Pilgrimage Poem by Natasha Trethewey
Pilgrimage
Here, the Mississippi carved its mud-dark path,
a graveyard for skeletons of sunken riverboats.
Here, the river changed its course,
turning away from the city as one turns,
forgetting, from the past— the abandoned bluffs,
land sloping up above the river's bend—
where now the Yazoo fills the Mississippi's empty bed.
Here, the dead stand up in stone, white marble,
on Confederate Avenue.
I stand on ground once hollowed by a web of caves;
they must have seemed like catacombs,
in 1863, to the woman sitting in her parlor,
candlelit, underground.
I can see her listening to shells explode,
writing herself into history,
asking what is to become of all the living things
in this place? This whole city is a grave.
Every spring— Pilgrimage—the living
come to mingle with the dead,
brush against their cold shoulders
in the long hallways, listen all night to their silence
and indifference, relive their dying on the green battlefield.
At the museum, we marvel at their clothes
preserved under glass—so much smaller than our own,
as if those who wore them were only children.
We sleep in their beds, the old mansions
hunkered on the bluffs, draped in
flowers—funereal—a blur of
petals against the river's gray.
The brochure in my room calls
this living history. The brass plate on
the door reads Prissy's Room.
A window frames the river's crawl
toward the Gulf. In my dream,
the ghost of history lies down
beside me, rolls over,
pins me beneath a heavy arm.
Past events remembered with emotion. Nice write
Beneath a heavy arm! ! Thanks for sharing this poem with us.
I can see her listening to shells explode, writing herself into history, asking what is to become of all the living things in this place? This whole city is a grave. a great poem. tony
A window frames the river's crawl toward the Gulf. In my dream, the ghost of history lies down beside me, rolls over, pins me beneath a heavy arm... graveyard of skeletons and sunken river boats. the white and black, , aparthed. did times change anything. these prejudices remain now also. tony
Congratulations for being chosen this poem as the modern poem of the poem of the day for second time.
History and historical monuments nicely portrayed
2) So many beautiful poems I am gonna read and will know more about that darkest period in the USA History, white and black history. Thank you so much for sharing. A 10 FULL Score for this amazing poem. toMyPoemList!
Every spring— Pilgrimage—the living come to mingle with the dead, brush against their cold shoulders in the long hallways, listen all night to their silence.........................Mesmerizing Tribute to Pilgrimage, dear great and famous Poetess Natasha! CONGRATULATIONS on being chosen as The Modern Poem Of The Day. You most deserved it.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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5/17/2025 12:06:40 PM # 1.0.0
We do need the accounts of events written by historians, written with facts well researched. But oh how dry and forgettable are these cold unmoving accounts. Add an account written by a poet and history lives again and we feel the tumult and pain of the events. History should always include poetry in MHO