Asylums
by
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11.
My father
Was coerced
For days and nights
To sit at the table
With a pencil
And a bunch of white papers
And write about
Everything that happened
Through his life
But his memory betrayed him
Like a shattered mirror
His life was missing many
Pieces
Many days, nights, meals
Tears, happy hours
Many searches
Without any findings
My father was afraid
To reinvent himself
Because his torturers
May know parts of his life
That he lost
He was a man searching
For somebody that was
Not there anymore
We are not what we are
Nor we will ever be
What we want to be
Reality is our past
That we reinvent
Today turning into
Yesterday
Tomorrow that
Never comes
And at times
Madness is nothing
But a way
Out of perplexity
39.
The old piano stayed there
like a fallen bird
Broken from inside
like a pigeon
shot by a soldier
Its message still folded
In broken wings
Still playing beyond
Our consciousness
A lied by Chopin
The never ending gestures
To grasp the humanity
Like an old tired man
trying to grasp for the air
Like a tired ego trying to grasp
for the meaning of loss
Broken piano strings
still playing beyond
death
Supreme attempt
of denial
Searching deep into ourselves
for the meaning of sanity.
78.
They left
And I stayed there
Numb for a while
Breathing very fast
Fearing impending catastrophes
Then the train
Like an old tired worm
Was disappearing
Digging through the horizon line
The spring was pallid
Barely felt in the middle of the human chaos
I never felt so much solitude
So much confusion
I wanted to go away from that rail station
But I felt that the world did end there
They left
Before another cycle will live
Through its eve
Another blond woman will
Preach faith and self definition
Another superintendent
Behind a wild cherry desk will speak in
Eloquent English about equality
Like a clay breaking every mold
I could not find for myself
Where to go
I felt a wrenching drive to return
Back to the mornings of emptiness
Grey hopes of Asylum’s brick walls
Grey halls of fear
But they already left
And then my world of fantasy
Took charge of my spirit
Sitting on a bench
I lit a cigarette
Like an old Samurai
Discovering the sense
Of betrayal
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About the Book
Once upon a time we put
The mad at the end of the village
We enchained them
Like wild beasts
And beat them to death …
Once upon a time
We built the Asylums
And surrounded them with
Tall walls
Bighting wire
And isolation
Ted Volcin’s poetry has always explored his inner life and feelings as he attempted to immerse himself in the struggles of those around him.
In a debut collection of thoughtful poems, Volcin shares a profound, philosophical meditation about the meaning of madness across humanity and life itself while shining a light on the brutality surrounding the centuries-long isolation of mentally ill people from the rest of society. His poems offer a raw, candid look into life inside mental institutions where its occupants must endure unthinkable torture while precariously hanging on the edge of human darkness.
Asylums is a volume of poetry that provides a lyrical glimpse into the lives of hundreds of the anonymous forgotten, neglected, and forsaken asylum heroes.
About the Author
Ted Volcin is a seasoned poet who has published his works in journals and anthologies over the years. He worked as a healer in the former asylums that became mental health state hospitals, and also conducted extensive research into their history. This is his first book of poems.