Requiem

John Updike died this week. He died of cancer. An article in the New York Times described him as a "sometimes acerbic literary anthropologist." An Op-Ed piece by Lorrie Moore wondered if he wrote about his death. She offers a quote from a friend: "I'm sure it will be discovered he was taking notes, for he was gifted at describing everything."

Turns out he did write about his death (perhaps keeping a notepad near his death bed?) The NYT published his poem titled "Requiem." His words are deeply personal, self-effacing, simple, exposed. The poem is below. (The typewriter image is also from the Jan 29, 2009 issue of the New York Times. )

I am a late bloomer when it comes to literature, as my undergrad education was a very Reagan-esk, 1980's type of curriculum: the 4 P's of marketing (that would be Price, Place, Product and Promotion), segmentation, positioning, branding, etc. It is only through all of the media coverage about Updike's death, that I learned of his ability to observe and write about the ordinary with the skill and precision of an anthropologist.

I often wish I had studied English and Anthropology. Perhaps I have a new hero? A new author for my "hope to read" list?


REQUIEM by John Updike

It came to me the other day:
Were I to die, no one would say,
"Oh, what a shame! So young, so full
Of promise--depths unplumbable!"

Instead, a shrug or tearless eyes
Will greet my overdue demise;
The wide response will be, I know,
"I thought he died a while ago."

For life's a shabby subterfuge,
And death is real, and dark, and huge.
The shock of it will register
Nowhere but where it will occur.


No, his death did register, even if it was a belated introduction for some of us.