“Talking to Grief” by Denise Levertov

Does it ever get easier to sit with grief, refusing to push it away? Can we learn to let go a little, to allow emotions to linger for as long as they need? In “Talking to Grief,” Denise Levertov attempts to respond to the persistence of grief with patience and openness.

Denise Levertov was born in England in 1923. Although not formally educated, Levertov began writing poetry early, and at age twelve she was given encouragement by T.S. Eliot. After working as a civilian nurse during WWII, Levertov moved to the United States in 1948. With time, her poetry grew more overtly critical and she became known for her political activism.

As its title implies, “Talking to Grief” addresses grief directly. The poem opens with an apostrophe: “Ah, Grief.” However, Levertov quickly turns from this grand poetic gesture to render grief in more mundane terms. She chooses to personify grief as a dog, writing:

…I should not treat you
like a homeless dog
who comes to the back door
for a crust, for a meatless bone.

Levertov imagines grief not as something frightening, but as a creature worthy of care. And, just as dogs have come to symbolize constancy and unconditional commitment, Levertov suggests that grief deserves a continuous place in our lives. Rather than treating grief as an occasional visitor, a “homeless dog,” Levertov urges herself to make more permanent space for grief:

I should coax you
into the house and give you
your own corner

What’s more, Levertov seeks to treat grief gently, giving it “a worn mat to lie on / [its] own water dish.” Though challenging to practice, it can be vital to approach difficult emotions with curiosity, asking what they might need from us.

Denise Levertov
Credit: bloodaxebooks.com

Equally important in making painful feelings slightly less unwieldy is the ability to name them. In addition to her initial invocation of grief, Levertov acknowledges “…you need / your name.” Naming pets transforms them from unknown animals to close companions; so too can naming grief lend it some calming familiarity.

Ultimately, grief becomes deeply entwined with Levertov herself.

You need
the right to warn off intruders,
to consider
my house your own
and me your person
and yourself
my own dog.

The level of entanglement suggested by this declaration of mutual ownership— “me your person / and yourself / my own dog”—could appear frightening. Is it really necessary to have such a close relationship with grief?

But, difficult and nerve-wracking though it may be, Levertov’s self-directed advice seems sound. As Erich Fromm wrote, “to spare oneself from grief at all cost can be achieved only at the price of total detachment, which excludes the ability to experience happiness.” Truly accepting grief may require weaving it into the very fabric of everyday life, allowing it to become as familiar as an old dog.