‘Memarie’ (the making of)
I’ve never been keen on artists sharing the meaning or intention of a work of art. To me, it robs it of its potential to be interpreted by others. Creativity is fragile, and I’ve always been a fan of letting it be…which is why I’ve always loved the enigmatic style of the artists I admire. Van Morrison, Frank Ocean, and Andre 3000 to name a few. Their music is so ethereal to me…like they’re receiving a signal from elsewhere, channeling the cosmos. I revere the mystery of their artistry and love not knowing exactly what they are getting at. To not know what’s going on behind the curtain enthralls me—it lets the art speak for itself.
For the poem, ‘Memarie’, I’m going to be hypocritical about revealing what is behind my curtain. I don’t really know why. I guess I just felt like it was a story worth sharing. Although I might soon regret it and hit delete…
Lately, I’ve become fascinated with memory and how it works. How sometimes we can recall specific moments from decades ago while other times we can’t remember the title of a movie we saw the day before. Do we consciously grab and hold on to certain memories on purpose? Can we ever truly let go of a memory? Or is everything that ever happened to us alive within us somewhere? So many questions...
The truth is, until recently, I never knew that memories could resurface without previously remembering the moment itself at all. Like when something pops into your head, discovered in a dream that turns out to have really happened a long time ago.
Perhaps certain things are buried so deep within us that we forgot where we stored them and then they get lost in time. Maybe there’s a specific reason we forget things…like our mind is subconsciously protecting us from remembering something. Who knows how it goes…I’ve always been fine with wondering.
I like to imagine our memory as a vast, mysterious uninhabited land, covered in snow…comprised of snowflakes representing every moment we’ve ever lived, every experience we’ve ever had. Each flake falling on top of the one before it, equally beautiful and unique. It’s cold enough there to preserve everything, as long as we’re here…an idyllic winter wonderland full of memories that we can trudge through to retrieve and experience at any time.
To me, the process of retrieving a memory is somewhat esoteric. It’s specifically personal and cathartic. Whether it’s on purpose or stumbling upon something that reminds us of what happened. To spend time with a memory, good or bad, can be healing. Maybe our subconscious is always secretly at work, gathering parts of our past and reminding us of things when we need it.
My inspiration for ‘Memarie’ first occurred in a dream. I was super young, maybe 3 or 4, sitting on a hospital bed. My mother, Marie, was hooked up to machines, looking very pale. She looked at me with her wallowing eyes and her thin frame. She explained that her body wasn’t working anymore…but told me not to get scared if I didn’t see her again because she would never leave me. She promised me…and then she hugged me. I could feel the warmth from her blanket as I hugged her back. I looked over at the door and could see the nurse crying behind the rectangular window light…probably aware of the situation. That’s when I woke up.
Deeply moved, I was touched by the dream. I thought about it for some time. Maybe six months or so later, I was having a conversation with my dad about my mom—which is somewhat rare…it’s just not something he speaks of often. He told me the story of when she went to Buffalo to see her oncologist, and wound up getting bad news that she wasn’t going to survive. She requested that I, 3 years old at the time, take a trip out so she could see me one last time. And he explained how I spent hours with her in the room, alone.
I couldn’t believe it. What had happened in my dream turned out to be true, and somehow 30 years later it resurfaced. I vaguely remembered it. As painfully sad as it was, I went to sleep that night thinking about it…under my blanket, basking in the warmth of one of the few memories I have of her. Oddly enough, I also thought about the significance of the nurse in the window light. Assuming she was aware of the situation, I wondered if she went on to remember that moment at all, or if she forgot about it the next day. I guess that part of the dream was emblematic of having empathy towards others. Our paths are always crossing and we witness glimpses of other people’s lives. To merely care, if but for a moment, is a healthy part of the human experience.
Ultimately, I wanted to express the concept of this deeply buried memory in a poem. My goal was to articulate artistically how it is I traveled to retrieve such a memory. How important it is that we preserve and protect our most precious moments…sometimes hidden so deep within us that we might be lucky enough to find them again.
J.T. CONDE 