~
de pijp aan Maarten geven
Languages usually don’t borrow words from abroad for central life
experiences, but “die” words are an exception; they often are hidden
or changed euphemistically out of superstitious dread. A Dutch
euphemism translates as “to give the pipe to Maarten.”
–Oxford English Dictionary
My parents sat me down when I was six
and told me we’d lost Uncle Joe. “Let’s look
for him!” I cried. But he’d cashed in his chips,
kicked the bucket, died. The things we say to take
the long way round that monosyllable,
whose closest ancient English kin was steorfan,
to starve—as if the verb, to die, were fillable
with something less severe to dwell on.
Who’s Maarten? Not even the Dutch can tell you.
And why give him the pipe? Perhaps smoking,
that ascendant carnal pleasure—once you’re through,
going belly up, biting the dust, croaking—
is a fitting symbol for one’s final breath, a gasp
we understand, at last, to be a kind of laugh.
~
Joshua McKinney’s most recent book of poetry is Small Sillion (Parlor Press, 2019). His work has appeared in such journals as Boulevard, Denver Quarterly, Kenyon Review, New American Writing, and many others. He is the recipient of The Dorothy Brunsman Poetry Prize, The Dickinson Prize, The Pavement Saw Chapbook Prize, and a Gertrude Stein Award for Innovative Writing. A member of Senkakukan Dojo of Sacramento, California, he has studied Japanese sword arts for over thirty years.