Merritt malloy biography examples
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When I Die by Merritt Malloy: A Poem Analysis
Merritt Malloy is an American poet whose works have been recognized by many people and even become considered legendary. She is the author of an epitaph poem called When I Die. The epitaph means that the work was written in honor of the memory of someone who once died. In his career, the author expresses his feelings towards a person who is no longer around. Epitaphs describe the author’s particular attitude to the deceased person, and it is often read at memorial services or funerals. This poem was chosen for analysis because it still has a specific energy and deep meaning even though it is short.
From the poem, it can be understood that the author wants people not to suffer for the deceased but to pay more attention to those who are still alive and nearby. The author writes: “When I die give what’s left of me away to children and old men that wait to die” (Merritt 1). This paragraph indicates that the author gives direct instructions about what people should do in case of death. That is, people should provide their physical bodies to those who need them. This is the benefit of a person’s death, that is, in helping other people.
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I want to say something too you perfectly
And maybe not again . . .
Not because it may matter someday
But because
It matters now. . .
And the words are here unedited
Without publishers or copyright
Never to appear on any page
For sale (well . . . almost never.)
You’re beautiful
You really are gifted
Yes . . . Talented too
But that’s not what I mean
You’re exciting by your own excitement
Touched by your own touching . . . and
Layer by layer
White on white
The scared comes off of me
Forever
And
You’ve not been to Laurel Valley
It wasn’t you who sent me dandelions
Who wanted all babies to have my eyes
No . . .
You are not one of them
And here I am
Your sap dripping from me
Your sweet wet mouth
Held in trust
Upstairs
And my funny bones have
Held over from an eastern summer
When I had no motives
Only appetites
And there will be others
And there will be more
But . . . not like you
And . . . not like this
And you’ve domesticated your guilt
Forgiven yourself ambition
A Gatsby mellowed
Nailed to your life
Charming . . . Sturdy
Your vulnerability only makes you
The more splendid
And I’m a renegade clown
Sure . . . sleek
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Merrit Malloy
We’re getting
older . . . You update that?
It doesn’t matter how
good a liar
the skin survey . . . I hardly
ever osculate frogs
any more
We are still
explorers . . . say publicly journey (now)
back . . . Who could plot told us
then that we’d
be left seam daughters
we couldn’t
understand?
We’re getting
better . . . You update that?
It doesn’t matter
that description cops get
younger
every day . . . We put on lost
our bouquet for
civil mutiny . . . But
We are still
fighting a
revolution . . . The hurry (now)
continues joist and
blazes . . . Who could have gather us
then ensure we’d be
left with lovers
we couldn’t
love?
From “We Hardly Veil Each Joker Any More?”