Ritual
Placing the dead is seldom arbitrary.
The Marquis de Sade’s grave in the forest at Malmaison
was planted with acorns so that he might be consumed by
trees, but my wife desires a shady plot in rural Texas,
where no one will claim her. In old Christian
graveyards the unclean were buried at the gospel side for
sinners. When her best friend died, she and his former lover
split a bottle of Johnny Walker Black and listened to Puccini.
The Nuer of Sudan place deformed dead babies by the river,
returning them to their true fathers, the hippos. After the fog
crushed Stevie Ray’s helicopter, I played Texas Flood on the juke
box and quit my job. In China, bones channel feng shui, becoming
part of the active landscape. Though she wanted her ashes to drift
in the Pacific, my mother’s body lies in a national cemetery in
San Antonio. On the northwest coast of Canada, the Kwakiutl
left their dead to the ravens, and my father has proposed
on numerous occasions that we shove a hambone up his ass
and let the dogs drag him off. I do not believe we’ll follow his
suggestion. In old England, suicides were often interred at
crossroads, impaled, to impede their restless wandering spirits.
The Torajans sometimes keep bodies wrapped in layers of absorbent
cloth in their homes for years. I’d like my incinerated, pulverized
remains released in the jet stream, if only to escape economy class for
once. Jellyroll Morton’s grave is in Section N, Lot 347, #4, in the northwest
quadrant of Calvary Cemetery, but some villagers bury stillborn
near a dwelling’s outer wall. Hugh Hefner is rumored to have acquired
the spot next to Marilyn Monroe. Custom in protocol, repetition.
* * *
Originally published in Middle Gray in 2013, “Ritual” was reprinted in the anthology Heron Clan III, and is included in The Circumference of Other, my offering in IDES: A Collection of Poetry Chapbooks. It also appeared here in July 2015 and October 2016 – the poem that refuses to die…
For those who might be interested, a glimpse at the genesis of the poem is included in this interview conducted by Dariel Suarez, the editor of Middle Gray: http://www.themiddlegray.com/mgblog/2013/12/19/robert-okaji
brilliant. peace ✌
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Thank you, Afzal!
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always a pleasure, Robert.
Peace and Equality and Love and Dignity for all ✌ ✊👍
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Indeed, Afzal.
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So fine, Robert.
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Thanks very much, Sarah.
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Fabulous, fascinating piece…nd funny too. I luv ur dads sense of humor. 😀
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Thanks, Steph. Dad had quite the sense of humor.
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I want my ashes buried in a shallow cave, from where I can continue viewing the desert horizon.
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I’d like mine scattered about someplace I’ve never been. Perhaps I could be a nuisance to someone. 😀
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haha…you a nuisance?…nah…well, perhaps a haunting spirit whose ashes smell weird…from living too long and too hard. 🙂
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Yes, that’s me: smelly ashes!
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The ending of Caroline Blackwood’s Great Granny Webster ends with ashes acting as a great nuisance.
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That’s good to know!
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I’m expecting this comments section to overflow with your readers’ fascinating plans for disposal of their own dead bodies. I like your father’s instructions.
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We did not follow his suggestion. His burial involved quite the ritual – full military honors, including horse-drawn caisson, honor guard, 21-gun salute and taps played live by a bugler. Intricate, and moving.
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And right and proper, and satisfying. To be honest, I want my children to make their own decisions about my burial, because I won’t be around to care. But I know it’s helpful to sketch out a plan.
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Well, these rituals really are for the living.
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Morbid topic but nicely written.
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Thank you, Annika. It’s a fascinating topic, and interesting to see how different cultures deal with death.
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Hello. It’s another look at how humans view the dead. Please come back to my blog more often. Take care.
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And there are so many ways!
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Beautifully topped and tailed
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I hope the innards were palatable, too. 😀
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🙂
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Your interesting poem is unlike anything else I’ve read. You have me thinking.
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Then I have done my job, Sabra. Thank you.
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One can now be turned into diamonds–I plan to put on a lot of weight before I die so that I can become a handful of glittering gems.
https://www.npr.org/2014/01/19/263128098/swiss-company-compresses-cremation-ashes-into-diamonds
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Now that’s a thought! I’ve never glittered in this life, as far as I know…
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Nor I. It’s either diamonds or launched into the air during a fireworks show.
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One is more permanent, but which is preferable?
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I’ve always wanted to be a girl’s best friend, so I’m leaning in that direction.
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A noble desire! And ash is, well, dreary.
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