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The Five Stages of Grief
“Out of the screams and shouts of women demanding liberation rises the clear, true voice of Linda Pastan, who, seemingly, through love and intelligence and a sure sense of her craft, has been liberated all along.” ―Mona Van Duyn "It is above all her integrity that has made Linda Pastan such a rewarding poet. Nothing is here for effect. There is no self-pity, but in this new book she has reached down to a deeper layer and is letting the darkness in." ―May Sarton
62 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1978
About the author
Linda Pastan
53 books66 followersIn 1932, Linda Pastan was born to a Jewish family in the Bronx. She graduated from Radcliffe College and received an MA from Brandeis University.
She is the author of Traveling Light (W. W. Norton & Co., 2011); Queen of a Rainy Country (2006); The Last Uncle (2002); Carnival Evening: New and Selected Poems 1968-1998 (1998), which was nominated for the National Book Award; An Early Afterlife (l995); Heroes In Disguise (1991), The Imperfect Paradise (1988), a nominee for the Los Angeles Times Book Prize; PM/AM: New and Selected Poems (l982), which was nominated for the National Book Award; The Five Stages of Grief (l978), and A Perfect Circle of Sun (l971).
About Pastan's The Five Stages of Grief, the poet May Sarton said, "It is about all her integrity that has made Linda Pastan such a rewarding poet. Nothing is here for effect. There is no self-pity, but in this new book she has reached down to a deeper layer and is letting the darkness in. These poems are full of foreboding and acceptance, a wry unsentimental acceptance of hard truth. They are valuable as signposts, and in the end, as arrivals. Pastan's signature is growth."
Among her many awards and honors include a Pushcart Prize, a Dylan Thomas Award, the Di Castagnola Award, the Bess Hokin Prize, the Maurice English Award, the Charity Randall Citation, and the 2003 Ruth Lilly Poetry Prize. She was a recipient of a Radcliffe College Distinguished Alumnae Award.
From 1991 to 1995, she served as the Poet Laureate of Maryland, and was among the staff of the Breadloaf Writers Conference for twenty years. Linda Pastan lives in Potomac, Maryland.
She is the author of Traveling Light (W. W. Norton & Co., 2011); Queen of a Rainy Country (2006); The Last Uncle (2002); Carnival Evening: New and Selected Poems 1968-1998 (1998), which was nominated for the National Book Award; An Early Afterlife (l995); Heroes In Disguise (1991), The Imperfect Paradise (1988), a nominee for the Los Angeles Times Book Prize; PM/AM: New and Selected Poems (l982), which was nominated for the National Book Award; The Five Stages of Grief (l978), and A Perfect Circle of Sun (l971).
About Pastan's The Five Stages of Grief, the poet May Sarton said, "It is about all her integrity that has made Linda Pastan such a rewarding poet. Nothing is here for effect. There is no self-pity, but in this new book she has reached down to a deeper layer and is letting the darkness in. These poems are full of foreboding and acceptance, a wry unsentimental acceptance of hard truth. They are valuable as signposts, and in the end, as arrivals. Pastan's signature is growth."
Among her many awards and honors include a Pushcart Prize, a Dylan Thomas Award, the Di Castagnola Award, the Bess Hokin Prize, the Maurice English Award, the Charity Randall Citation, and the 2003 Ruth Lilly Poetry Prize. She was a recipient of a Radcliffe College Distinguished Alumnae Award.
From 1991 to 1995, she served as the Poet Laureate of Maryland, and was among the staff of the Breadloaf Writers Conference for twenty years. Linda Pastan lives in Potomac, Maryland.
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Displaying 1 - 18 of 18 reviews
May 17, 2020
"In the evening
my griefs come to me
one by one.
They tell me what I had hoped to forget.
They perch on my shoulders
like mourning doves.
They are the color
of light fading.
In the day
they come back
wearing disguises.
I rock and rock
in the warm amnesia of the sun.
When my griefs sing to me
from the bright throats of thrushes
I sing back."
-- "Old Woman"
my griefs come to me
one by one.
They tell me what I had hoped to forget.
They perch on my shoulders
like mourning doves.
They are the color
of light fading.
In the day
they come back
wearing disguises.
I rock and rock
in the warm amnesia of the sun.
When my griefs sing to me
from the bright throats of thrushes
I sing back."
-- "Old Woman"
May 29, 2016
In the evening
my griefs come to me
one by one.
They tell me what I had hoped to forget.
They perch on my shoulders
like mourning doves.
They are the color of light fading.
my griefs come to me
one by one.
They tell me what I had hoped to forget.
They perch on my shoulders
like mourning doves.
They are the color of light fading.
Read
June 26, 2010Braids of grief and memory (nostalgia? Not quite).
In both this and Imperfect Paradise, Pastan uses a radical ordering scheme: the most obvious. It's bold and natural to place the poems in such a clear sequence, in this case the five stages. No secret code or subtle ordering "trick" here; it's all laid out in the table of contents.
The turns in her poems are often soft and, at the same time, unexpected.
Here's an ars poetica:
Tourist
A Tintoretto angel
disguises itself in the curls
of my eldest child,
long grown to manhood.
A kneeling woman
is dressed in black;
her darkness reaches
all the way west,
back to the place I come from.
The few stars
are like loose change
in a strange currency.
Even as I write
these words
on a scrap of hotel paper
they look to my own eyes
as if I have translated them
from another
language.
In both this and Imperfect Paradise, Pastan uses a radical ordering scheme: the most obvious. It's bold and natural to place the poems in such a clear sequence, in this case the five stages. No secret code or subtle ordering "trick" here; it's all laid out in the table of contents.
