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Sacred Ground: The Tombs of Pere Lachaise

The tombs of Pere Lachaise are grandiose. Towering. Severe. Many great men and women are buried here. Some, like the ill fated lovers Heloise and Abelard were originally buried elsewhere but brought here from other burial sites. Others, like rock star and poet Jim Morrison and French writer Collette have simple, modern graves rather than the big stone monuments that fill most of the cemetery. As one meanders through the peaceful green hills, cluttered with tombstones and lost tourists clutching maps as they search for their heroes, one cannot help but wonder what makes a man or woman great. What makes a man or woman worthy of being enshrined with such reverence?

One of the most visited tombs in the cemetery is the resting place of Oscar Wilde. His tomb is encased with glass to protect it from the hundreds of lipstick kisses left by visitors swarming around his burial place by the hour.

  • Oscar Wilde’s Grave

Oscar Wilde was a playwright, a novelist, and a poet. He also wrote fairy tales but he was most well known as a high society dandy in the nineteenth century and for his relationship with Lord Alfred Douglas at a time in history when homosexuality was punishable by law. In 1895 he was arrested and tried for “sodomy”. As a result of the arrest he was sent to prison for two years of hard labor. After being released from Prison Wilde was reunited with Douglas for a brief period before he was forced to separate from him under the threat of having his meagre funds withdrawn. Apart from a piece about the brutality of prison and some edits to previous works he stopped writing. He died three years after being released of meningitis complicated by an ear injury he got in prison.

The hotel in Paris Oscar Wilde was living in when he died

Oscar Wilde was a great man. I admire both his literary accomplishments and his bravery in living his life the way he wanted in a culture of suppression. The wit and integrity of emotion in his writing is phenomenal. His works are unfailingly entertaining while maintaining a tongue in cheek satire on society. Some are full of light hearted tomfoolery like the Importance of being Earnest while others, like The Picture of Dorian Gray, explore the darker side of humanity and the desire to create. He had the ability to say things with such succinct clarity that he is hard not to quote. For me, visiting his tomb was truly like standing on sacred ground.

Still, among the great tombs and towering monuments covered in kisses and flowers and letters, there is another kind of grave scattered throughout Pere Lachaise. These tombstones have been knocked over by trees. They have been overrun with moss. The names once engraved with care into stone have eroded and are now indecipherable or gone completely. What forgotten lives rest here? Why were their graves neglected when so many others are celebrated and remembered? Who loved them? Who did they love?

For the religious a graveyard is sacred ground. A place blessed by priests so that the souls laid to rest there can find their way to heaven. Because of his prison sentence Oscar Wilde was only permitted to be buried in such a space because he was buried amongst unbaptized children. I am not religious but I have always found graveyards to be peaceful spaces. Quiet. Mournful perhaps to those who have lost someone but still. Quiet in a way that is almost sacred. A place of rest.

Visiting Oscar Wilde was a sacred experience for me. I love him because of the words he left behind. Because of the brazen way in which he lived his life regardless of what others thought. I love him because I know his story. Because he told it to us with all its vulnerable unflattering bits. I love him because I see pieces of myself in who he was and remembering him makes me feel stronger.

But why do we celebrate some lives and not others after they are gone? Because some lives are worth more than others? Certainly not. But there are a few lives whom we have been privileged to know about. They have left a piece of themselves for us to explore and learn from. A song or a poem or a play. Knowing these lives gives us insight into ourselves,

When we pay homage to another life we are really paying homage to ourselves. To the piece of ourselves we see in that other life. That piece that they have helped us understand more deeply.

It is almost certain that many if not all of the souls lying beneath the tombstones of Pere Lachaise lived vibrant, beautiful lives regardless of whether or not they have scores of tourists stampeding through the hills to visit them. They almost certainly loved as wildly and deeply as Jim Morrison and Oscar Wilde and Collette. The only real difference is that we don’t know their story. We don’t know what pieces of them would teach us to understand ourselves more.

What makes a life great? What makes a death worthy of homage? The greatest gift a soul can leave behind is their story no matter what it entails. The story of another life allows others to know themselves more deeply so that they can find beauty and strength in who they are. So that they can pay homage to themselves.

All lives are worth celebrating. Anywhere you live is sacred ground.

Little slab of stone
Solid like a storm
Do you remember the life you were?
The breath you breathed?
The heart you beat?
Where is the homage to the dance you danced?
The music you sang?
The fingers you touched?
Only in silence is your story enshrined
Only in stillness is your monument held

Little slab of stone
Solid like a storm
Where are the stampeding feet of tourists
Incanting your name?
Did your pulse not quicken with the same fears?
Did your mind not melt with the same love?
Is any life so small that it can erode the name of death?
Is any death so great that it can eclipse what has lived?

