May you not go while I’m busy toiling for my own life.
It’s a bit off-topic, I know
But we’re all self-centred, when it comes to survival
Please have this friendship to me :
Don’t die alone.

A simple friends dinner (It’s Ok, you’re just dying #6)

It’s difficult to change anything in someone’s space
I only have the spare key, not the user manual
You don’t want me to clean up your mess,
Like those dirty handkerchiefs around your bed for example
Alright buddy, the privilege is yours
But do it for tomorrow,
I’d hate to overstep your dignity

Being your personal assistant is not my favourite part anyway
My secret plan was to make you have a proper dinner,
After I did the shopping, the pharmacy, and other domestic stuff.
It came a few visits later
I suggested you might wanna eat something warm and tasty,
Rather than sodas, fruits, half a cracker, or a yogurt
That is to say not much
And it was not for the cooking pride of it
Our first meal together
Would be a simple catering tray of tagine
Which I prepared in your frying pan,
Cuting the chicken in very small slices
So you might chew them easier and nicer

It was the smell of it in your kitchenette :
For weeks you’d nearly forgotten what food smells like,
What a decent meal smells like,
Taken moreover by the novelty of having it fixed for you
No dinner table though,
And I’d struggle to find us a clean knife and fork,
But here we got, sharing a pleasant dish on your desk
And although your appetite was still short
You almost finished your plate,
With a constant and extatic enjoyment,
Like someone really did you a great favor
Then you had your post-dinner cigarette
And began to tell a few stories and things,
As if having another human home in the evening
Appeared so natural

On my next visit, you insisted on how easier the sleeping came that night.
You had this custom of revisiting the whole day when your eyes closed,
And the summing up for once, had felt so much better
With a simple friends dinner.

This finally happened, you requested help (It’s Ok, you’re just dying #5)

This finally happened
You called for help.
Yesterday was the first breakthrough,
After a month of keeping your distance
And how could I blame you,
I’d do the same, if not longer

I passed my routine call in the afternoon
And you started very frankly :
« No, I’m feeling terrible »

Your first respiratory distress,
And you had to pick a Sunday.
« It’s hard to get a ventilator right now, »
Call us back tomorrow », said the emergency.

I could’t bring you more than support, for lack of oxygen,
And your voice had turned so thin, out of its breath
That almost by fatigue, you suddenly said :
« Oh nevermind after all, come if you want »

Now you looked older, weaker, closer to death
Compared to even four weeks ago.
But I was not gonna face you any differently.
Hence after a while, it became obvious
How just a little presence would stimulate you,
Make you wanna tell stories again,
About this subject or that chapter of your rich biography.

The next day I was hired for the job somehow
A request for a few urgent errands in the neighbourhood

You’d made your last attempt to reach the pharmacy in the morning,
And it failed.
But that’s alright,
I’m taking care from now on.

Don’t thank me again,
Just say you’ll trust me, and that’s fine.

And you’re still in charge of your own dying business, you know

Sorry I didn’t call you any sooner (eight days have passed) – (It’s Ok, you’re just dying #4)

I’m sorry I didn’t call you any sooner
Eight days have passed
And it makes a year at least
When they give you less than a few months

I’ve been busy
I’ve been not too well myself

You’ve had a bad night, you say
But did you have a good life ?

I did not know your mother left you an orphan so prematurely
I thought I heard you mention her presence later on your timeline
« I have no one, you understand », you said in that cool cat’s tone
To the female oncologist who follows you at the hospital
She shows empathy, complicity,
She has that little extra time in humanity

Of course she tried again to push the idea of a treatment
Now that you know the nature of your murderer :
A small cell lung cancer
But you already sensed it.
And somehow it suits you better
You don’t want the chemo
There’s not enough in your life
To make you wanna fight for a little more
And you won’t have much more
Might be too late for a short trip,
Is it too late for friendship ?
Some sort of relation
That won’t make you feel under assistance

You wouldn’t call me, would you ?
I have to guess when you need help
It’s like for most of our relationships :
We have to guess, not just to hear, ask,
And it can’t be a lousy job

