Dear Ms. Bass,
I'm not sure if you'll see this, but I recently wrote a letter to you as part of the Dear Poet project my English class participated in, and, unfortunately, it was not chosen to be sent to you. I was really hoping you would read it because your poetry is so important to me and the letter was important to me as well, so I thought I'd send it to you.
Thank you, if you do wind up reading this, and thank you even if you don't. It will give me greater peace of mind to know that I tried.
Sincerely,
Hannah
Dear Chancellor Ellen Bass,
My name is Hannah and I am an 11th grader from Minnesota. When I read your poem “If You Knew,” I instantly fell in love with its philosophical significance and the profound intimacy of your writing. Rarely have I read something that has caused me to think so deeply. The poem poses a question that goes to the core of human experience: What if you knew you’d be the last to touch someone? It affirms that mindfulness of mortality makes us savor each present moment of life and treat others with deliberate grace. We live most fully underneath the shadow of death.
I always pause when I read that first question. The weight of it sinks in as I think about my relationship with death. When I was younger, I was terrified of it. I distinctly remember lying in my bed in the darkness when a terrible dread struck me like being doused in freezing water, as I contemplated absolute nothingness. I’ve gone through stages of nihilism and despair. But as I’ve grown older, my fear of death is no longer paralyzing; rather, it motivates me to suck every experience out of life while I still can. I used to say that if I ever became very old and in pain, like my grandma is now, I would want someone I love to kill me. Now, I know that even if I got to a state of absolute misery, I would cling on until the very last breath. I still don’t know what it’s like to fall in love or to write a poem as beautiful as yours or read every book on my Mom’s shelves, and I want to. My question for you is how would you define your relationship with death? Has your perception of it changed as you’ve gotten older, like it has for me?
In your interviews you speak about the importance of paying attention to the smallest details. I see this so clearly in your vivid imagery, from the thoughtful, moving description of the “young gay man with plum black eyes” to people as “soaked in honey, stung and swollen” (17, 27). The image that resonates with me the most, though, is the one of the ticket clerk in the first stanza. The action of “taking tickets…at the theater, tearing them, / giving back the ragged stubs” at first sounds insignificant and impersonal, like nothing to pay attention to (4-5). But the poem shifts when the realization of death kicks in. Suddenly, time slows down as the ticket clerk makes an almost spiritual connection with a stranger. I love how the words “brush” and “fingertips” emphasize how small and fleeting this subtle display of compassion is, as well as how tender and delicate (7). It is a beautiful reminder to recognize the value of other peoples’ lives and extend to them as much love and care as possible. Every small act of kindness shapes the world in some meaningful way. I can just imagine you in line watching the ticket clerk thoughtfully and then going home to write it down. Was that how it happened? How do these authentic, distinctive images come into your mind?
I enjoy how you shift from a specific example of initial indifference to a stranger, to listing off quotidian annoyances—a man walking “too slowly through the airport,” a car that doesn’t signal, a clerk who “won’t say Thank You.” Each example is important because they don’t signal any bad intent on the part of the person causing the nuisance, but it is so easy for us to be moved to anger and hatred by the slightest offense (10-13). We might show more gentleness and understanding if we remembered death. The shocking and unexpected death of the aunt in the third stanza builds the urgency of this cause. When any moment could be our last, we can’t afford to waste time on resentment and miss opportunities for joy. We have to appreciate every precious bond. After all, we are all joined together in our desire to feel loved and our race against the clock.
I admired your decision to frame your poem in the second-person point of view, which is such a beautiful and tragically unused perspective. I notice that this is a pattern in your work; “Relax” and “Any Common Desolution,” two of my favorites, also speak directly to the reader. It’s a great way to make the themes in the poem more immediate to your audience and to foster introspection. As an aspiring poet myself, it encouraged me to explore uncommon perspectives. Why did you choose to write in second person? Are you trying to involve your reader in a process of self inquiry? Do you want them to be transformed in the process of reading the poem as you are in writing it? Your repeated use of rhetorical questions certainly adds to this effect.
Lastly, I wanted to ask about a few structural elements of the poem. Did you plan to order the poem through juxtaposition? I interpreted the line about people being “soaked in honey, stung and swollen” to mean that all people have a tenderness and warmth in them—the sort that makes their expression softer and more sympathetic, like it's covered in honey—but that the finality of death brings a certain metaphorical sting to it all (27). That line relies on the juxtaposition between a sweetness and painful sting and I see the same juxtaposition throughout the poem. The first stanza starts with the sting of death and moves to the sweetness of two people joined as one in a shared experience. The next starts with the sting of anger and shifts to an implicit request for the sweetness of consideration. The third begins with a clear joyful, bright tone, and ends in a devastating shock. Was this structure intentional? Did I capture your intention with that line?
Thank you Ms. Bass, for reading my letter and for serving as such an important inspiration for me as a writer and human being. Since reading that first line, I’ve taken care to hold onto my mom each night before she goes to sleep, to take in the earthy smell of her ink black hair. It doesn’t sound like much, but you are right to note that small acts can impart such a strong sense of love. You have taught me to pay attention to these details. You have inspired me to start writing again. And most importantly, you have reminded me to cherish this blessed wonder of life.
Sincerely,
Hannah