(This is part of the Brejcha Personal and Disability Resource Site, and after reading this page you can Click here for a Menu . But for now, Welcome to a few poems:
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I don't write much poetry, but I wanted to share a few pieces so you can get to "know" me a bit better. Other than in some online and small press publications which only bought "First" and "Non-exclusive rights", they are mostly unpublished pieces posted here in case some may enjoy them. I am including these because they were prompted by the changes I went through after my M.S. diagnosis, and/or they were inspired by the ladies I was fortunate enough to be involved with, and who were a very large part of my healing and maturing. With each piece is a reflection on what prompted it.
The first poem was written in the early 80's when I went from using a cane to crutches, along with braces. The combination of the specialized crutches, called Loftstrand, or Canadian, crutches, and my very awkward gait with them, made it obvious that I was now "disabled"; or a cripple, a gimp, or whatever term you want to use. I was definitely not in a mood to be politically correct. Until that point, I think I had more or less fooled myself into thinking that my problems were temporary ones and would clear up. But the accelerating pace of the M.S. no longer left any doubts about the fact that I was going downhill, and that I was not going to get 'better'. It was the start of a deeper part of my 'depression phase', when I hid from the world and just 'existed' for several years.
Ironically, now that I am in a wheelchair (since 1985), I am much happier - because I've grown and matured, developed a freelance sideline as an author (see my Bibliography), had a steady job for 27 years where my wheelchair is irrelevant, and I married an incredible woman (also with M.S. ) to share my life with and built a wheelchair accessible house for us thanks to Habitat for Humanity of Chester County.
Note 7-1-08: It took several months last year, but I went out on SSD and Medicare finally after my employer of 27 years shut down, I turned 50, and no other accessible night jobs were available.
Note: 12-19-10: A lot more has happened I haven't updated, so AFTER reading these, see bottom.
But here is my first poem:
© F. Alexander Brejcha
-
The same,
no, not I.
Was whole, but what
is left,
who am I?
To go
I labor
I no longer walk.
I am not
the man I was.
They stare and look,
they try not to look!
I am not
within their world.
I hide and I cry,
I force myself to live
within myself
to keep them out.
The next poem was written more recently, and it looks back on that time when my M.S. was progressing rapidly. I think about it now, and I want to reach back in time and give myself a swift kick in the ass! I had a good and secure job, I had people who cared about me, I had a few friends, and all I could do was vegetate and feel sorry for myself. I wasted years that could have been put to use. It also plays the contrast and hope I have found.
© F. Alexander Brejcha
-
Foolish man sits alone
Foolish man hides himself
Why don't I touch the life?
-
Lonely man cries at night
Lonely man aches inside
Why don't I reach out?
-
Stupid man wastes all day
Stupid man wastes his life
Why don't I see the light?
-
Angry man has none to blame
Angry man just feels the pain
Why don't I see the truth?
-
Because I was not ready.
-
New man sees the dawn
New man greets the day
I have come through the night
-
Grateful man works his job
Grateful man writes his words
I have found the purpose lost
-
Hopeful man tries the new
Hopeful man reaches out
I have learned to love
-
Growing man has learned to fly
Growing man has touched the world
I have found my destiny
The last part of the above refers to my sailplane piloting lessons described at flying lessons. The next poem is a simple little one with an obvious reason: loneliness. It is a common condition for individuals with disabilities, and one which is often self-imposed out of fear of reaching out to others. While I recently married a wonderful woman - I had not entirely resolved this issue for myself when I wrote the below. But I found each of three relationships I had prior to my present one when I wasn't looking, and at the time I had grown enough to think "Maybe it will happen again?" And as it happens: it did!
As for this poem, I forget exactly when I wrote it, except that it was in between a couple of the relationships. The original was copied fromone disk to another, and as it was not dated and I can't find the original file, let's just chalk it up as an early one.
© F. Alexander Brejcha
-
One alone
Is less than two,
together.
