“I’ve Come at Last to Anhedonia”

On By Mike U.In Poetry

“I’ve Come at Last to Anhedonia”
(c) 2023 by Michael L. Utley

I’ve come at last to Anhedonia
that bleak and melancholy land
beyond the god-forsaken desert sand
far ‘cross the sea of memories
where sunlight fades and none has e’er returned

the forests filled with stunted things
that in the shadows furtive lurk
rise forth from mires amid the murk
of blackened loam and caustic springs

and yellowed grasses’ brittle bones
that slough and sigh in bitter breeze
a desiccated meadow’s wheeze
a mournful death-rattle intones

I’ve come at last to Anhedonia
that lightless and forbidden place
beyond the hopes and dreams and saving grace
of human ken and mortal men
where moonlight fails and none has e’er returned

the stony fields and fetid fens
and moors forever draped in gloom
the whispers of impending doom
that echo in forgotten glens

the stars too faint to pierce the night
the cloying and unsettled haze
of apathetical malaise
that dulls even the purest light

I’ve come at last to Anhedonia
that languid and indiff’rent spot
beyond the realm of clarity of thought
where logic lies and purpose dies
where heart-light ebbs and none has e’er returned

the monuments to moments past
have crumbled ‘neath the weight of years
eroded by a lifetime’s tears
no joy in life is meant to last

it’s here I’ve found a resting place
a place to numb my pains and fears
eternal nights, eternal years
eternal sorrow I embrace

I’ve come at last to Anhedonia
that silent clearing in the trees
with bittersweet nostalgia on the breeze
where I will fade like mem’ries made
so long ago, and I shall ne’er return

40 thoughts on ““I’ve Come at Last to Anhedonia””

    1. Thanks, David. A silly quirk of mine (among many) is when I write poetry like this (strict syllable count, rhyme and meter, archaic terms), I have a British accent in mind. 😀 Yeah, it’s weird but it helps me try to achieve a “classical-sounding” poem. I think this goes back to when I was introduced to Tolkien’s works as a 12-year-old 7th-grader. To achieve deeper immersion in his books, I read them (in my head) with a British accent, and all the characters had unique British accents. Of course, when I read The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings to my little sister and, much later, to her two oldest sons when they were kids, I ditched the British accent (I think the boys would have gotten a kick out of it, actually). Anyway, all this is to say, if you heard me read this piece, you could imagine it being read in an Ian McKellen voice (Gandalf from the LotR films). My ordinary American accent wouldn’t be very entertaining! 😀

      Also, you’d be surprised at just how many people have no idea what anhedonia is. The title of this one may be confusing to some folks. Anhedonia is a major reason I find it so hard to write. Much of the time, that simple joy is not there, and there seems to be no reason to write (or to do anything else). Now and then I’m able to write something, but man, how I wish I were prolific like you and some other writers here on WP.

      Anyway, thanks for the kind words. I truly appreciate it. 🙂

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      1. 💛 Mike 💛 ~ regarding the accent, that’s funny! Regarding anhedonia, I totally feel you. I have depression, but poetry happens to keep me afloat, even when I have to push through and force it out of myself.

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    2. I’m sorry to learn you deal with depression, too. It seems a great many creative people go through this. It’s my experience (I can’t speak for all those who have depression) that it has made me more sensitive (to many things) and more creative. When I’m able to create something, it’s a respite from the thunderstorm, and it gives me hope. Your poetry touches the heart and soul and is incredibly inspiring, and that comes from understanding what it’s like to battle with this stuff. Never stop writing, David. It keeps you afloat, and it resonates with all who read your magnificent poetry. 🙂

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    1. Thanks a bunch, Joan. Yes, I can’t seem to write anything without loads of descriptive symbolism, but I wouldn’t want it any other way. 🙂 I love playing with words (always have), and when I’m able to put them together and complete a piece, it really is a joyful–albeit brief–experience, even if the piece itself is melancholy. I know a lot of people don’t know what anhedonia is and therefore may not understand the intent of this poem, but I tried to write it in such a way that its meaning would become evident by the end of the poem. Anyway, thank you so much for your kind words. I always enjoy seeing you visit and I most definitely hope you’ll stop by again. 🙂

