Poet's Choice: 'Cocoanut Grove' by Ron Slate
|
Discussion Policy
Comments that include profanity or personal attacks or other inappropriate comments or material will be removed from the site. Additionally, entries that are unsigned or contain "signatures" by someone other than the actual author will be removed. Finally, we will take steps to block users who violate any of our posting standards, terms of use or privacy policies or any other policies governing this site. Please review the full rules governing commentaries and discussions. You are fully responsible for the content that you post.
|
The story of the Cocoanut Grove Fire of 1942 in Boston is part of my family's lore. I wrote a poem about it almost 35 years ago. But I found a reason to return to the story after reading Adam Zagajewski's essential poem "Try to Praise the Mutilated World," which appeared in the New Yorker soon after the World Trade Center attacks. The speaker of that wonderful lyric implores us to remember the world's ruined beauty. Adam's poem not only provoked me to answer, but pointed to something not yet articulated. I wrote my poem as if in dialogue with his, and also as if my daughters were listening in.
The Cocoanut Grove Fire took 492 lives.
(Editor's note: To see this poem laid out correctly on paper or on your screen, click the Print button in the Toolbox.)
Cocoanut Grove
My life began with the fire,
glimmering in the birthwaters.
Beyond my bedroom wall
voices murmured a memory.
.
My father's mother died
with her sister in the ladies' room.
He said -- if she had escaped to Shawmut Street,
been saved, nothing would be the way it is.