Two together?
Too much to hope or dream for?
I don't know.
-
I long,
I search and pray for
that which is
two together.
Not apart or singly lost
or seeking.
-
But found
and joined as one,
to share the joy,
of two together.
A life that is at last,
complete.
Ironically, my disabilities have helped me in terms of overcoming my shyness, and as I described, I have had four wonderful relationships -- all since my M.S. developed. The first three ended, for reasons unrelated to my disabilities, but each helped me to grow a little more, and gave me a great deal of happiness - and prepared me for my present and always Love. In between the first three and my marriage, I paused and reflected back on my life and growth and relationships, and that prompted the next poem as I was struck by the cyclical nature of my life. Exacerbation/remission, and finding/losing a lover. Each lost relationship involved pain, but each also brought growth and maturing I would not surrender for anything. And I will always love all three ladies, even if in a different way. And they helped prepare me for my most incredible love of all... And no, no poems here about her because - just as I stopped watching Star Trek religiously - I have found a life, and other than professional writing, I haven't had time (correction: there is one poem I just rediscovered on a back-up disk which will close out this page). But here is my cyclical poem:
© F. Alexander Brejcha
-
The circles of my life propel me
and also hold me back.
The ones beneath are all they see,
the ones inside are all I know.
I look out, no up, and see the distance -
much more at times, than I can bear.
-
My life is full of circles and,
I fear,
for every up there is a down.
Can I ever break this cycle
of rising high and then,
to fall or find my path has changed?
-
Circles
-
At first I feared so much to reach,
to try to find and hold.
A woman's touch, a group of friends,
or even just to stand and keep
a room of people fast
with words and thoughts and deeds:
These were not for me.
-
But as I fared from whole to... what?
I found myself that fear had shrunk
and suddenly it was of ease to simply talk.
But now I've found the wall is rising back:
Not mine, this time, but just as fast.
They look at me and fear to see
the person there is just the same.
-
A woman's touch, I too did find,
a gentle caring hand that, for a while,
brought meaning to my life.
But tortured demons of her past
did push and pull and take that love
away at last.
And once again I was alone.
-
The circle rose again, and then another
did take her place to fill my heart,
but this again was not to be.
Though her demons were a diff'rent sort
and what I gave, and she returned,
did heal us both so well.
But as she healed, she found her path
did lead away from me.
-
Then one more, and not
a wounded bird this time.
I saw instead an eagle's flight,
someone who soared and swooped
despite her size and sex.
Was this to be the one?
-
At first I hoped, I dreamed and thought,
But no, alas, 'twas not to be.
For this time, the wounded bird was me.
Will there ever be another?
The next one is more recent (pre-marriage), prompted by the same loneliness that spawned the first, and flavored by my writing career. In my writing, I am able to create these wonderful situationsand relationships that I couldn't seem to grasp for myself. It was a case of sublimation, true, but it was/is also entertaining -- and helps to pay the bills. But at times, it was more than a little frustrating. And I still find that I have to be careful not to let my own romantic longings/happiness overpower my writing. My editor at Analog Science Fiction & Fact jokingly commented in one letter that "...you don't have to have a romantic relationship in every story.".
The reflections that prompted this next poem, were lonely feelings as I was on my way to work one night. It was about ten p.m. on a Saturday, I believe...
© F. Alexander Brejcha
-
Half moon hanging high.
Black night surrounds
envelops and engulfs me.
-
Red stars gleam ahea
paired, and leading.
Behind, matched white follow.
-
Stone barrier at my side,
open lane to right;
meeting suns flash by.
-
I sit awake and dreaming; ideas dance within.
-
My mind is full of lives.
The road becomes imaginary, newborn characters more real
than unyielding concrete paths.
-
Hopes and dreams and destinies;
God or Devil, I?
Deciding who will live and die.
-
But those who live find love and joy amidst their toil,
which makes me wonder as I sit:
Will I?