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    1. Thanks so much, Penn. A bitter-sweet journey, indeed. Anhedonia is not a destination I’d want anyone else to visit, but it is strangely comforting, if not entirely a healthy place to be. Things that used to bring me such pleasure are all but forgotten nowadays, and writing–such a huge part of me–oftentimes hides just beyond my reach. It felt good to write this one, and I hope it leads to more creativity on my part because creativity is so important in combatting the effects of anhedonia. As always, many thanks for your kind and thoughtful comments. I appreciate it. 🙂

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      1. And I’m appreciative of that lovely reply, it’s great to know the feelings behind poems and suchlike, …I’m always wondering what I’m conveying in my work, but..the buck stops with the reader, …their instinctive reaction, …and mine to your was magnifico!!! ✨👏✨

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    1. Thanks so much, Layla. Your comments always touch my heart and bring a smile to my face. I’m truly grateful that you enjoyed this poem. I love descriptive imagery and symbolism. It’s a lot of fun to build worlds with words, you know? I appreciate your comments so much, and it’s always a delight to have you stop by. 🙂

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    1. Thanks, Diana. A hero’s dark night of the soul is a good way to describe this one. I seem to be stuck on that red-eye flight from Boston to L.A., where it’s always the dark night of the soul! 😀 Maybe I’ll reach my destination someday, who knows? This stuff inspires me to write, and when I’m able to put the words together, it’s like the sun breaking through the clouds for a brief moment (god-beams are super-cool). I really appreciate your kindness. You are so incredibly encouraging and supportive, and it means so much to me. So, many thanks, Diana. I’m truly grateful. 🙂

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    1. Thanks so much for stopping by. I visited your blog and read the piece about your mother. She’s a very strong woman to overcome so much, including her deafness. This gives me hope. 🙂

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    1. Thanks so much, Jordyn. I truly appreciate your kindness. Yeah, anhedonia… *shakes head in frustrated resignation* I suppose all we can do is keep trying, right? That spark is there, somewhere…that joy that was there once before can be rekindled, I hope. Thanks for reading and stopping by, my friend. I really do appreciate it. 🙂

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  9. I love your use of words and would love to hear you read it like David says Mike. Your piece is so effective shares with such honesty the struggles faced. I would be the one to get lost in whatever this means Anhedonia🥹😘

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    1. Thanks, Cindy. Your kindness is always so welcome and appreciated. I honestly can’t imagine reading my own poetry aloud. I read some of it many years ago for my mom, who never had much of an understanding of poetry, and it was quite awkward because I’m really self-conscious about the sound of my voice. Also, as a deaf person, I was told a few years ago by an audiologist that I’m a “loud talker.” This really embarrassed me. I can’t hear well enough to accurately judge the volume of my voice, so to be told I sometimes speak too loudly was humiliating. Since then, I’ve become a little (a lot) worried about my speaking voice. If I don’t speak loudly enough to hear my own voice, I don’t know if anyone else can hear it, you know? It’s one of the frustrating aspects of deafness. Anyway, just imagine this poem being read in Ian McKellen’s voice and you’re good to go! (see my response to David’s comment above for clarification) 😀

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      1. It’s always a joy to chat with you Mike. I’m happy to know that. I remember you saying that. I can imagine how humiliating that would be. Plus, talking when you can’t hear back is tough. Last night was my mom’s 87th b.d. and we laughed a lot cuz she’s said what the whole time but she’s embraced it finally. I don’t hear well myself but will have a surgery at some point since I have a “disease” they say that can be fixed.. we’ll see). I speak low and I think I’m screaming.. so bizarre. For reading if you want to send me a voice memo, I’d be happy to listen and tell you what I think. It would be great practice. I’ll wear my hearing aid tho so I can judge better as we we don’t want 2 deaf people helping the other .. lol. I bet it would be fun to give it a go. People love you and it would be awesome. I did read what you wrote to Davi and I can imagine that very well. hugs and love,

        💞

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  10. Anhedonia is terrible, but you have masterfully infused magical realism into it, invoking curiosity and fostering an understanding of how truly dreadful this feeling is. This is exquisite and impactful. This poem has an effortless flow and reads beautifully, Mike!

