‘Lament for the Patients’

These were far from lovely in their lives,

And when they died, they were instantly forgotten.

These were the permanent patients, the ones

Whose disease was living. Their trophy, death,

Being to no one's advantage, was kept dark.

These had quiet funerals (no flowers,

Please), silent incinerations, hushed-up autopsies;

Their dying figured in obituary columns

Of local papers only.

On these specialists had practised specialities;

Had weighed and measured; had taken samples

Of blood and urine; had tested IQs,

Reflexes, patience; had applied

Shock treatment, drugs and nice hot cups of tea.

Of these specialists had washed their hands,

Having failed to arrive at a satisfactory

Diagnosis (anglicè: having failed to infect them

With a reason for living). Therefore they died.

To me came the news of their dying:

From the police (Was this individual

A patient of yours?); from ambulance

Control (Our team report this patient

You sent us to fetch is deceased already);

From tight-lipped telephoning widowers

(My wife died in her sleep last night);

From carboned discharge letters (I note

That you have preserved the brain. We would certainly

Be very interested in this specimen);

From curt press cuttings (Man found dead.

Foul play not suspected). I annotated their notes

With their final symptom: died.

Therefore I remember them.

These I remember:

Sonia, David, Penny, who chose death.

Lynne and Gillian, who died undiagnosed.

Peter, whose death was enigmatic.

Simple Betty, who suddenly stopped living.

Lionhearted Gertrude, who persevered to the end.

Patricia, so sorry for herself,

For whom I was not sufficiently sorry.

Julian, the interesting case. Alan,

Broken by a lorry, resurrected by surgeons,

Who nevertheless contrived at length to die.

Not for these the proper ceremonies, the solemn crowds,

The stripped gun-carriage, the slow march from Saul,

The tumulus, the friendly possessions

At hand in the dark. Not even

The pauper's deal coffin, brief office

Of the uncared-for. Only the recital

Of disembodied voices in a clerk's ear,

A final emendation of the text.