I was drawn to the Confessional poets not for their mental struggles or the Freudian undertones and experience in psychotherapy, but because they offer real and true accounts of life, ugly as it is at times. I began writing this poem in my head before even diving into any of the confessional poets’ work and it fittingly held to the common theme of fathers. I suppose I should have guessed that, with their Freudian bent, this would be a popular one.
The poem, though, came mostly from a place of longing and guilt for a lack of relationship with my father who is alive and well. I was drawn to the confessional style or genre–I think this is how I would classify it after these readings, more so than a school (thoughts on that?)–because of my own world view as a Christian. I believe confession is a powerful tool and command that, when kept, exposes secrets of the heart and allows for actual change. I make a practice of this in my life, not in writing, but in relationships with other people. The genre fits into my life rather neatly (though confession isn’t often neat), giving me an avenue to express something that is perhaps one of the more dark and twisted areas for me.
That’s right, y’all, I’ve got Daddy issues. (It seemed I needed to lighten the mood some because you’re probably uncomfortable now.)
Back to a serious note: I am wondering after reading the poets and articles for today, if the confessional school isn’t more of a style or genre of poetry than it is a school.
The Silent Year
I didn’t see my father last year
one year, two phone calls and
twelve months of small child growth
fleeted past like the tulips and lilies
of his North.
But this growth, here, in
the foreign South is made of melodious giggles,
gasping almost, and footsteps
stumbling and feeling that place
where carpet meets wood and
falling but too caught in that moment
to stop and cry though the thought
is there in eyes searching for something in mine.
I didn’t see my father last year, visit
his new house and his new wife, with
her red lips and platinum on both her finger and her hair, and that accent
where Rs ah skipped ovah, or maybe replaced.
I didn’t invite him here, though I hoped he would come
see the beach, like every other he’s seen,
and the history he knows because
his mind holds trivia facts and not
keys to hearts though
I want his, soft and fleshy like
it was on that day that he held his
first grandson, a one-month pile on his chest
an olive complexion and grey-blue eyes
the perfect match. The pair bathed in that hot
Carolina sun that poured through the window,
glinting off Parrot Creek where
a heron sat on a long forgotten tree
stump fishing and reminding me
that this man taught me to fish
not for fish, but just the same
to provide.
And I pray that this boy will know a love that’s loyal,
that he’ll look at my hypocrisy and cringe
that he’ll understand distance doesn’t make the heart grow stronger
that such phrases are trite and unthinking, an ether, numbing and dumbing
secrets bore holes of silence and confession is the cure.
Thank you for sharing this poem! I really enjoyed reading it and listening to the emotions within. I would agree that the confessional lyric is more of a style or genre and less so of a school. It began with Ginsberg and others from the Beats and continued with Sexton, Plath, and Berryman, etc. Your poem evokes a sense of longing, and although it doesn’t address a “taboo” subject, it is still deeply personal and a confession nonetheless. Part of what some of the critical essays discussed was what makes confessional different from personal. They argued that the “taboo” was an essential (or at least common) aspect of the confessional, but it also conceded that confessional did not need to be controversial. I think what makes your poem more confessional is that you’re making the internalized conflict you have about the relationship with your father external, speaking of it and inviting the reader to either judge or converse with you.
“The poem, though, came mostly from a place of longing and guilt for a lack of relationship with my father who is alive and well.”
In terms of the confessional poem as a process, I think that’s the first step. Through inviting the reader into the poem, the speaker (in this case yourself) provides a degree of intimacy that, yes, probably does make the reader feel uncomfortable, but also should connect them to the poem. (Angela also commented on this in her last sentence). I think you did a good job in capturing the feel of the confessional school, because if you look closely at their poetry you don’t see any slap-in-the-face confessions that are bluntly personal with no context or meaning other than advertising something with no explanation. The poem for the confessionals a had purpose that went beyond the selfish, and through seeing the struggles of another person we might empathize with that person, reflect on our own lives, and perhaps see a greater issue in society, all of which came up in our readings.