The art of losing…
The art of losing isn’t hard to master;
so many things seem filled with the intent
to be lost that their loss is no disaster.
Lose something every day. Accept the fluster
of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.
The art of losing isn’t hard to master.
Then practice losing farther, losing faster:
places, and names, and where it was you meant
to travel. None of these will bring disaster.
I lost my mother’s watch. And look! my last, or
next-to-last, of three loved houses went.
The art of losing isn’t hard to master.
I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster,
some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.
I miss them, but it wasn’t a disaster.
—Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture
I love) I shan’t have lied. It’s evident
the art of losing’s not too hard to master
though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster.
- ELIZABETH BISHOP
I have always loved this poem by Elizabeth Bishop. Mainly because it reminds me of the power language has: it allows us to express our thoughts and emotions, and connect with others on a profound level. Language carries its own innate power that can make it both a blessing and a curse, depending on who uses it (and for what reasons). Language is the epitome of magic, and can be used to generate brilliance when summoned by the right people. Language is magical, but in order to use it well, you need to be vulnerable.
In Bishop’s poem, she tries to explain to herself that her lost love is no great disaster; life is filled with losses. However there is a beautiful humanity to this piece, particularly because she acknowledges her heartbreak by emphasising “write it!”. This indicates that she is forcing herself to think in a way that completely contradicts how she is actually feeling. The honestly behind that simple phrase wins the audiences’ hearts. If there’s one thing that humanity can relate to, it’s loss.
We are lucky to be able to see the world in our own ways. That means how we interpret life is no no way “wrong” or “incorrect”; it’s our view, and that’s what makes every writer’s voice unique. It just comes down to recognising that you need to be honest in your writing.
For example, all of us could travel the world, take the same route, experience the same events, meet the same people, eat the same foods. But do you think we’ll all come back with the same story? Absolutely not.
Do you think that the youngest child in a family of five has the same memories of their parents as the first born? Or do you think those parents found out who they were meant to be along the way? Personally, I think the latter. Life feeds you, and language helps us digest it all.
We can’t lose language. In the dawn of a new world where we can celebrate the growth of technology, we must also not lose sight of the fact that the stories we create, using the language we know so well, are not just arbitrary creations: they’ve been born as a direct result of a life well lived. So this loss is far too hard to master, because we as writers have the power to shape words to create stories that would leave an indelible mark on our audiences… and that’s what makes it all really magical.