For John Brehm, reading poetry can be a meditative actit invites us to stop and stay present with what is in front of us. “In order to fully engage in a poem, we must first pause, withdraw from the more immediate demands of life, and engage in imaginative activity that has no obvious practical value,” he writes. “Indeed, the poet may be defined as one who pauses, who is inclined by temperament and education to step out of the continuous stream of experience, look at it, and help us to do the same.”
His latest book of poems, Just This: New and Selected Poemsit testifies to the power of stopping, as it directs its attention especially to the moments of pain and transcendence associated with illness and aging. Faced with her own health challenges, Brehm turns to writing to examine and make sense of her own experiences, from the radiologist’s refreshing honesty to the unexpected symptoms and side effects (“The world can start looking / sepia-toned”) to her faith and humor remaining until the end. Taken together, the poems offer a moving portrait of the reality of illness and the transformative potential of honest awareness.
—Sarah Fleming
A visit to the radiologist
“This is not a good disease,” says my doctor.
I admire his grim honesty, I do
to a great extent. “It’s not soft, but it’s usually progressing.”
Which sounds about right to me.
Two years of misdiagnosed agony
and now this. I’m asking about suicide.
He nods. “It happens,” he says.
When I tell her, I’ve really thought about it,
he says that my illness would qualify me
for the Dignified Death because
incurable, though I may not meet
six-month lifespan criteria,
it’s just part of the excruciating pain. Which one will it be
come back after i exhaust all the treatments.
“But they might make an exception.”
if you have to choose between bending the rules
and blow your brains out.”
This is my doctor, to tell you the truth, he filters it out.
I slide into it like a warm bath.
I want to stay here forever, ask him all the questions.
Maybe death is speaking through him.
What is it like on the other side? i want to ask
If you die, stop worrying
what do people think of you?
Can you intervene in matters
about the living, sometimes give invisible advice,
a push on the arm? How to live
with the remaining time is the real question.
I’m not asking, I’m letting it bloom
into the room. This, this conversation
this way of speaking turns me on
towards an answer.
Respite
Please don’t knock down all the leaves, rain.
Not only that they turned the deepest red
and softest yellows, parchment paper
the thin autumn light shines through clearly.
Please let it last a little longer, wind.
I know attachment is wrong in humans
as in letters, but please give temporary
exception in this one case
to the law of impermanence.
We have a day like this every year
reckless weather at the beginning of November
obliterated at the peak of the show, the glorious
picturesque trees and bushes that I photograph
identify them so they can be added
to our garden, I want it so much
not only to see, but also to own this beauty.
It’s not that I don’t like crispness
empty branches, fiercely standing trees
and withstands the coldest cold of winter.
I do. But please let this explosion of color continue
for now for a while longer. I don’t
ready for the dark
what comes after.
To-do list
Start a to-do list. Consult him every day,
first thing in the morning. Same
the calendar. No more
double booking! Buy new glasses.
Organize cupboards and desk drawers.
Entropy appears to be real.
Break down the boxes in the basement
and take it to the waste bin.
Call the handyman.
Reply to Timothy’s email,
Marc, Heather and someone else.
Pick more blueberries before the jays
remember where they are.
Water the plants, especially the begonia.
Finish the book on climate change
Dalai Lama and Greta Thunberg.
Pray for inspiration, guidance,
for prosperity and luck
from my friends to end the wars,
for collective awakening
my teacher says ‘done deal’.
Sleep more. Be more optimistic.
Re-read Schuyler and Bishop. Choose one
or both, as Schuyler liked to say.
Clean the bird bath.
Have faith.
♦
© 2026, John Brehm, Just This: New and Selected Poems. Reprinted by arrangement with Wisdom Publications.
