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Ghost in This House
“I don’t mind staying in, there’s another ghost here.
He sits down in your chair, and he shines with your light,
And he lays down his head on your pillow at night.“
—lyrics from “Ghost in This House” by Hugh Prestwood
A cherished lover doesn’t ever leave,
But lingers as a living part of you
That brings no consolation when you grieve
And lets more sorrow in your heart accrue.
A spectral presence or a looming thought?
The net effect will likely be the same
If you inside that dreadful web are caught,
Where you’re required to play the crying game.
Your friends will tell you just to let it go,
To move along and try to live your life,
But what does anybody really know
Who’s never lost a husband or a wife?
You tell yourself that you should be the ghost,
But that would hurt the one you loved the most.
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Poet’s Note: This is a rendition of the song, in its entirety, from which the theme and title of this poem were taken:
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From a Sinner Who Didn’t Make It
All the Way through Baptist Summer Camp
I try to be contrite and humble
As on Your narrow road I stumble.
Though seas dry up and mountains crumble,
Please hear the hasty prayer I mumble.
I’m just a worthless piece of clay
That doesn’t know the time of day,
But I believe You when You say
You’ll listen closely if I pray.
So now that I acknowledge You,
Just what am I supposed to do?
I’ve never been that perfect Jew
Who uttered only what is true.
The bonds of sin have now been broken,
For thus the Arbiter hath spoken,
And punishment is only token
For all the dancin’ and the smokin’.
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C.B. Anderson was the longtime gardener for the PBS television series, The Victory Garden. Hundreds of his poems have appeared in scores of print and electronic journals out of North America, Great Britain, Ireland, Austria, Australia and India. His collection, Mortal Soup and the Blue Yonder was published in 2013 by White Violet Press.
Ghost In This House; a moving poem which so many of us have seen as a parent or spouse has passed, but in mind they are still present and will always remain so. A pleasure to read.
Yeah, Phil. You and I are old enough now that we have only old friends, and few enough of them.
I agree with Phil; “Ghost in This House” is a moving poem. I would never tell someone to “just let it go.” One must grieve; it’s a necessary part of being a human being who has loved others.
Your second poem is amusing in a lighthearted way, particularly the title, and the simple but fun rhyme scheme.
Perhaps, Cynthia, a friend might be forgiven for being so callous, due to the fact that he or she is also grieving for the virtual loss of a friend. Is grieving really necessary? It’s expected, and it often happens, but it might be possible to do without it.
Mono-rhymed stanzas are hard to take seriously when they run to four lines.
“Ghost in this House” is a very good rendition of the situation the song describes. Situations vary a great deal, though. One of my best friends became a widow a few years ago, and her friends made a point of going out for coffee every day after morning Mass. Now at 87, she organizes a coffee group with dozens on the e-mail list, and big get-togethers on Sunday. She does say, however, that she knows more dead people than living ones.
Not sure what you missed in summer camp, but I completed one as a child. Can’t remember what we were told about punishments for childhood sins (more minor than smoking in those days). I do recall a song, “I’ll Be A Rainbow for Him.” Wonder if they still sing that.
I must say, Margaret, that I think the song is better than the poem. My take on the whole situation took a different tack, but I don’t think it will sell a million copies, and I’ll never be a widow. And yes, the dead keep piling up.
In summer camp I got through all the quotes from Scripture, but I never studied the full catalog of available sins. If the song is a good one, then I’m sure they’re still singing it. It depends on how they still feel about rainbows.
‘Ghost in this House’ is a great piece of writing. There are, indeed, people in our lives, from the past, whose memories/presence seem to catch us at the occasional moments and give us pause.
Christina Rossetti wrote a poem from the point of view of the one departed called ‘Let me Go’ which I’ve found impactful and a comfort during trying times.
As for summer camp, it seems sin is in the eye of the beholder at such venues which is why I preferred more individual pursuits during the summer.
Thanks for the reads, CB.
You are right, Paul, and I still have departed friends I talk (or try to talk) to. It’s as real as anything is. We know that we are entangled with the dead, but it’s harder to know how much they are entangled with us.
What you missed out on is this: At summer camp the stated modes of sinning,
As it turned out, were only the beginning.
Kip –
My friends are diminishing, as for lovers they aren’t hanging around either.
Mama still comes back for a visit now and then, as do much loved cats.
You can only move on when you are ready. I take comfort in the fact that they are all somewhere.
Call it what you will; Heaven, another dimension, it exists. That’s my belief,
Remember – it is real, and sometimes a veil lifts and shows a thing we need to see.
Yes, Sally, the dead are with us, but it’s hard to believe it until one has experienced it. For me, the “somewhere” to which you refer is the universe at large, which is nothing less than an unplumbed sea of consciousness. Most of us await daily for the lifting of the veil and hope we will recognize it when we see it.
I love the monorhyme quatrains of “From a Sinner…” They are harder to pull of than most poets imagine.
“Ghost in This House” is painful, the way a serious poem about loss must be. Too many poems about death are presented as a consolation, and thus fall prey to icky-poo sentimentalism. This poem is very honest, and scorns the simplicity of soothing words.
Monorhymes are risky, as you say, Joseph, and I rarely indulge in them, but the footing on misty slopes isn’t much better, and I try to stay away from them as much as possible.
C.B., the ‘Ghost in This House’ song wrings tears from my heart, and (to my discerning eye) your sonnet does the song every justice. When one knows the depth and meaning of true love, one is a shadow (or ghost) of their former selves when the half that made them whole dies. C.B., your poem is beautiful… and I relate to every wise and wondrous word of it.
… I would also like to say: ‘I’m just a whisper of smoke’ (a great line in the song) expresses the ingenuity of poetry… ‘wisp of smoke’ is the clichéd way we see a ghost… ‘whisper of smoke’ not only adds an extra sensory wonder in a synesthetic sense, it fits perfectly with the meter. It says so much about the craft. I have a feeling you may think I’m off my rocker… and you’d be right.
I’d be much more concerned if you said that you were on your rocker — it’s too early for that. Yes, it’s a great song that I listen to over and over. If I did the song any justice, it’s only because there didn’t seem to be a choice.
CB, the lines
But what does anybody really know
Who’s never lost a husband or a wife?
are so true. I have twice become a widower, and it’s hard not to shout when some well-meaning fool says, “I know what you’re going through, I lost my mum” or something similar. Good work.
Yeah, David, it’s more a statement than it is a question.