Sky Burial

[Hawkman]

Between two men
the conversation is one-sided.
One lies still, listening in silence
with deaf ears,
though his spirit hears
while the other’s busy at his task.

As he works he chats
and makes a joke or two,
after all, it’s just another day,
but one will make no sound.

It is the ancient way.

The birds are not far off,
like the family of the silent one
who’ve gathered,
and they stand, or sit
upon the barren hillside,
a little way removed
and talk among themselves.

The workman slices flesh from bone,
throws a tempting morsel
and a vulture gratefully accepts.

He cuts some more.

His companion doesn’t mind
the knife that pierces skin
and makes an easy path to meat within.

It is the ancient way.

The birds are drawing closer,
though relatives maintain their place,
witnesses who say farewell.

The spirit is long gone
and only flesh remains.
Best to put it to good use
give it back to nature,
nurture life.
It shouldn’t go to waste.

The chatty workman draws aside
and birds move in to feed,
it’s good that they are hungry;
bad when they won’t eat.

It is the ancient way.

He watches while they take their fill,
dancing round the table
to a beat as intricate as time,
squabbling
hunch shouldered,
scrawny necks full stretch.

And when no flesh is left
they’ll fly away,
then he’ll go back,
pound the bones to flour
for a cake he’ll feed to crows.

Nothing will remain,
just memory in the minds
of those
whose lives were touched.

It is the ancient way.

[PrinceMyshkin]

Somewhere between a dirge and an elegy? Every line, every syllable, pared clean of ego. Magisterial!

[DocHeart]

The technique is true to the poem's subject matter. The simplicity of the words, the occasionally playful rhymes, the easy pace: all fit the calmness with which the community practises the ritual. Therefore, we read a poem that discusses cutting up a corpse but experience none of the unpleasantness associated with the modern rhetoric of death.

A fine poem, Hawk. Thanks for sharing.

[BookBeauty]

Reading this gave me a sense of ease and peace not often experienced through verse. Well-crafted. A love poem for nature. Death occurs, life moves on.

[Haunted]

Very compelling. I didn't know there's such a thing as sky burial. The repetition of It is the ancient way eases a tad of anxiety on my part in witnessing a human chopped up as animal food. Quite a reversal. Technique-wise the poem has just the kind of earthiness and cadence to make this a memorable read.

[AuntShecky]

It has been written that human civilization really began when people first adopting rituals in order to dispatch the remains of the dead. I guess in even more prehistoric times, a dead body would just be left where it lay for the natural processes of decay to take over. Or not.

The transition period between those two anthropological quantum leaps--or so it appears to me -- is the subject matter of this piece. The "ancient way" in which this unnamed tribe dispenses with its dead allows the vultures to do the dirty work, so to speak, but the tribespeople actually prepare the way for those scavengers by cutting the flesh and placing the corpses on high cliffs, hence, "sky burial."

As for the form of this, the narrative seems less like a lyric but more like prose, the type of writing found in the retelling of old myths. The refrain between strophes places this piece in the realm of verse rather than prose though.

When you think about it--and your piece addresses it-- once the person dies he's no longer really a person; all that's left is the empty shell and what does it matter how it's dispensed with.

Nevertheless, in an odd, surrealistic way the topic reminds me of a tiny ad that used to appear every day on the very bottom of The New York Times. The ad's headline was: "For those who favor cremation." ("Favor"? In such a morbid context that word never failed to crack me up--as well as Henny Youngman's joke: "My wife asked me, 'Dear, when you die do you want to be buried or cremated?" So I said, "Surprise me!)

[Hawkman]

Prince: thank you for your assessment of the latest opus. Magisterial eh? You make me sound much grander than I am but it's a generous conciet. Glad you enjoyed the poem. I tried to do the subject justice, and the magisterial description possibly indicates I succeeded.

Doc: Many thanks for reading and enjoying this piece.

BB: Thank you very much for your kind words and for enjoying the poem for what it is.

Haunted: No need for anxiety, at least not over recyling the dead. Recycling the living is another matter entirely. ;) In fact similar practices have been fairly universal thoughout history. On these Isles, exposure burials were a practice followed in prehistoric antiquity. Once the remains were defleshed they were deposited in an ossuary. In some, at least, of the Native American societies, the deceased would be laid out on elevated platforms. Then there are the Towers of Silence which belong to the Zoroastrian tradition, and in India, some Brahmin recycle thier dead by vulture, although I believe that recently a decline in vulture numbers has put the practice in jeapordy. (edit: I may be mistaken about Brahmin funeral customs and be confusing them with the Zoroastrians) The Sky Burial I have described is that practiced in Tibet. Not only is there a Buddist tradition of death and rebirth together with a profound respect for all life, but the prevailing conditions make for extreme difficulty in other forms of disposal of the dead. There is a very thin layer of soil in the mountains and beneath is either permafrost or rock, unsuitable for terrestrial inhumation. The communities live well above the treeline, so timber for cremation is not readily available. Consequently, vultures come in handy.

Auntie: Thanks to you too for reading and commenting. I believe your speculation about the practice is addressed in my reply to Haunted. However, your footnote about the joke, reminds me of one of Dave Allen's. A man is informed that his estranged wife has died and the funeral director wishes to know how to deal with the remains. He asks, "Would you like your wife to be buried, embalmed or cremated?" The husband replies, "All three, take no chances..."

Live and be well - H

[Buh4Bee]

I agree with Bookbeauty's summation of the poem. In a sense, it is subtly thought provoking, as this death ritual is an ancient practice. Why can't we deal with death as naturally as the poem describes? Why does modern society shun death?
Anyway, you seem to sometimes have strange ideas for poems (at least from my perspective), but they are always well crafted. The lesson in burial rituals is certainly interesting.

[Jerrybaldy]

Hi Hawk
You and dem birds.......... :)
I have never heard of this practice so you are an education to me. There is a (new?) practice I have heard of late, that peoples ashes are sent skyward in a firework rocket and then exploded in the sky. Personally I would be happy fed to the birds or exploded into the sky but my preferred method would be to be left on a deck chair on a beach :)

This verse:
The spirit is long gone
and only flesh remains.
Best to put it to good use
give it back to nature,
nurture life.
It shouldn’t go to waste.


summed things up for me.
Thought provoking and very enjoyable and I am with BookBeauty in feeling a sense of peace whilst reading.
cheers
JerryB

[Hawkman]

B4B: I happy to have been able to give you something to think about, especially as you seem to have enjoyed the poem. In answer to your query, I believe it is the dominance of Christianity in the west which has coloured our sensitivity towards the dead. The belief in the resurrection of the body, demanded that there should be a body, preferrably in hallowed ground. The church did not allow for cremation until comparitively recently, not unless they wanted to burn you at the stake, that is.

JB: Any excuse for a party, it seems :D Well, they lauched Gene Rodenberry into space, didn't they? Anyway, thanks for reading and enjoying.

Live and be well - H