Little slab of stone
Solid like a storm
Rest deep
Sleep like a king
Inside the same damp groanings of the earth
Your life is your homage
Your own remembrance is your name

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The Vulnerability and Authenticity of Poetry: A Case Study With Cesar Yuriar

I first encountered Cesar’s poetry at the Lyrical Exchange open mic at Queen Bees in North Park San Diego. Attending an open mic is a bit like taking the pulse of a city. Dozens of vulnerable artists stand up in front of you and lay their souls at your feet. To be mocked. To be loved. To be understood. And –with any luck –to help you feel more understood. To connect. To be real. It’s a direct channel to the city’s heart. Why it beats and why it bleeds.

This is true with any performance art be it music, comedy, dance, or theater. Each is a unique and beautiful expression of the human soul but listening to someone read or recite their poetry in front of a live audience is particularly raw and intimate.

Perhaps because there is not the safety of fiction, humor, or melody for the poet to hide behind. Perhaps because poetry is so unmarketable that any thoughts of fame or fortune must be banished from the poet’s motivation. Regardless of the reason, having someone trust you with the words in their heart –not on paper or screen with time and distance to protect them but right there, in that room, at that moment –is a true honor.

Not all the poetry you hear at an open mic is good mind you. Not in the literary or performance arts sense. It doesn’t always have clear cadence or distinctive metaphors. Still, it’s a piece of a person who is willing to stand up and share and that by itself is beautiful.

Sometimes, however, –often even –the poetry you hear is masterfully crafted poetry in the literary and performance arts sense as well as the raw, vulnerable sense, and that’s when the real magic happens. These are the jewels that stay with you for weeks or even months after they have been performed.

What puts magic in poetry? It’s hard to say. Each poet –each poem really –has it’s own unique rhythm and flavor. Any rule you try to ascribe will quickly be discredited by an example of when it was broken successfully. There are no, and never will be, any rules to art. Art is anarchy. It is authenticity. It is a willingness to give up anything you think you know and experience life as if for the first time every day. It is abandon. It is surrender.

Still, one can abstract what one loves about a particular poem or poet in an attempt to understand what makes it it’s own unique kind of magic.

In spoken word or performed poetry there are two elements: the presentation and the poem itself. The performance is equally as important as the poem if not more. Some spoken word poets don’t even call their pieces poems. They call them scripts or simply pieces. These pieces don’t necessarily contain any of the traditional poetic devices like alliteration or simile (although, of course, they can). They tend to be more direct with a repetitive rhythm and many spoken word poets have a background in rap or hip-hop. Each word is conveyed with emotion and conviction like an actor’s monologue with an emphasis on engaging and entertaining the audience. A good performance can be downright sobering to watch as the poet takes you with them into every crevice of their piece.

I was drawn to Cesar’s poetry because it contained many of the elements from traditional poetry that I love, like lyrical phrasing and obscure metaphors, while still maintaining the directness that lends itself so well to performance. His work deals largely with themes of love and mental health with deep echoes of longing for connection and healing. He wrote his first poem in high school when he entered a deep depression after almost becoming a father. Traces of “what if” and “what could have been” still make appearances in his pieces today.

In Amanda Palmer’s book The Art of Asking she talks about how artists create with pieces of themselves. You are the raw material of your art but the degree to which you blend and puree that raw matter before sending it out into the world is up to you. Cesar says his work his mostly just him with only a moment or two in the blender before it is released. Perhaps that is another element to the charm of his work. His openness in relaying his own struggles in the hope that they might help others face theirs.

After all, isn’t that what artists have been doing for centuries? Giving voice to the things that keep us up at night. Speaking the truths that we don’t dare tell our parents and bosses and sometimes even our friends to remind us that we are not alone. That we are all human. That at the core we are all fighting the same monsters and none of us are instagram perfect.

The best poetry gives us permission to be broken along with the freedom to heal. It finds beauty in the darkness instead of trying to hide it so that we can become strong enough to create our own light. Our own magic.

A beautiful example of this comes from one of Cesar’s poetic heroes, T.S. Elliot. Elliot’s poetry about his life as a bisexual helped Ceasar come to realize and accept that he himself was pansexual. This is a brave thing to own about yourself even today but in Elliot’s time the stigma was far more universal and pockets of acceptance were much harder to find. Writing about his sexuality and then proceeding to publish what he had written was nothing short of heroism and Cesar is not the only person who I’ve spoken with who has found it easier to be themselves because of Elliot’s work. My first girlfriend admired Elliot for the same reason.

In the end it all goes back to the rawness that even the “bad” poetry has at a reading. Without that underlying current of vulnerability and authenticity none of the metaphors or rhythms or even stellar performances have any real meaning. Without the feeling and honesty behind the words they are only sounds. It is the humanity that makes them magic. It is me. It is you. It is us.

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