In addition to poems, I also dabbled in song-writing with this next piece -- though I can't read a piece of sheet music to save my life. For the music on this piece (prompted by my second, all too brief relationship), I simply hummed and improvised a score notation so I could repeat the same melody. Not that I could get rid of the tune now if I tried. I had not looked at this for years, because after our relationship ended, the lady who prompted it eventually got married to a wonderful man who gave her the happiness she deserved and I left them alone to enjoy it. But recently, her husband passed away and she got back in touch with me since she needed a friend who could understand her and empathize. We're only friends, but I am happy for that and it did remind me of the song. I had lost my improvised scoring to it, but as I pulled the words up on my computer, the melody came right back to me, and eventually I'll sit down and do a proper scoring of it. But for now, here the lyrics... consider it another poem for now.
© F. Alexander Brejcha
-
I don't know what time will bring
I don't know what song to sing
I don't know what kind of thing
will help to bring your love
-
I don't know what words to say
no matter how much I do pray
'cause all night long it's here I lay
wishing for your love
-
I know I can't hope so much
for your heart so close to touch
'cause it's a matter that is such
a trial for us both
--- (bridge) ---
That I should fall so easily
was not something I thought of me
I just hope that it might be
the start of something new
-
I wonder sometimes if it's sane
to try so hard your love to gain
but I know that it's worth the pain
to finally win your heart
-
And if at last you come to me
for-all it will be plain to see
that we two will always be
together to the end
---(break)---
For it's a bond that's all too rare...
two-lives so close with all to share,
when-all that matters is the care...
...And love, that binds us close.
This next piece isn't a poem, or even quite prose, but a tapestry of thought that wove itself over a period of months during the end of that second relationship.
© F. Alexander Brejcha
A puzzle.
I find a pretty box and open it to find a thousand delicate puzzle pieces. I pour them out on the table, but all land face down to form a pristine sheet of white. Curious, I turn over a few of the pieces and find a touch of color. Pastel and soft, but painted with impassioned strokes.
It is a painting.
I turn over some more of the jagged, blank pieces, curious to see the other side, and I see that it forms a portrait of a beautiful woman. An impressionist piece, I think. It has that magic touch of life and light that makes them my favorite.
A Renoir or a Monet? Maybe a Degas?
Intrigued I turn more over, trying to fit them together.
It is a lovely painting, full of life and joy, and has an intriguing sophistication and strength that begs to be released. Yet, there is also pain there, and fear from the fragmentation. Anxiously I turn over more of the puzzle pieces, and start to assemble the image, feeling the anxiety fade. But then I freeze.
I catch a glimpse of another figure.
My heart starts to race and my hand trembles as, half afraid, I keep turning the pieces. There is a coldness in my chest when I see that the other figure is a stranger! A hollow feeling overwhelms me to flood my eyes and close my throat as I back away from the puzzle that has all of the sudden changed.
It isn't calling for me to solve it, like I thought!
But, to my horror, I find it drawing me back towards it. My hand freezes in place as I realize that every breath and whisper, every sigh, turns another gossamer piece fluttering to land in place, revealing still more of the painting. It is too beautiful to resist as it grows towards completion, even if I know it is no longer mine. Helplessly my hand reaches forward to keep turning the pieces over because I have to continue. All I can do is to cherish the image and keep it safe. Despite my own pain, I know I have to accept the role of a spectator in a gallery, rather than curator. Forced to view and appreciate the painting from a different angle.
And so, I continue assembling the puzzle, because I know that it needs to be complete. And if the other figure in it has to be someone else, then I have to remember the joy I received from the painting when I first discovered it, and how it will always be there to be appreciated.
But I can't help hoping that the artist is still alive.
And maybe the model?
God, this will be hard!
The other figure in the last piece was of course the man whom she later married -- and then tragically lost. He was a childhood friend who saw her in a different light as she got her head together more (thanks a lot to me, according to her). Or perhaps she merely was more able to accept and see feelings of his what had been there before, but that she had not recognized?
