The Music of this Ruin
“In poem after poem, she attends to the voices of the old, to the inner voices that speak of our fragility, and records, in the phrase from Irish legend, ‘the music of what happens.’”
—James S. Rogers, author of The Collector of Shadows
Praise
“Patricia Barone composes, in The Music of This Ruin, a multilayered symphony. Braiding together her perceptions of both the certain losses and constrictions of health care settings as well as her delight in the freedom and fullness of the natural world (birds on almost every page!), these beautifully crafted lines ask us to listen attentively. In poem after poem, she attends to the voices of the old, to the inner voices that speak of our fragility, and records, in the phrase from Irish legend, ‘the music of what happens.’”
—James S. Rogers, essayist and poet, author of The Collector of Shadows
“The Music of This Ruin has a delicious sense of discovery and tenderness, as well as humor. Pat Barone gives us powerfully crafted portraits of elders who are being looked after and I dare say loved by the narrator in the poems. The poet’s voice is a nurse whose keen eye, wit and wisdom dignify those who are losing or have lost command of their bodies, memories, and situations. The arc of the book becomes ever more intimate as it explores the life and death of the narrator’s older parents. The role of birds in these poems will delight readers, including caged birds in care facilities that the elders watch and protect and free flying bluebirds that are a gift to a dying man.”
—Margaret Hasse, poet of recent books, Between Us and Shelter
“The poems on the old people in the nursing home is quite a fine piece of work. Like all good poetry, what is suggested is what is most powerful. After reading them I could feel the pent-up life of the old ladies in the midst of kindness and good care. At that stage it nearly scared me.”
—Patrick C. Power, author of Once a Brother, Book of Irish Curses, and other works
“If you are human, if you are mortal, gather your courage and read this book, because it shows you your future…. The ruin of the book’s title is the human body and mind as they unravel…. The music of the title has multiple meanings, from the birdsong of the aviary…, to the patients’ own music-making …to the sonic devices in the poems themselves.
The book’s dominant mode is narrative: anecdote after anecdote of interaction between patient and caregiver (“Mary Kate McNally Asks Me Every Day”), patient and patient (“Robert and Mike: a Love Story”), patients and families (“Maura Reminds Me”). The cast of characters is long and richly drawn. The telling might seem plain-spoken except for the surreal quality of the patients’ interior lives sensitively portrayed. The principal narrative technique is a bit like a videographer’s jump-cut, a back-and-forth between perspectives. It is unsettlingly effective at conveying the awful disconnects that are attendant on caring for the elderly. There’s the disconnect between the patients’ elemental sorrow and the activities meant to distract them from it—
Chloe’s chin trembles. “Where’s Daddy?
Why don’t he get me out?”
“Finches foster-parent orphaned nestlings,”
says the sweet bird lady. (“Crying”)”
—Maryann Corbett, poet and author of Street Level, and other works
