The Secret of the Cemetery by Joanna Heram with thanks to G. K. Chesterton’s example in The Secret of a Train. “All this talk of a cemetery mystery has sent my mind back to a loose memory.” Loose in the sense that there are elements I do not possess but that which I do possess is very dear to me. Not only is it dear to me but more importantly it is true. Nothing, not the backdrop of the landscape, the figures present, nor the emotions experienced are false. One rarely experiences such a situation and I consider myself honoured to be one of the few of those bound by the tie of love present. Why I share this part of my history with you is for you to discover, to search out, it is not for me to make explanations or conclusions on what came …show more content…
“A sickly sunrise clung weakly to the horizon: sickly, ghastly and appalling in contrast with the untold majesty, beauty, and glory Mrs. W would be surrounded by that very day in Heaven with Jesus.” It was then when the blinding orange and red and yellow had squeezed the welcome relief of tears from my heavy eyelids. Unlike that new day as possible, the day on which my story takes place was a leaden November one, where clouds hung low, and the wind howled and shrieked over and around and under the ridge on which sat the red house with the deck. Spirits were low, quiet composure on the countenances of the fifteen people present for the fulfillment of Mrs. W’s last wishes. On the ridge, where her laugh had rung out many a time, where the sound of voices singing ‘Be Still My Soul’ and ‘Leaning on the Everlasting Arms’ would forever echo in my mind and heart, at a little green cemetery, her family was gathered. Husband, children, grandchildren, mother and closest friends and goddaughter, all listened as the pastor spoke, indoors due to the frigid and blasting wind and snow. Rightly, I do not remember what he said. (Perhaps it was about trees, perhaps something else) Maybe we sang a song and maybe it was ‘In Christ Alone’. Afterwards, with gray needles flying through the …show more content…
A small number of us returned to the cars, only Mrs. W’s children remained. Talking, weeping, and remembering together the woman who meant so much. I had no place with them, I sat with Jane and tried not to cry. She talked about the cold and the weather. I agreed with her and forced myself to find other simple things to talk about though I didn’t feel quite like talking; there was nothing else to do save the utter rudeness of not replying at all. There was a hole in my heart, a longing for the second mother, the true example of a godly woman who taught me so much and still continues to teach through memories, words on the inside of book covers and highlighted Bible verses. "For me it is always dreary weather that slings into life a sense of action and romance, the kind of drizzling rain or gusty blizzard that gives icy shivers and a multitude of story ideas." Only when the urge for something profound and breathtaking to come from ones pen leaves instead- random sentences, intense adjectives and abrupt character appearances, a disheartening relict of what could be- does the True Artist remind you of a story, profound and breathtaking yes, which happened in your very life. The kind you can never forget and only remember. We left the cemetery and return to the oppressive warmth of the house, I went to the piano to wait until the
The critics who perceived this book's central theme to be teen-age angst miss the deep underlying theme of grief and bereavement. Ambrosio asks the question, "Is silence for a writer tantamount to suicide? Why does the wr...
‘…the characters’ strength was a direct result of their necessary stoicism in the face of so much hostility.’ Discuss the role of women in Burial Rites.
The sun “glared down” on her as she turned away from her mother’s grave (8). Even later on within the book, she describes her mother’s grave as a “blister on [her] heart” (43). Through showing personal mistakes involving burying her mother and her memory, Trethewey pulls the audience into an emotionally invested state that disapproves of her own actions.
Emperor Tu Duc's Tomb's is located in Hue, Vietnam. The emperor did not have any offspring and is belived to have arranged for all his wealth to be buried along with him in his tomb which he got constructed with remarkable amenities.
Plot: Woman gets call at work from her father, telling her that her mother is dead. Father never got used to living alone and went into retirement home. Mother is described as very religious, Anglican, who had been saved at the age of 14. Father was also religious and had waited for the mother since he first met her. They did not have sex until marriage and the father was mildly dissapointed that the mother did not have money. Description of the house follows, very high ceilings, old mansion it seems, with chimney stains, it has been let go. Jumps in time to narrators ex-husband making fun of narrator fantasizing about stains. Next paragraph is the father in a retirement home, always referring to things: ‘The lord never intended.’, shows how old people have disdain for new things, the next generation appears to be more and more sacreligious. Shows streak of meanness when ‘spits’ out a reference to constant praying, narrator claims he does not know who he is talking to, but appears to be the very pious mother. Following paragraph jumps back in time to when narrator was a child, she asks her mother constant questions about her white hair and what color it was, mother says she was glad when it wasn’t brown like her fathers anymore, shows high distaste towards her father, the narrators grandfather.
When the city of Los Angeles was a small city of a population of 28,285 the Angelus Rosedale Cemetery was founded as Rose Cemetery in 1884, making it 133 years old. In 1993, a funeral home called Angelus Funeral Home bought the cemetery and renamed it Angelus Rosedale Cemetery. The Rosedale was the first cemetery to service all races and religions. It was also the first to adopt the design scheme of lawn cemetery, along with trees this cemetery has many Mausoleums, and pyramid crypts. In 1887, the cemetery opened its first crematory making it the second crematory in the United States. The first cremation was on June 16, 1887 who was Mrs. Olive A. Bird the wife of an esteemed doctor. By 1913 the cemetery had performed over 2,000 cremations. In the beginning the cemetery was mostly used by LA mayors and other important or rich families but as time went by many different ethnicities and people of all social classes were buried here. Along with civilians this cemetery features a section dedicated to the fallen soldiers of the Civil War. The cemetery is 65 acres spreading through Washington to Venice and from Normandie to Walton Ave.
