When Death Comes

          This is a reflective response I wrote a few years ago in my "Intro to Literature" class. I stumbled upon it and laughed heartily. HEARTILY. You don't have to understand the actual poem I'm referring to, other than it's about death, and it uses a lot of silly metaphors. The end. I hope you all find it hilarious, all three of you who read my blog.

                               "When Death Comes"

           Sometimes in life, people die. Actually, thousands of people die every day. From death-related illnesses, such as cancer, AIDS, harpoons through the chest, and freak rollercoaster accidents, to civil war, genocide, being old, and getting sucked into jet engines. Because of all these tragedies, poets have been inspired to write beautiful lovely poems about it, and compare death to such things as whales, bears, hurricanes, Keanu Reeves, and the Pope. Such is the case of “When Death Comes” by acclaimed poet Mary Oliver.

            Oliver, in this poem, seems to be calling us to action. She exhorts us that we should not merely be a visitor to the world, but that we should be “married to amazement.” She also really sounds like she hates death. A lot. Her view of death is fearsome, angry, and completely opposite of the view of death portrayed in Woody Allen’s “Death Knocks,” where Death is a big bumbling doofus who falls down the stairs, and more reminds me of Death from Bill and Ted’s Bogus Journey.

            The first of the poem is structured with fearsome similes. Death is like the hungry bear in autumn. I think she’s referring to the Chicago Bears here, who begin their NFL season in the fall. Some seasons, they’re hungrier than others, like when they got to the Super Bowl a few years ago. It would make sense that she would be a Browns fan, as she was born in Cleveland, but nobody knows what a “brown” is, so how can we know when it gets hungry? The next figure of speech is actually a metaphor: death coming and buying her with gold coins, and then snapping the purse shut. This plainly shows that Death has a nice purse, one of those ones with the little button that makes it snap shut. Also, that Death is a woman. Or maybe a gay man. Whatever gender Death is, Death carries a purse. And fortunately we can’t see Death, which makes it all that much easier for Death to carry a purse. Otherwise, Death would probably be embarrassed. I had a coin purse once in fourth grade, and man, did I ever get made fun of. Just think what it would be like for me to carry a purse. How does this add to the intensity of Oliver’s poem? That Death does whatever it wants. It shows no mercy. It shows no embarrassment by carrying a purse. A cruel truth, a cruel reminder.

            Next, Oliver compares death to the “measle-pox.” I’m not sure what the measle-pox is. I’ve heard of “measles” and I’ve heard of “chicken pox,” so I assume measle-pox is some deadly combination of both, probably created by Oliver herself so she could include it in the poem. Because admit it, it sounds pretty deadly. Then she probably unleashed it upon those who opposed her, such as the editor of her poem who didn’t like the idea of a “death” theme, and her co-worker who spilled coffee on Oliver’s skirt during their lunch break. So those true scenarios make it all that much more vivid. Then she devises her last simile, comparing death to an “iceberg between the shoulders.” All I can say to this is…ouch! Wait, I don’t understand this simile. I mean, an iceberg is gigantic. Apparently it’s big enough to scrape a giant hole in a cruise ship, but it’s small enough and pointy enough to jab someone in between the shoulders? I think this comparison is supposed to show that death is so merciless that it doesn’t even care about physical impossibilities. That’s how terrible it is. Also, it’s big. And cold.

            Once she’s finished devising hilarious similes, Oliver moves on, pondering on what it’ll be like to die. She seems to take on an eternal perspective as she ponders the meaning of death. Oliver’s an odd duck. Usually, people sit around pondering the meaning of life. Oliver sits around pondering the meaning of death. All day long. She’s still a relatively pleasant person though, you just have to get to know her. Thus, the theme of this poem should be this: “Death: It’s Bad News,” or “Death: It’s a Home Run!” or “Death: It’s a Slam Dunk!” because sports is America’s pastime. No, for real, the theme should be “Live Life to the Fullest.” Because you never know when death is going to stab you in the back like an iceberg. Or infect you with measle-pox.

            Like I mentioned, it’s a call to action. Sort of. She has a different outlook on life. She wants us also to have a different outlook on life. I’m just afraid though, that this poem is a result of her regret. She doesn’t want to be just a visitor to the earth, but it’s already too late for her. She wants to be a bride married to amazement, a bridegroom taking the earth in his arms, but the problem here is that she just can’t be both a bride and a bridegroom. But maybe she can? Because if death can be an iceberg and stab me in the shoulders, then by all means, Mary Oliver can be both the bride and the bridegroom. “Oh Holden,” the critics are saying. “Don’t you know? It’s symbolic. Have you no appreciation for fine poetry?” Why yes, I do. I just think hermaphrodites are kind of weird. I’ve never known one though, so my prejudice is kind of unfounded.