Ghosts

I need to search library-holdings on line to discover the extent to which anthropologists have studied ghosts across cultures. Has there ever been a significant human community that was without some notion of ghosts--spirits of departed people that coexist with living humans and that prefer to occupy--haunt--certain places or times? Hard to imagine a ghost-free culture. Intriguing to imagine the differences, across cultures, in concepts of ghosts.

Some 25 years ago, an uncle of mine died, around Christmas time. He and his wife, my father's sister, lived about 100 yards from us all throughout my childhood. For a long time they had horses, and the pasture featured one of the greatest frog-ponds in history. I worked for my uncle for a couple summers; he ran heavy equipment, built roads, and operated a rock crusher. I spent one summer busting up boulders with a sledge hammer. It was like old-school prison with hard labor--except of course I got paid a minimum wage, was not surrounded by criminals, and could go home: quitting time was 3:30, I remember, because we started at 7:00 a.m.

One year after he died, we decided to visit his wife, my aunt. It was cold outside--winter in the Sierra Nevada. My father decided to drive the 100 yards in his pickup, so my brother and I, then in our 20s, got in the back of the pickup. We pulled up near our aunt's house; all the lights were out. We assumed she had made an early evening of it, and we decided not to go over and knock on the door. The truck was parked and turned off, and my brother and I sat in the back, freezing. Suddenly a blast of warm air came out of nowhere and poured down on us, disappearing as quickly as it had appeared. We were far away from my aunt's house, so the air could not have come from her fireplace chimney. The truck was turned off, so the heat didn't come from the truck. No doubt it was some explicable pocket of warm air. No doubt. Nonetheless, I'm still 40% convinced it was the spirit of my uncle, chiefly because the visitation was so mischievous, impulsive, mercurial, and not a little intemperate, just like him. Later I read that some African Americans, especially in the South, among others, think of such anomalous blasts of warm air as spirits.

I never wrote a poem about the incident because I couldn't find a way to do it in a way that seemed fresh. I just couldn't quite get the right strategy for the poem. These things happen.

But I have written ghost poems. Here is one. It imagines that ghosts can and may produce memoranda, and it attempts to empathize with ghosts, rather than demonizing them. I've often found it appealing to blend the language and rhetorical situation of something bureaucratic, like a memo, with a subject that is not bureaucratic. The blending creates a kind of torque, in my opinion. At any rate, the poem:

Memorandum From a Ghost

I prefer not to think of myself
as a ghost. The term “assertive absence”
stands nicely for me. After a while,
I exist if you want me to. If
you don’t materialize, nothing
will represent what represents
me. Imagine a connection between
me, you, and the building. Imagine
me, and I’ll brush you lightly
with a cool caress, just enough
to send some of your oldest instincts
scrambling up the ladders of your
DNA, then jumping into the fluid
of your spine. It is my pleasure.

Copyright 2007.