I’m surrounded by a bunch of « no-hopers »,
You said also to your doctor
« Which is of no surprise, because I’m one as well »
Then in a charming line, you added to me :
« Oh but you, you’re worth better than this »

Oh no, just a piece of mess
Under a brighter exposure
And I’m sorry that it’s all you’ve got,
Without any self-depreciation :
Bar workers, unsung loners,
Underground musicians,
Real drunks and wannabe poets
Random misfits…

But hey, I’ll do my best
If this is what is left

The sound of a little hope (It’s Ok, you’re just dying #3)

I’ve heard the sound of a little hope in your tone
Over the telephone
The first random words after picking up,
They’re like an uncertain shade of dawn
And today’s not so cloudy, as it seems,
Even a bit lighter really

You rave about your new female doctor,
As if you had a date and not a biopsy
No matter how terrible the sickness,
A little crush is always sign of vitality

The way you’re explained a fatal truth
As naked and painful as it is
Makes the prospect very different
You may not be so dead yet
It will demand further exams to see it clearly
And they have this new treatment process
With only pills, to face the end more peacefully

I’ve heard the sound of a little hope
And it sets me in a great mood actually
I know you don’t expect to be finally saved
But if you get nine months,
When you were told nine weeks,
That makes a spring and summer
Enough to put a smile on your cheeks

This time you didn’t pick up <> (It’s Ok, you’re just dying #2)

This time you didn’t pick up
I left my deep baritone on your voice mail
And decided to move anyway
It was just like me after all
To prefer a chilly walk at dusk
When a rare blue sky in January
Had just happened

I was not in a particular worry,
Only a step further in my concern
I mean,
You’re just dying
It’s a day-to-day process for anyone
Only goes faster in your case

I walked along the East cemetery,
Knowing it would perhaps be your next location
But it didn’t feel such a gloomy thought
Plus, it is very peaceful in here
Unlike an hour ago
In that crowdy shopping center

This time you did not open
I saw you were home, curtains shut,
But a little lamp of your matchless design was turned on
From you desk probably

Your hands moved,
And I felt somehow reassured
Then went back to the station district
Where the multitudes of the living
Have to deserve their final rest,
And whose effort is so painfully noisy,
So constantly aimless,
That it makes perfect sense
How religions dangle the promise of eternal bliss
I don’t think you’re a believer actually,
But you have to find your peace at the moment,
Which makes a busy man out of a dying body

I knew I’d see you hopefully sooner than death.
And as I’m writing these lines,
Searching for a little human presence
On a heavy cold night,
I witness the same kind of little lamp near by the window
A message for the outside world :
I’m alive, just don’t bother me.

Oh, the bar’s already packed
With too many frenzied folks
Who have no attitude, only grimaces,
Who have no style, not anything close to yours
But these two sitting a table ahead of mine
Look so engaged in taking care of each other ;
And how they hug at the face of another long winter,
Feels right enough for me.

It’s OK,
You’re just dying.
And finishing the poem,
I realize the place is totally empty by now

It’s peaceful and lonely
A little like your cemetery.

New Year’s call <> (It’s OK, you’re just dying #1)

It was new year’s day
And my first resolution would be to call you

They’d told me about your cancer
And the very short remaining time the doctors gave you

I felt concerned, and regretful as well
That our friendship waited so long for a chance to happen

Too late was coming soon
And I just had to shake my confusion

It took half an hour to clear the smoke
Then I knew I’d heard a man yet so charmingly alive
That I wanted to visit him the next day.

Every inch of your appartment was so full of you
A baroque space of bric-a-brac,
Cheap collages made of souvenirs and diverted pictures
Set of boxes and little lamps, gracefully arranged

You made the coffee on your old gaz cooker
And we talked for a while
Mostly not about death
And very little about your cancer

I could be wrong,
But it felt like seing a longtime friend
Though we only got to know each other.

I knew I was gonna stick by your side,
Whether you’d ask me or not
And this meant until the end.

Oh, and I was strangely overwhelmed with joy.
A guilty joy.