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    1. Thanks so much, Aaysid. Anhedonia really does feel like an entirely different land sometimes, and it seems as though I’m an unwilling stowaway on some ghost ship that was caught in a storm and crashed into the reef just off the coast of this horrible place. Now I’m stuck in this land where hope is elusive and rescue seems unlikely. It felt good to write about it. I’d wanted to write about anhedonia for quite awhile. Also, I really like writing structured poetry. It’s more challenging than free-verse and I like the inherent flow that seems to accompany structured poems. So, the irony here is I really enjoyed writing a poem about not enjoying anything anymore! Yay! 😀 Life is strange. 🙂 Anyway, many thanks for your always kind and supportive comments. It means a lot to me to know my poetry resonates with you. 🙂

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  11. rajkkhoja's avatar rajkkhoja

    What an lovely stunning piece of write up poetic. That field with emotional & inspired.
    Anhedonia is terrible but it’s great to see this poem from you, My friend!

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    1. Thanks so much. I appreciate your kindness. I just visited your blog and you’ve got some amazing nature photography! I’m going to enjoy checking it out. 🙂

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  14. Wow, Mike, your poetry always blows me away—such intensity and meaning to every word, line, and stanza. I think you may be a bit of a loner like myself. This stanza really touched me:

    “the stars too faint to pierce the night
    the cloying and unsettled haze
    of apathetical malaise
    that dulls even the purest light”

    I, too, know that feeling. Many people don’t like to admit it even if they do, but I have no problem admitting my feelings online. I speak the truth, and some people are not comfortable with the truth, but that is why I started my blog a while ago. You are such a beautiful and gifted poet. Your words always touch my heart, every time. Sending you lots of love and hugs, Mike, and thank you for sharing yourself with us. I, too, will share when I have more time after the 11th of July when we close on the house in VA. Blessings to you!

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    1. Many thanks, Joni. Your comments always mean so much to me. I’m most definitely a loner (to the nth degree). Highly introverted, deaf, grew up in a severely dysfunctional home, a pariah at school because of religious discrimination (I was born and raised in Utah, a tough place to live if you don’t “fit in” with the crowd), etc. Being reclusive just came naturally to me, I suppose, as it was my only defense mechanism. I write what I know (sort of an English 101 directive, you know? 😀 ), and this is what I know, so it’s why my poetry is so often melancholic. Sometimes I wonder if I reveal too much in my writing, but then I ask myself, “Why write at all if I can’t be completely honest, regardless of how painful it is?” I realize I’m not the only who experiences sorrow and deals with too many past scars, and so my hope is that perhaps readers will understand they’re not alone, that someone else has been through the fire, too, and has come out the other side still standing. Sometimes one person’s sorrow offers hope for another, you know? 🙂 Anyway, thanks so much for your constant support and encouragement. Have a good 4th! 🙂

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  15. Ellie Carpenter's avatar Ellie Thompson

    I’ve read this brilliant and stunning piece of poetry from you several times now, Mike. Now I have learned this new word. ‘anhedonia,’ from you, I so recognise myself in that place, too. I’ve been trying to fight it off over the last few days, but I’m not succeeding very well. As much as I wish you weren’t struggling with this so much, my friend, I am grateful to you for making me feel less alone in Anhedonia. There is so much here that I can identify with that I really hardly know where to start. I Iove the wonderfully detailed descriptions you give to explain your feelings. I particularly like the verse that reads …

    “it’s here I’ve found a resting place
    a place to numb my pains and fears
    eternal nights, eternal years
    eternal sorrow I embrace.”

    Sometimes I think that this depression will be eternal, too, and that I will remain here forevermore, although I do hope that is not the case for either of us. Wishing you well, dear friend and apologies for taking so long to comment on this wonderous, heartfelt piece. Thank you for sharing these pieces of yourself – I’m sure you touch many people with your poetry – I, for one. X 🤍.

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    1. Thanks so much, Ellie. I’ve been away from things for a while (as I continue my “vacation” in the land of Anhedonia) so I’ve been neglectful in responding to comments here on my blog. My apologies, my friend. I appreciate your kind words so much, and I’m glad this poem resonated with you in the sense that it made you feel less alone. Truly, this is why I share my world through my writing. I wish to make sure others feel less alone as they make their own way through the labyrinth of depression. Just knowing someone else understands is a really big thing, you know? As for Anhedonia, well, like they say, “it’s a nice place to visit but I wouldn’t want to live there…” Sometimes it seems as if I’ve taken up residence here, however. It’s cold, and the view from the front window isn’t so good, but it’s familiar and can be seductive in a strange way.

      I hope things are better for you and that you’ve already punched your return ticket home from Anhedonia. You deserve some happiness. I think we all do. 🙂 Thanks so much for your support and kindness, Ellie. It means a lot to me. 🙂

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