One of my favorite scenes ever written is in The Adventures of Tom Sawyer when Tom and Huck go to their own funeral. We've all done it, imagined ourselves dead, imagined our funerals. There is something comforting and creepy about doing this. I'm reading a great book right now called The Dead Beat: Lost Souls, Lucky Stiffs, and the Perverse Pleasures of Obituaries by Marilyn Johnson. I've always loved obituaries, celebrity tributes, etc. The montage of "those passed in the last year" at the Oscars is usually my favorite part. This book makes me glad that the good obit pages are available online b/c the local paper in Raleigh, The News and Observer, has a super crappy obit page. I think people like obituaries because the better ones read like this great mash up between prose and poetry. In the book there is this quote from Billy Collins, former Poet Laureate and great divider of the poetry crowd, that kicks my feet out from under me when I read it:
" In times of crisis it's interesting that people don't turn to the novel or say 'We should all go out to a movie', or, 'Ballet would help us'. It's always poetry. What we want to hear is a human voice speaking directly in our ear."
What a terrific first line of a poem, or opening line for an obit;
"Ballet cannot help you"
More than anything, I'm surprised that more people don't secretly want to write their own obit.
Check out the major London papers if you want to read snarky, funny obits. They are the most entertaining.
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3 comments:
Obits are always the best part of the paper. The NYTimes I think is the end all be all when it comes to poetic obits.
When I worked in the improv comedy place in Boston there was an offshoot of the main stage cast that would put on a sparsely-attended bonus show after the regular show. What they'd do is they'd take a real obit from that morning's paper and read it to the audience. Then they'd replay that person's life as an improvisation.
It was the most brilliant thing I'd ever seen, watching these hysterical spit-take comedians turn around and produce these small, brittle, powerful dramatic moments that you knew would eventually result in the subject's death. These obit improvs used to wring me out like a dirty old mop.
So whenever you've got absolutely no creativity dwelling in your heart, head to the obits and find all the inspiration you need.
I think it'd be an interesting exercise to write your obit the way you'd want it to be, and then write another as you suspect it will really be, and compare the two. Discrepancies indicate a possible need for change, I suppose.
Now if you'll excuse me, I have an autobiography to write. I can't just trust my legacy to some newspaper hack, not in this city... I'm a mover and a shaker dammit.
good title. I'm going with it.
the only part of my future obituary I'm willing to share is "in the end he was finally, and tragically overcome by the shear weight of his body hair."
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