Yes Raymond Carver, Some Days are Gravy

By Doris A. 

Raymond Carver published short stories and poetry in the 1970s and 80s. He is well-known for his minimalist writing style and is considered one of the most influential American writers of the latter half of the 20th century. I was introduced to him in my mid-twenties by my first husband.  Nick was both a bookworm and a pot head; reading books together was the best part of our two-year marriage. In our pantheon of favorite authors Carver held a place. I often refer to this short-lived ‘practice marriage’ as ‘The Raymond Carver years.’

Carver was an alcoholic in the style of Bill Wilson and his Big Book cronies; he was a late-stage drunk whose alcoholism was on the verge of killing him in mid-life. He finally got sober at age forty, and within a year he met the final love of his life, poet Tess Gallagher. He stayed sober ten years, but then died of lung cancer at age 50. He wrote this poem about those last ten years.

Gravy

No other word will do. For that’s what it was.
Gravy.
Gravy, these past ten years.
Alive, sober, working, loving, and
being loved by a good woman. Eleven years
ago he was told he had six months to live
at the rate he was going. And he was going
nowhere but down. So he changed his ways
somehow. He quit drinking! And the rest?
After that it was all gravy, every minute
of it, up to and including when he was told about,
well, some things that were breaking down and
building up inside his head. “Don’t weep for me,”
he said to his friends. “I’m a lucky man.
I’ve had ten years longer than I or anyone
expected. Pure Gravy. And don’t forget it.”

I was about forty years old when I read this poem for the first time. Carver had been dead for a decade and I had been trying to stay sober for a decade. I was heartbroken to learn that he finally sobers up at forty but then dies of cancer at fifty. That story sucks. Yet here he is, talking about those last ten years as gravy. Besides feeling sad, I was envious. To be honest, I resented Raymond Carver for having figured out how to stay sober that long, while I could only string together one or two years at a time. For me, being sober never felt like gravy. And if he had stayed sober because ‘god’ had helped him, I really didn’t want to know.

Resenting a man who was able to be sober the last ten years of his life, a life that ends at fifty, shows how hopeless I must have felt inside.

The poem ‘Late Fragment’ was written about the same time as Gravy. I think it’s beautiful. Both poems are inscribed on Carver’s gravestone in Port Angeles, Washington.

Late Fragment

And did you get what
you wanted from this life, even so?
I did.
And what did you want?
To call myself beloved, to feel myself
beloved on the earth.

                                                                        ****

It’s almost twenty years since I read those poems for the first time. I do not yet have ten years of continuous sobriety, but that milestone now looks in reach. While I would never use the term “happy, joyous and free” to describe my sober life, I do finally “get” why Carver thinks of it as gravy.

I hit a very frightful bottom seven years ago when a week-long binge landed me in the hospital. It was my ‘Come to Jesus’ moment. Building a sober life after that wasn’t gravy; it was overcooked pea soup those first few years. Yet over time, I grew into myself. I became a grown-up. I figured out how to be content, and how to get my needs met. I eventually put together a new life for myself, one that feels satisfying and authentic.

If I look back at who I was ten years ago, and who I am now, I see a psychic change in myself that is described in the Big Book. There is a contentment I feel inside of me, as well as an excitement for life.  I still have days of being irritable and discontent, many days in fact. And there are days I feel a very deep sadness over the years I lost to alcoholism. Some days I am anxious and depressed. But so many days are now gravy.

Raymond Carver had that psychic change, one that allowed him to appreciate the last ten years of his life, and to face the end of life knowing he was beloved; that he felt himself beloved on the earth. And as Tess Gallagher artfully stated, “Instead of dying from alcohol, Raymond Carver chose to live.” 

Me too.

Read Tess Gallagher’s Essay about Carver, Instead of Dying


About the Author

Doris lives in Champaign-Urbana, a lovely university town set amongst the cornfields of central Illinois.  For the past year and a half, she has served as Chief Editor of AA Beyond Belief. Her day job is managing a lending library at the county jail through Urbana-Champaign Books To Prisoners. Her home group is Many Paths—a thriving secular AA group that will be three years old in February. It recently added a second meeting that reads from the book Living Sober.

 

Print Friendly, PDF & Email

Share:

Comment

  1. Lance B. October 8, 2017 at 5:13 pm - Reply

    Beautiful sentiments,  from Carver, your readers this morning and yourself.  At 30 years I’ve been saying for a couple of years that I’m tickled pink to be an alcoholic.  Not nearly as poetic or accurate as Carver’s gravy, but the same basic idea.

    It began as an experiment at perhaps 15 years sober.  The oldtimer in the group last night commented that he was glad he knew he was an alcoholic, but not glad that he was one.  So I’ve thought more carefully about my assertion over the years, and decided, that, yes, I do indeed feel tickled pink most of the time.

