Three Poems By Dr. Mel Waldman: My Father, Tell Me about the Afterlife

Dr. Mel Waldman is a psychologist, poet, and writer. He is a past winner of the literary GRADIVA AWARD in Psychoanalysis and was nominated for a PUSHCART PRIZE in literature. He is the author of 11 books.

 

MY FATHER,

TELL

ME

ABOUT

THE AFTERLIFE

My father,

the dust-covered years have melted away

&

almost 3 decades have dissolved,

since I buried you,

&

you disappeared within the womb

of the earth,

&

I

said Kaddish,

Mourner’s Kaddish,

&

the years melted away after I shrieked these

strange beautiful prayers for the dead,

the holy haunting holy sounds & sacred words

of

the Kaddish,

celebrating

Hashem,

the Nameless One

&

divine life

&

soaring to the Heavens,

&

caressing my melancholy soul,

a wounded butterfly,

&

healing me.

Now, after dark, inside the deep silence

&

in my enigmatic dreams,

I see you

&

whisper,

My Father, tell me about the afterlife.

Yet voiceless, you are the mask of silence & ghostly in the Void,

&

you wear a phantom face floating in my mournful mind,

an oval mirror,

&

still,

I know you, my ethereal Father, buried in the blurry landscape

of

my visions

&

softly,

I say,

My Father, tell me about the afterlife.

&

inside the deep silence, you reach out to me

&

bathe me in divine light

&

soon, a celestial sphere of light surrounds us & soothes me

&

I feel your love

&

it comes from a beautiful place beyond

&

this is the glorious love story you tell me after dark,

&

in my enigmatic dreams,

the voiceless revelations from the unfathomable Source of everlasting love

THE KISS

The kiss persists

&

floats in memory

the soft clock

melts

I return to the

room

where she is

(is not)

the clock

of

flesh & breath

shatters

I’m in the

room

(not really)

the young man

bends down

to kiss her

the persistence

of

memory

is

unreal

&

mournful

someone old and forceful

behind him-

the boy who once inhabited

that unfathomable place,

commands,

“Kiss her goodbye”

&

with vacant eyes,

he

stares at the abyss

where she is

(is not)

&

descends

into

the cold place

&

now,

in the dark room

of

the funeral home,

his dead eyes,

once gold

and

glittering

in the

sunlight,

gaze at her

frozen face,

a mask of eternity,

&

he

kisses

her

cold forehead

and

whispers

“Goodbye, Mother”

&

behind him,

Father watches

&

with this kiss

that persists

and

floats

in

memory,

he suspects that

his ghost (not he)

is there alone,

without Mother,

only

the

chilling

truth

THE LAST RITES

OF

THE PRINCE OF CENTRAL PARK

In the final hours of his final day,

the old man rediscovers

the history

of

his fall,

a fall from spirit,

         a flood of blue & gold & turquoise butterflies,

         bathed in celestial light,

         pour down

        the infinite staircase of his brain-mansion

a fall from love & family,

         an opalescent ocean overflows with Eros & Creation,

         flocks of doves & egrets, & gorgeous peacocks

        caressing & kissing & swirling

        through the abyss,

        &

        descending

        into the dank darkness of his dissolving mind

a fall from identity,

       a sphere of efflorescence & strange quintessence,

       lovelier than sidereal bodies,

       explodes,

       &

       the secret apocalypse obliterates the center of unity,

      &

      shatters 

      the collapsing self,

     &

     scatters

     shards of antediluvian archetypes,

     &

     the severed parts, curious constellations of chaos,

     sail

     into

     a private black hole & disappear

&

a fall from earthly power

    a Louis Cartier snake of luscious diamonds & sensuous illusion

    coils & spirals

    around

    the coveted emerald,

    &

    embraces

    a cornucopia of pink & white diamonds

    nestled

    in a majestic ring of purple-red stones of porphyry,

    &

    plummets

    through the wild void of a mutilated brain

In the final hours of his final day,

kaleidoscopic images,

of

a rich gentleman

strolling along 5^th Avenue

with

a

Fabergé cane,

flash

through

the cauldron of consciousness,

awareness on fire

rushing

across the sprawling dream

of

his life,

a

freaky

phantasmagoria,

while the deep snow covers Central Park

Beyond the Lake,

he descends a stone staircase,

&

finds

the secret home after his fall,

the ancient Cave,

buried in the rocks, & sealed,

&

he lies in the snow,

looking up at the omnipotent

whiteness,

&

rests,

near the closed entrance,

&

the heavy snow

falls incessantly

&

when he rises, he kisses the

frozen rocks

&

trudges south through the

thick heavy snow,

seeking

the soothing quiet & calm

of

holy ground

&

trekking

through the eerie landscape,

bereft of time & space,

a blizzard of dead clocks

&

delirious nothingness,

swathed

in the

shrinking

visibility

within

the white Void,

&

after

wandering

through the wild vastness,

the Prince of Central Park

arrives

at

the

Bethesda Fountain,

clambers 

into its frozen ring,

&

beneath the Angel of the Waters,

&

the flood of furious snow,

he begins to dance,

first slowly,

as he flows into a trance,

&

then swiftly,

as he whirls & swirls & disappears

inside

a corybantic dance,

an orgiastic dance of ecstasy,

a frenzied dance of Eros

&

within the whirling sphere

of

this wild, transcendent dance,

the old man collapses,

&

vanishes

in

a womb of snow,

the preternatural snow of his past,

&

dies in one glorious eternal moment,

a joyous prince once more

 ~Dr. Mel Waldman