Whatever. She had problems of her own to deal with, and as a nurse, she had patients with even worse ones. She didn't need a boyfriend with disabilities on top of that. She needed someone with whom she could forget about "reality". And for several years at least she found that with a wonderful man who was perfect for her needs and loved her deeply. Hopefully she will find another relationship as good as that one -- but one without such a tragic ending.
My last ex didn't prompt any poetry because we were much to busy doing things like going out, taking a wonderful vacation at Epcot (great! access), and just having fun. Ultimately that relationship ended due to a number of reasons (including a fantastic job offer for her three states away), but I will always be happy for the time we shared.
I do have to smile though as I think about the variety of the ladies I found. I went from an overweight nurse at the hospital where I worked (a wonderful woman who lived with for five years until her father died and she went back to Ohio to be closer to the rest of her family); to a woman who could have been a Playboy centerfold but who graduated Summa Cum Laude from her bachelor's degree program (who says you can't have looks and brains?); to a 77 lb, 4' 6" computer programmer. Talk about a range. But I realize that the common element was that each also had a 'problem' and/or was outside the 'acceptable' mainstream. From over-weight and a well-hidden (but now conquered) substance abuse problem; to a history of abuse and unwarranted insecurity; to being ignored by the world - each needed unjudging love I was happy to give, and each gave the same to me at a time when I needed it.
I am not some 'born again' holy roller, but I can't help thinking that there IS a God, and that these (and other events in my life), have all happened for a reason. And through it all, I have grown and matured.
All to prepare me for my wife?
For reasons related to her involuntary temporary return to Russia and her worries about returning here to me, I have removed some of what I wrote here before - in order to protect her identity. BUT serve it to say that we met through an incredible chain of events where, in '98, a woman with M.S. in Moscow finds a profile of a Swedish writer in America, on a British M.S. web site, and contacted him (me) in order to help a man in Brazil. And from there, e-mail progressed to phone calls and snail mail, until January '99 when she came over for over a year. Then, after a return home to settle things and get some M.S. treatments unavailable here, she she came back and we got married.
But this last poem was rushed together in a final fit of anticipation a few weeks before she came, and now as we're separated again, I dug it out again from a back-up disk (I had lost it) as I was feeling her absence keenly. Phone calls and several e-mails a day weren't the same. But here is my:
© F. Alexander Brejcha
-
Blood of Cossacks and Peter the Great,
face of an angel and soul for a mate.
-
Distance between us is too much to bear,
Yet her manner and mind are oh, so fair.
-
I long to kiss her and hold her so near,
All I can think of is that she's dear.
-
But soon now I find that the time it will come,
When at last as true lovers we two can be one!
That's it for my poetry and reflections, but hopefully it gave you something to consider and appreciate. And let it serve as a lesson not to be too shy about expressing your feelings and reactions. Bottling them up can be deadly. Sometimes expressing them in a private manner such a s this can give you catharsis and privacy at the same time, and give you a record for yourself later to analyze. And as you grow in your own confidence, sharing your feelings with others is no longer as scary, and it can often be the best thing to do.
Update: 2007 - actually 2008 as 2007 was a whirlwind of change and I never got back here, but March 31, 2007 (actally April Fools Day as I worked 11 p.m. - 7 a.m.) my accessible employer of 27 years was sold and I could not find another night job like it - needed as my attendant care is scheduled for it. Now I am out on SSD and keep my site up to help others with disABILITIES.
NOTE, 12/19/2010: My wife mentioned above, and I are both wheelchair users with M.S. and as we both got worse and on a trip home to Russia visiting her parents a few years ago, she found that her ex-husband was still there and still cared for her and worried. So, we decided to help him come here, and we divorced and she re-married him and we got him to America and we all live together and he works part-time caring for me. Sounds weird and it's tough, but he's a great guy and we all get along.
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