Immediately, Mara Wilson utilizes several emotions to attract people to reading her essay, “My Mother’s Last Receipt”. She entices readers by starting off with a sense of mystery by not clarifying what the essay is about. The effect of using “It was my little sister, Anna, who found the purse” (Wilson, 1) to begin her essay is to intrigue the readers so they gain interest in the article. If she started the essay with a simpler, more basic introduction, than the readers may not want to read the paper. Throughout the essay, she slowly introduces her mother using several short stories about her character. The readers are able to connect with her relatable personality with ease, and this provides attachment from the readers to the mom.
Right from the moment Louise Mallard hears of her husband's death, Kate Chopin dives into a her vivid use of imagery. “When the storm of grief has spent itself” introduces a weather oriented theme (para.3). This imagery depicts a violent and dark setting that denotes death and grief. Her reaction to her husband's death ideally what society would expect. Her acute reaction instantly shows that she is an emotional, demonstrative woman. Even tho...
As I walked through the door of the funeral home, the floral arrangements blurred into a sea of vivid colors. Wiping away my tears, I headed over to the collage of photographs of my grandfather. His smile seemed to transcend the image on the pictures, and for a moment, I could almost hear his laughter and see his eyes dancing as they tended to do when he told one of his famous jokes. My eyes scanned the old photographs, searching for myself amidst the images. They came to rest on a photo of Grandpa holding me in his lap when I was probably no more than four years old. The flowers surrounding me once again blended into an array of hues as I let my mind wander……
The hardships, the crying, the lies, the hopes, the faith, and the belief in family and each other was so overwhelming and raw that you, as the reader, felt as if you were there every step of the way. It was a insane roller coaster ride, but it showed how a family, though held together by a lie, was able to stand by each other, care for each other, and love each other. Most importantly, it shows us that even through all the pain, all the hardships, and all the lies, relationships can still be rekindled and family
Gently swaying back and forth in an old wooden rocker, I take a break from my journaling. While listening to the creaky hum of the tired oak thumping out a blue song, I think about the art of writing, painting with my words, and wonder what hampers my creative practice. A foreboding sense of unworthiness floats into my consciousness and I ask myself why do I feel this way. Rifling through my thoughts a fog wraps around me like a blanket not for comfort but instead to shield the feelings of inadequacy. I take a deep breath and inhale the reassuring sage scent of our family room. I press on in this process of self-discovery; an old black and white photo sitting on a shelf captures my eye. I see an image of myself as a smiling, confident child, which stirs uneasiness within. Following the muddled whisperings in my mind, I return to the day in the snapshot and consider what comes to pass.
...has to be read more than once to be understood and this makes it so we as the reader can enjoy this poem and in reality isn’t that why poems are made? The poem provides many examples that there are sad elements and that they are mainly shown though the grandmother. Because of the sad elements this poem makes the reader understand the elements on a deeper, more personal level, this is a part that Bishop is explores a slightly darker area which she seems to have a great grasp on.
Our eyes locked, as tears streamed down her sullen face. She was a petite woman with heavy dark eyes, revealing her struggle, her pain, and a hope for a better life. She cradled her infant gently, yet firmly as if it was her last breath. With every sway, she kissed her child’s head as a promissory note that she would take care of her and provide for her the world.
Mrs. Mallard’s repressed married life is a secret that she keeps to herself. She is not open and honest with her sister Josephine who has shown nothing but concern. This is clearly evident in the great care that her sister and husband’s friend Richard show to break the news of her husband’s tragic death as gently as they can. They think that she is so much in love with him that hearing the news of his death would aggravate her poor heart condition and lead to death. Little do they know that she did not love him dearly at all and in fact took the news in a very positive way, opening her arms to welcome a new life without her husband. This can be seen in the fact that when she storms into her room and her focus shifts drastically from that of her husband’s death to nature that is symbolic of new life and possibilities awaiting her. Her senses came to life; they come alive to the beauty in the nature. Her eyes could reach the vastness of the sky; she could smell the delicious breath of rain in the air; and ears became attentive to a song f...
I have read her chapbook The Branches, the Axe, the Missing” several times and her words stirred in me the need to tap into my own emotions when I write my poetry. The amount of time she ponders regarding her relationship with her father appeals to my artistic inclination to explore further in my own poetry some of the relationships that have come and gone in my own life. Specifically, her work speaks to a long dormant relationship I had with my own father, a conflict that became an empty hole upon his death years ago. Her poems such as pages “Eighteen and “Twenty-six” were my favorite poems in her book. I have read poem twenty-six several times and have read it aloud to myself in the mirror. Charlotte Pence pens a concrete image of life with her father, intertwining in specific diction an event that has impacted her adulthood. This prose technique allows me to understand that the remembrance of one specific event in a relationship can affirm the infinite effect a relationship between a father and daughter has on the future. The lesson I learned from her work is that a good poet must avoid corny language in the process of writing a poem. I took this lesson to heart when I revised my poem “Stolen Trust” and my attempt to remember how one specific life event impacts how I view the world. Many of her words have a resonating ring of familiarity with me yet I am clear that my relationship with my father was much different that she has with her father. Thus, when I revise my poem I want to stick with the truth. I use the language I know and stick with the facts of the event. Even though I identify with Charlotte Pence and her words, my poetry is in my own