It was like suddenly an abyss opened at my feet – I was standing on nothing. It was the strangest thing. Her passing away ripped the solidity out of the world. For a few weeks, I'd be walking along and suddenly I'd be unable to stand straight and I'd hold on to a lamppost and find the lamppost wasn't solid either. That was a turning point for me. It began a great journey. I don't feel I need to lean on lampposts any more. You need internal lampposts – and a few good friends.
This is the Nigerian writer Ben Okri describing the way he felt after hearing the news of his mother's death. The loss is beautifully captured as an absent space - a lamppost which functions as a hold on the real, a support against the dark abyss which has gone missing. I like the metaphor of 'internal lampposts' that he uses. Okri talks about how the reality of the loss transforms the real lamppost into an internal memory. It reminds me of different people that have been such figures of support to me through the years. This is a shout out to those who are no longer here. Each deserve a separate post and maybe someday I will write one for each of you - Dida, Pishu, George - hope you are all at peace...thank you.
2 comments:
I read this in the TOI (probably lifted from the Guardian?) and I was particularly struck by how he's managed to change the tone of the entire article just by the mere mention of the lamppost in this last para. Thanks for posting! :)
Yes, I read it in the Guardian where it was originally published. I find the early/persisting influences on writers interesting. Thanks for reading!:)Hope all is well with you.
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