The turns in her poems are often soft and, at the same time, unexpected.
Here's an ars poetica:
Tourist
A Tintoretto angel
disguises itself in the curls
of my eldest child,
long grown to manhood.
A kneeling woman
is dressed in black;
her darkness reaches
all the way west,
back to the place I come from.
The few stars
are like loose change
in a strange currency.
Even as I write
these words
on a scrap of hotel paper
they look to my own eyes
as if I have translated them
from another
language.
September 12, 2024
"Acceptance. I finally reach it.
But something is wrong.
Grief is a circular staircase.
I have lost you."
But something is wrong.
Grief is a circular staircase.
I have lost you."
July 4, 2026
The night I lost you
someone pointed me towards
the Five Stages of Grief
Go that way, they said,
it’s easy, like learning to climb
stairs after the amputation.
And so I climbed.
Denial was first.
I sat down at breakfast
carefully setting the table
for two. I passed you the toast—
you sat there. I passed
you the paper—you hid
behind it.
Anger seemed more familiar.
I burned the toast, snatched
the paper and read the headlines myself.
But they mentioned your departure,
and so I moved on to
Bargaining. What could I exchange
for you? The silence
after storms? My typing fingers?
Before I could decide, Depression
came puffing up, a poor relation
its suitcase tied together
with string. In the suitcase
were bandages for the eyes
and bottles of sleep. I slid
all the way down the stairs
feeling nothing.
And all the time Hope
flashed on and off
in defective neon.
Hope was a signpost pointing
straight in the air.
Hope was my uncle’s middle name,
he died of it.
After a year I am still climbing, though my feet slip
on your stone face.
The treeline
has long since disappeared;
green is a color
I have forgotten.
But now I see what I am climbing
towards: Acceptance
written in capital letters,
a special headline:
Acceptance
its name is in lights.
I struggle on,
waving and shouting.
Below, my whole life spreads its surf,
all the landscapes I’ve ever known
or dreamed of. Below
a fish jumps: the pulse
in your neck.
Acceptance. I finally
reach it.
But something is wrong.
Grief is a circular staircase.
I have lost you.
someone pointed me towards
the Five Stages of Grief
Go that way, they said,
it’s easy, like learning to climb
stairs after the amputation.
And so I climbed.
Denial was first.
I sat down at breakfast
carefully setting the table
for two. I passed you the toast—
you sat there. I passed
you the paper—you hid
behind it.
Anger seemed more familiar.
I burned the toast, snatched
the paper and read the headlines myself.
But they mentioned your departure,
and so I moved on to
Bargaining. What could I exchange
for you? The silence
after storms? My typing fingers?
Before I could decide, Depression
came puffing up, a poor relation
its suitcase tied together
with string. In the suitcase
were bandages for the eyes
and bottles of sleep. I slid
all the way down the stairs
feeling nothing.
And all the time Hope
flashed on and off
in defective neon.
Hope was a signpost pointing
straight in the air.
Hope was my uncle’s middle name,
he died of it.
After a year I am still climbing, though my feet slip
on your stone face.
The treeline
has long since disappeared;
green is a color
I have forgotten.
But now I see what I am climbing
towards: Acceptance
written in capital letters,
a special headline:
Acceptance
its name is in lights.
I struggle on,
waving and shouting.
Below, my whole life spreads its surf,
all the landscapes I’ve ever known
or dreamed of. Below
a fish jumps: the pulse
in your neck.
Acceptance. I finally
reach it.
But something is wrong.
Grief is a circular staircase.
I have lost you.
November 29, 2020
I think I should maybe just stop reading poetry other than Mary Oliver, because it never makes sense
Read
August 22, 2024Pretty chill
June 13, 2026
4.5 Bellísimo.
La niña que soy
se despierta asustada
en un cuerpo de mujer.
La niña que soy
se despierta asustada
en un cuerpo de mujer.
June 6, 2008
Linda Pastan is one of my favorite poets. Her poems are wonderfully imagistic.
October 18, 2018
I'm torn as to how to rate this collection, as there were a few poems that really affected me, & a few phrases that were absolutely breathtaking, but that was it -- a few. a lot of these poems are ones that I have already forgotten, but the few i take with me are lovely. 3.5 stars, perhaps, if that were a rating you could give.
January 29, 2026
A beautiful collection that started out a bit on the weaker side but really strengthened itself as it went along. The final poem in this collection is my favourite poem of all time, and although I don't think any of the other poems come close, they all range from good to excellent, the latter especially being found in the Bargaining and Acceptance sections.
May 3, 2024
I felt the final section "Acceptance" was the strongest of the entire book.
April 5, 2025
Such a wonderful book. Too many poems to list as my favorites. I’ve starred them in the book itself. I will read more of her.
March 6, 2026
Picture a parade of numbers: 1
the sentry, out in front;
dependent, monogamous 2;
3 that odd man out, that 1 too many
always trying to break into line.
the sentry, out in front;
dependent, monogamous 2;
3 that odd man out, that 1 too many
always trying to break into line.
February 9, 2026
I found Linda Pastan’s work after a friend recommended her to me since I am fond of Mary Oliver; after reading, I can see why. Pastan’s The Five Stages of Grief is succinct, poignant, and a gut punch in the best way. I’ll be thinking about “A Short History of Judaic Thought in the Twentieth Century” for a long time.
December 16, 2025
A wonderful collection
June 25, 2010
I am not a fan of poetry (a friend loaned me this book); this set of poems had a few gems.
Displaying 1 - 18 of 18 reviews