    So thank you for your pick-me-up today (slept late and was not the first to read beyond belief on Sunday morning).  Both poems were exquisite and I expect you will eventually have a lot of gravy time too.  Actually, the phrase usually means just that it is so easy to feel contented or successful rather than tickled pink.

    And thanks for being at the center of AA’s (and Joe’s) merry go round with your contributions to beyond belief.

  2. Joe C October 8, 2017 at 10:54 am - Reply

    Jocks and their incessant sports metaphors – please forgive me, it’s baseball playoffs time, America’s opium; I mean “pastime.” You’re a dependable hitter for average who just showed us her home run power. Ballgame over, Doris wins. The fans go crazy. Purists will despise me for likening art to the zero-sum futility of competitive sport. Shun away, you’re probably right but I remain unapologetic. It’s where I’m at, today.

    Brevity is beauty. Those who have suffered through my verbosity will be puzzled but yes, I admire simplicity. Kris Kristofferson (songwriter) was my Raymond Carver. Kristopherson could deliver a 300 page epic in a three-minute song. No wasted words, no side trips, just a masterfully told, unforgettable story. There are so many books I’ve read and re-read that I misses some gems and Carver is obviously one of them.

    Benn and John’s podcast earlier this week touched on how art can reach us in ways that the rationality of non-fiction does not. I have been brought to tears by both but over time, the works that rank as “life-altering” for me are more heavily weighted in well told stories over thoughtfully crafted argument. I let my guard down or open my heart (as the romantics say) to movies, music and poetry in a way that doesn’t seem to happen for me when considering non-fiction/news/rational arguments. I would be embarrassed to be caught in my car belting out the lyrics along with Alanys Morissette to Jagged Little Pill songs. But I see myself in the art. In art, I can be a jaded woman for three minutes, a tone-deaf music fan can be an air-guitar hero on stage with Jimmy Page; our rational limits are transcended.

    I think that’s good medicine for egg-head like me that kneel at the alter of reason. I’m not finished my first coffee yet, Doris but I got the wake-me-up I needed. You do a great job behind the scenes for which we are all grateful. Nice to see you in the drivers seat this morning (I know, another testosterone-rich metaphor). But it’s that best I have to say, “Thank you.”

    • Doris A October 8, 2017 at 12:23 pm Reply

      Baseball is the only national sport in which I have watched a game from start to finish, although when I have gone to a major league game I always bring a book. Football, I still don’t understand how the game works.  Thank you for the compliment Joe C. – it’s so nice to have you as a regular reader.    I now need to listen to the podcast you mentioned.  Cheers.

  3. John H October 8, 2017 at 10:36 am - Reply

    This is one of the best posts I’ve seen in a long time..Carvers story was very inspirational early on in my sobriety and I was just thinking this morning, while talking to my remarkable wife, about the thirty years of “gravy” I’ve been given and what that implies. If there is such a thing as the committed gratitude of the atheist then I definately have that. No one has put this aspect of what we are about better than Carver before or since. In my own writing life he is definately one of my “hero’s” as well. Thank you so much for this!

  4. John S October 8, 2017 at 10:00 am - Reply

    Thank you, Doris for sharing this with us. I also don’t describe myself as “happy, joyous and free”, but I am content and life is good, and as Carver describes it, “it’s gravy.” What a great way to begin the day.

  5. Thomas B. October 8, 2017 at 9:59 am - Reply

    Just lovely, Doris, like gravy !~!~!

    Thank you for this exquisite reflection and thank you for the meticulous editorial function you provide to AA Beyond Belief.

  6. Cope C October 8, 2017 at 9:46 am - Reply

    Doris — what a beautiful sentiment to begin this Sunday, and each day onward. I’ve admired Raymond Carver but not known this side of his life. Thank you.

  7. Sharon J. October 8, 2017 at 8:54 am - Reply

    Wow!

    You gave me a “new pair of glasses.”  My life is all gravy with a occasional bowl of overcooked pea soup which gives me perspective on how delicious the gravy is.  Thank you, Doris!

  8. Wisewebwoman October 8, 2017 at 7:47 am - Reply

    Boy this had me some weepy. The poem, the one day at a time thing. Grasping the moments. The gravy years. I’ve had 31 and can complain. Not today. Thanks Doris.

  9. Steve K October 8, 2017 at 7:10 am - Reply

    Great article Doris! I identify with your experience and feelings to a degree. I too struggled for a long time to maintain a continuous sobriety within AA but finally got there, although it’s “just for today” as the saying goes. I now have over 10 years and have an increasing sense of contentment and purpose about life, but like you wouldn’t describe myself as “happy, joyous and free” just yet, maybe one day! I can’t honestly say, like Carver, I feel “beloved” either, but this is something i’m really working at and hopefully will feel as it seems to be the key to a happy and content life.

    Thanks for your honesty Doris.

Leave a Comment