Étiquette : english writing

A rainy Sunday at the morgue (It’s Ok, you’re just dying #11)

A rainy Sunday at the hospital morgue
Is the reason for dark humour to exist

I wasn’t required to stay the whole morning and afternoon here
It was only a question of maintaining a presence for any visiting mourner,
Except no one came.
There was supposed to be a bunch of people showing at 4pm,
But they neved did
And the morgue would close at 5.00 anyway.

No coffees and cakes in here.
It felt more like an east-german recruiting office,
Where the applicants are the grieving families
And I sat in the waiting room for too long over my cell phone,
Dealing with the announcement of your death,
Anticipating the following procedures
And having only slept four hours in three days,
While you gently rested in your death chamber…

We had to take a little break from each other, I’d say
I was your first visitor anyway after they moved you here
And you didn’t seem to have more conversation today,
So I left when I realized I’d spent almost an hour
In such a cold and grim space,
_ Looking more like an autopsy room,
And I was gonna start making calls in a funeral home…

Forgive the humour too.
Seemed like the only available drug in a morgue
I asked the intern at the reception
If there was any place to eat over the whole site.
Not on Sundays alas,
And even for the morgue’s medical staff,
Direction told’em :
« The dead don’t eat,
Why should we deliver food ? »

Forgive my hunger as well. Privilege of the living.
By the way, and for what it’s worth,
You look alright as a dead man, really.
A little stern maybe,
But surely not scary or like you suffered a lot

That being specified,
I’m gonna go home now. I’m so exhausted.
I just wanted to see you for five minutes more.
But this is not farewell
Two group visits confirmed this monday,
We’ll have to talk funerals and other post-mortem issues
Of course you never took a moment
To properly write your will down.
If only you hadn’t been so quick to let yourself go…
But that suits you perfectly well, I guess
To make a last mess of your death

Excuse me again for not crying
Maybe later… Maybe never.
Doesn’t mean I love you any less

You were not much of a weeper yourself,
So I presume you understand

Take care of your soul now.
And we’ll take care of the rest

Can’t blame you for being dead (It’s Ok, you’re just dying #10)

Can’t blame you for being dead, I suppose
That was the plan after all
You’ve chosen a Saturday night
But that’s okay,
I wasn’t gonna party anyway

I guess we feel it coming, we humans
And I felt like staying,
Even past visiting time
No one that told me to go,
As if they knew as well

I finally sat down at your bedside,
Holding you with my both hands
Singing a few lullabies
Like one would do for a new-born
Only very mature

Then it just happened.

The near-death breathing is like an old vintage clock
And your ticking was so regular the whole day
It only took a few misses to suddenly make it stop

As for the companion in the room,
Things don’t change that much really
I stood the same position
Until the night shift made their appearance
In a very light pushing of the door.
I gave’em the sign it was over
And waited another half an hour
For the intern to certify death

The body temperature drops very slowly
As long as you keep your hands on
It’s like a bath getting cooler, degree by degree
And you know you have to leave at some point
But it’s colder outside

Your face is quite relaxed
It looks in peace
You’re almost the same
Only not breathing anymore

And I really don’t feel like crying at the moment.
You wouldn’t want me too sad, would you ?

But they already have to cut this brotherliness cord
Between you and me
So I must leave the room
While the nurses follow their ritual
And when I’m back it’s so different :
You’re now a lying corpse
Lit by a tiny candle that’s braving the fresh air
From a slighly open window

You’re set up for the night, my beloved stiff
And I felt ready for another vigil
But with the growing cold and my empty stomach,
Having really nothing else but an armchair to crash on,
I realize it turns pretty creepy for a noble gesture

I have to make it to the last subway
Try to sleep, even for three hours
Come back at 7.00

We’re not done my friend,
Rest well.

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.

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.

Don’t get over

Don’t get over
Keep wounded
With just enough blood and heart
To function
To feel like you’re grounded

It’s better than healing
Cause you never heal anyway

Don’t get over
Stay within the field of fire
And if it burns you out
You’ve come too close
If it steels your heart
Your blend’s too cold

Keep wounded
We all live wounded
For most of our lives

It’s the care that matters
Not the cure
It’s the making you feel better
Not secured

Don’t get over
If your soul resists
If your mind persists

You’re not compelled to heal
As long as you don’t stain the whole river
Or make a flooding wave of your tears

So keep wounded
Feel alive,
Unrested

Follow the hand that brings direction, protection
Not the one that lends medication, salvation

Don’t get over
Keep wounded
With well enough blood and heart
To function,
To be founded.